this land is mine

Sometimes my heart is just filled with despair, hopelessness and vicious hatred for everything around me. Today is one such time.

What am I doing? I am trying to kill two more hours.
Where am I? Madrid airport
Why am I here? I am here for an interview
Why am I STILL HERE then? Well…

I knew things would go awry when I was told that my ticket was from Air France and there was a stopover at what I consider one of the world’s worst, most terrible, insuffrable airports – Charles De Gaulle…

And it is was a horrid day from the get go.

The fact that the dude sitting next to me kept elbowing me was not such a big deal. After all I did manage to sleep a bit. But then I arrived at 630 am at CDG, my connecting flight was boarding at 635. Needless to say, being stuck in a snaking immigration queue with an apathetic inspector who didn’t give a shit about my flight leaving in ten minutes didn’t help. After the immigration, I found myself on the outside. That’s right. How does that work exactly? I ran miles and miles to the terminal 2F (which is deceptively far away from 2E). Obviously I missed my flight.

The woman in front of me at the “get your tickets fixed if you missed your flight” queue was in tears. So I felt I shouldn’t cry. But I could feel the tears welling up. A dark man in airport gear pulled me out of the queue and asked me what the problem was. I told him *without crying* that I’d missed my flight and that I had an interview and that I didn’t know my way around Madrid and that I’d have missed my pickup too.

He put me on the next flight and gave me a calling card to inform anyone necessary. So well, I called Brendan and asked him to call Spain to fix my pickle. Drank an overly expensive cafe latte (which was way too tiny) and waited for the next debacle.

My baggage didn’t find its way to Madrid. I landed at around noon and was petrified. Not only had I missed my pickup, I would miss the alternate pickup too. I waited several minutes at the baggage counter to report my problem.. Clearly I wasn’t alone.. Several bags from Paris had never made their way to Madrid. What is with this shithole of an airport??!!

The lady at the counter was helpful but she couldn’t assure that my bag would be delivered the same day if it arrived too late in the evening. Now I cannot go to my interview tomorrow in my stinky jeans/tee that I’m wearing right now can I?

I haven’t cried yet.. well maybe a tear or two to Brendan as I feel utterly miserable and lonely waiting here for the next four hours till the next flight from Paris brings my bag back. And then they inform me that that flight is also delayed by 30 minutes. What’s 30 more minutes considering my entire day has been ruined?

I was supposed to be at the Hotel at 10 am. It’s 4pm and I haven’t left the airport. When I complained to the baggage lady about being stinky and needing money to buy shower gel, she gives me a complimentary little case. But get this -this airport doesn’t even have a lounge or a shower area that I can freshen up at. And when I open the little case, imagine my surprise. It contains a toothbrush and paste, a hairbrush, a stick of deo and a teeshirt. No shower gel. So well, the question of it doesn’t arise. Is this a European thing? Giving a hygiene kit without anything that foams? I wanna take that stick of deo and shove it up someone’s ass.

I want to loathe the forces that be for my rotten luck. It’s bad enough being unemployed without the universe just poking at you for no good reason. I mean, I get it… I can’t get a banking job when 200 year old banks just go bust before you can say “boom shake shake the room” but this is ludicrous. Even I can’t face the thought of having no clothes, no hair-dryer and no creams/shower gels right before an interview. I am brave but there is no reason to scare me shitless.

This interview is important. Very important. I am still not sure if I would be truly happy with the job itself seeing as it wouldn’t be in Singapore. Not being with Brendan would be a huge price to pay. And even as I grapple with the dreaded dilemma of choosing love or life (if indeed that is a valid metaphor), the universe is sending all sorts of horrid signals my way. Just let me be. Be kind for once. I am drowned in debt, a huge failure, a disappointment to my parents and just returned from a terrifying and depressing “holiday” to mumbai. Please just let me be. I was trying to be happy about Madrid, excited even… and you just had to take that away, didn’t you?