I found my happiness again on 49 Marchmont Street;

If life is a river and your heart is a boat
And just like a water baby, baby born to float
And if life is a wild wind that blows way on high
Then your heart is amelia dying to fly
Heaven knows no frontiers
And I’ve seen heaven in your eyes

And if life is a bar room in which we must wait
’round the man with his fingers on the ivory gates
Where we sing until dawn of our fears and our fates
And we stack all the deadmen in self addressed crates
In your eyes faint as the singing of a lark
That somehow this black night
Feels warmer for the spark
Warmer for the spark
To hold us ’til the day
When fear will lose it’s grip
And heaven has it’s way
Heaven knows no frontiers
And I’ve seen heaven in your eyes

If your life is a rough bed of brambles and nails
And your spirit’s a slave to man’s whips and man’s jails
Where you thirst and you hunger for justice and right
Then your heart is a pure flame of man’s constant night
In your eyes faint as the singing of a lark
That somehow this black night
Feels warmer for the spark
Warmer for the spark
To hold us ’til the day when fear will lose it’s grip
And heaven has it’s way
And heaven has it’s way
When all will harmonise
And know what’s in our hearts
The dream will realise

Heaven knows no frontiers
And I’ve seen heaven in your eyes
Heaven knows no frontiers
And I’ve seen heaven in your eyes

– “No Frontiers”, the Corrs / lyrics by Jimmy McCarthy

I have been feeling rather sad – lonely – in the past few days, despite the warm affection of colleagues, and a sadness sits like a little pool creeping in the most secret moments – in the middle of a sentence – in the middle of a played song- in the middle of an unsent envelope. I found a little happiness in 49 Marchmont Street with Beansprouts however, and his Scotland to-be endeavours (I let you off too lightly Beansprouts, I should have asked you to take a picture of yourself in a Scottish kilt!)

In a bid to cure this depression, am determined to make the best of a day – an afternoon library trip for instance, Barthes/Voltaire/Hemingway – heavy thoughts that can take my mind off the regret. It is strange, how no matter I try to be elusive about the matter, little unconscious things happen – my colleague questioned about my sudden afternoon appetite (my habit for binge-eating when unhappy thoughts linger), and going lost in a moment in the middle of a street facing incoming cars.

I listened to ‘No Frontiers’ a million times in a day, and wrote inspection reports.

I had egg salad with another legal being (ie. a being who lives and thrives for law), and we had an utterly wonderful conversation about the meaning of consent/implicit consent/Nelsonian (isn’t it a glorious expression) blindness a.k.a wilful blindness), discussing the Airocean false statements case (I used to be reporter in my stint in Business Times for this case, so I remember hints of it). The legal being is immersed in law in a way I wish and crave for (and never thought I would miss law theorization so much), the LB writes legal opinions, is present at court, works for one of the best barristers, and is in short, living my sort of career dream life, though I won’t admit it. The cows always moo louder on the other side, as another puts it. After all, Beansprouts has been inundating P with glorious ideas of my job involving raids on companies and probably all sorts of Madoff FBI affairs!

Nevertheless admitably, I am really enjoying inspections with my good friend G, and each time we have issues … we are pleased to no end, and I love taking a macro view of issues facing both divisions. Perhaps, the macro is always better for me after all, but I also suspect it is partly the delightful company of G, G who shares a birthday with me in March, G who skipped 3 years due to her pure genius in high school, finished university at age 19, and attained her MBA at 23 (my age, and how I feel so old because of my fellow G of the same namesake and birthday month!)

Below, my two favourite girls in the office and I – G (the amazing working mother on the left, and SH, the whimsical talented lawyer, on the right).

I also lunched with my mentor this week, both speaking about it has been two years since we last met (then I was just about to enter Lehman Brothers Investment Management, and he had just been promoted to a certain sort of Senior Associate level) – he is a book lover like me (having books on his shelves was a fact which made me like my mentor more on first impression, for I love people who read, and am always drawn to the books on a person’s shelf the first time I meet them), and has that absurd 16+6 premium library membership where we hoard books, never actually finishing them – he is reading his childhood books again, J.D Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird (who was the author again?), a deeply complex book by that Indian lawyer/economist/politician/poet which my commercial law lecturer used to rave about (he has a long and windingly complex Indian sort of name which I naturally forgot, so I don’t know how I am going to actually finally remember it to reserve a book). Once again, I began launching (poor lunch subjects who confess they actually read) a round of praise for Milan Kundera and my favourite book, Life is Forever, and the child/mother conflict seen in the eyes of the author. He says I analyze books differently, as if I am drawn to voices, structure, evolving perspectives, the stream of consciousness within mingled conversations. It was my reply that we never know such things, they emerge in the middle of a conversation and surprise oneself, just as Kundera makes meat of a dinner conversation which is uttered in lies and artificiality from one side of the dinner table, when all of a sudden there might be a moment humble and true – but the other only catches it if there was such a moment of sincerity. Kundera’s characters are complex and true in their series developments, and Kundera’s sensitivity for musicality and Greek structures makes for a lilting and memorable (even sensationalist!) read. But once again, as I suspect, my mentor will never get to reading Kundera, just as Beansprouts will never get to reading Catherine Lim, because I have romanticised the texts too much (and neither will you, the blog reader, or will you?).

I am starting on multiple-choice questions this week, questions which are forever that- unresolved questions, and in a Singaporean sort of life, since primary school, it seems as though I have been devoted to answer a myriad of multiple-choice questions.

Photos of my team from the farewell!

The farewell boy

The gift which was painstakingly made by some senior members in my team, which I think is gorgeous.


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