single ladies

The posts of Jups might have turned all mushy and boring, but the Jups, I assure you, has not changed that much. She still has anger issues, she still has her shenanigans and she absolutely still loves to dance. But this post isn’t about that. I’ve written so many posts about Brendan, how he loves me, how he doesn’t love me, how he makes me laugh, how he makes me cry. Well not today. Today we need to talk about someone else. But not so soon. The context first.

Yesterday, I didn’t feel too well. This is the truth. The fact that I had been invited to interview (the second round) that night was also the truth. All in all, there were enough reasons to stay at home. It wasn’t too pleasant, you see when I have an upset stomach, things are bad enough but factor in stress (which usually makes my stomach upset), you get an ever more upset stomach. Double Ouch.

I stayed in and I prepared for the interview. I didn’t know what to prepare so I did a little bit of everything. FT, Economist, miscellaneous research reports, textbooks, lecture notes, you name it, I read it. MY mind was a huge hodge-podge of news and formulae. I was scared shitless.

The interview went okay. I would rather not talk about it. I don’t have high expectations; when you’ve been through as many interviews as I have, you just can’t be bothered. To tell you the truth, the more I obsess about the interview, the worse I think I did.

It was daunting explaining to them I wanted to switch, it was harder convincing them to believe that I had what it took to do that job well. All in all, I felt weak and defeated.

I took the train and tried to go home. I say I tried because clearly the train wasn’t going to stop at my station, it went straight down the express route even though it wasn’t an express train! So I ended up, against my wishes, at Union Square. I fretted and fumed and walked down to take the uptown train back to my place.

As I stood waiting, I kept going over the interview, I kept thinking about how much stress I was putting myself through, trying to prove my worth to everyone around me from my boss to my boyfriend to my possibly-maybe-boss-to-be. I wondered if it was going to be worth it (whatever “it” means in this case). I looked at the faces of the strangers around me and I wondered if I even wanted to leave New York. I loved New York, but I loved him more, and so it was going to be okay, I thought. After all, those faces were of strangers and a stranger, he was not.

And I then turned and saw another face that was all too familiar. Antonio – the banker I almost-sort-of-but-not-really married. No, I didn’t almost marry him of course but he always “real” to me because he had a face and his parents invited my parents to Kerala and I cannot forget all the shit that ensued. It was never his fault of course. Judging by his vacant expression, he never knew me. I would once again go into one of those tangents about how stupid arranged marriage is when a guy’s parents are scoping out the CVs of potential daughters-in-law and the guy is blissfully unaware of the dramage (drama + damage..what a fun typo that is!) but I won’t go into that tangent today.

Antonio was even better looking in person and slimmer too. I would have really really liked to speak to him. I almost did. But he walked towards the end of the platform and I wasn’t about to follow him. I had my low boots on and I felt pretty short standing near him. I also looked completely anal in a work suit. In a parallel universe, I would have liked to bump into him dressed in absolute splendor and looking like ten million bucks. Like the way you fancy yourself to look when you run into an old ex. Then I think that it would have been a fun conversation though. “Hi Antonio. Yes I know your name…You don’t know me but…”

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