You see, I’m between…well, lives. My student life is officially over, as term finished about 15 minutes ago. However, I’m still living in my student house and I don’t have a new life to begin any time soon. I was hoping, by now, to have a job lined up to begin in July and be flathunting with Marya, but the job search has so far been quite fruitless.

These days job hunting takes the form of signing up to various websites, endlessly defining yourself and your skills with the help of fiddly drop-down menus and trawling through interminable lists of inappropriate jobs. I consider myself someone with a good level of concentration and quite a lot of stamina for dull tasks, but this one simply depresses me. Inside my head is a record on repeat mode and after a while it gets to you.

[scrolling through a list] Nope…nope…nope…OOH! PERFECT! Oh, arse. It’s in Chester. I said London, dammit! Okay, move on. Nope…nope…nope…eugh, no…oh, come on…AHA! Oh, wait, no. Bugger. Okay, nope…nope…nope…

I suppose the main problem is that I’m quite picky. I’m hoping to live in London so I can’t really afford to go for a very low wage and after earning quite well in my gap year I’m hoping to take a step up now that I have a degree (well, nearly) and a lot more experience. I’m also finding it difficult to let go of the idea of doing something I actually enjoy. I have actually found a few things I would truly love to do (PR for the National History Museum, writing children’s stories for magazines, copywriting for the British Red Cross…) but I’ve been rejected by them all so far. Generally I don’t take rejection very well, it always shoots my confidence down, but so far I’ve been fine with it. The short ‘no, thanks’ emails I’ve been getting don’t sting as much as I thought they would. Maybe I’m getting a bit more thick-skinned, which can only be a good thing.

Anyway, in happier news, I got a call today from an employment agency that seemed to like my CV when I applied for a role they were handling the recruitment for. A nice lady gave me a call when I was in Tesco today and quizzed me about my CV and my job expectations. I think I made a good impression ( I made her laugh quite a few times) because she said she’d talk to her supervisor about me and then call me back on Monday. She then called back, about half an hour later, and said she’d like me to come in for an interview next week, to speak to her supervisor. So, it’s promising! I detest interviews, they make me nauseous, but I usually find it quite easy to build a rapport with people so I’m hoping I can charm this woman into finding me a job. Fingers, toes and eyes crossed.

The house is going to be quite empty and lonesome for the next couple of weeks. Cazzie’s off home for the summer, thus ending our two years of living together. Mylo’s gone away too but he’ll be back in two weeks, and Jen’s new job’s starting, so my days will be quite empty.

Apart from job hunting. Siiigh…

It’s been a while since I’ve been called a Paki. It happened quite a few times in primary school and my neighbourhood at home is full of the kind of people who would call out such things. However, it has been many years since someone’s called me a Paki and I’m tempted to decide that that’s why it made my stomach flip over last night.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time someone called me that. I was about 6 or 7 years old and I’d made a friend who lived in a house that had a garden which backed onto ours. I spent hours standing on the fence, talking to this nice little blonde girl. We were friends for a few weeks and then one day she said, “You know, my dad says you’re a Paki,” and I had no idea what to think. I didn’t know what it meant so the conversation just moved onto other things but later I asked my mum about it and she was quite shocked and upset. She explained it to me but it was still quite an alien concept. After all, Paki is short for Pakistani and for me Pakistan was some far-flung country that I had barely any connection with except that I knew my parents were born there. But I knew it was something I didn’t want to be called and that feeling stuck.

My parents were born and brought up in Karachi, Pakistan. However, we’re not Muslim or Hindu or Christian, like the majority of Pakistanis. We’re descendants of Ancient Persians who fled to wherever they could when they were persecuted by Islamic armies. My ancestors just happened to settle in Pakistan, so none of us really think of ourselves as Pakistani, we’re Persian (or, more specifically, Parsi). Parsis in Pakistan tend to live in private, guarded ‘colonies’ which are really just sweet, safe little neighbourhoods where they can walk about with uncovered heads and follow their own traditions without offending people of other faiths. There are Parsi schools there (which are open to everyone but the majority of students are Parsi) and so we’ve always been quite separate from Pakistan as a whole.

So, when kids at school tried to fit me into a pigeon-hole they had a lot of trouble, which made them frustrated with me. After all, I wasn’t white. I wasn’t black. I wasn’t a Paki. So, what was I? Of course, it’s difficult to explain to kids, particularly when you only have a vague understanding of it yourself, so I was squeezed into the Paki box but most of me was still sticking out and just wouldn’t fit. Children are very conservative and if things can’t be categorised they often dislike them and that’s what happened with me.

I suppose part of the issue is that I don’t really look Pakistani. I’m fair skinned with dark hair and eyes, so people often think I’m Mediterranean and I love making people guess. If it’s someone flirting with me I tend to agree with whichever guess is most interesting and then lie until I can escape or they go away of their own accord. I’ve been called Brazilian a lot lately, that’s an interesting one. So it’s rare that people point me out as Asian at all, let alone a Paki. I was astonished that the kid who yelled it out yesterday could pick up on it, since it was dark, but it was probably just a guess based on my hair colour.

Unlike primary school, my secondary school was a haven of racial understanding and cultural harmony and I simply adored it. People loved hearing about my heritage and suddenly I wasn’t ‘weird’, I was ‘interesting’. It’s been the same with university and in my gap year in between the two I worked at a company run by a Parsi gentleman who, being a charitable sort, hired almost every Parsi kid who needed a job – including me. That year I gained a far better understanding of my place in the world and what my heritage means to me, which has made a huge difference. I’ve also developed a love for Karachi and though after a week I begin to feel very trapped and suffocated (there’s very little that young women can do there without an escort or without covering one’s head, which I stubbornly refuse to do) there’s something about it that has a real essence of home.

So maybe I am a Paki after all. Just don’t call me one.

Boris Johnson is Mayor of London.

This sentence is so wrong in, oh, so many ways!

I simply cannot get my head around the fact that so many people voted for that shameless, bumbling moron. I have not met a single person who lives in central London who wanted Boris for Mayor so I can only conclude that the bored suburban masses all came out of the woodwork to provide themselves with four years’ entertainment at the cost of the capital. This is what a nation that watched Big Brother will do. Vote for the fool who’ll make you laugh and disregard the impact his presence will make on the country. People voted for Jade Goody to stick around on TV and plenty of them regret that now! In fact, what with all her racist jibes she and BoJo would get on like a house on fire…

Alright, so you can say what you want about Red Ken and the dismal prospects of Labour in this country but I truly think Ken did a good job with our capital. Yes, he’s increased the prices of just about everything he can but I can honestly say that I’ve seen that money go towards things that I appreciate. Today’s London is a very different city from the one I knew eight years ago and that’s largely due to him. I can’t live without my Oyster card, I feel so much safer in the streets, public transport has improved immensely, he’s created an incredible brand out of a city, etc, etc. These things are all arguable but the one I’d really like to point out is that Ken created a kind of London unity that I find amazing.

London has a reputation for being a cold-hearted, jaded, inconsiderate place that’ll eat you alive if you can’t keep up. Its people are too busy to smile, too distracted to help and too self-absorbed to care about those around them. However, when the July 7th bombings happened Ken brought London together. He urged us to help one another, stand as one unit and plough through the horror to show those terrorists that we simply cannot be cowed like that. He was everywhere in the aftermath of that disaster and flew flags and raised banners to create a kind of solidarity that can be difficult to conjure in city people.

The way in which Ken has kept the channels of communication open is as simple as putting ‘Mayor of London’ in the bottom left hand corners of tube escalator ads that are telling us to be careful and what’s going on with transport improvements and such. He was just there and I really appreciated that.

Alas, this country has opened its arms to the Tories again and the country is blue all over. While I understand that New Labour is pretty much the same as Conservatism now, I’m still shocked that so many liberal thinkers around us insist on reaching for the blue. In my experience a great many people of my age vote Conservative simply because their family ‘always has’ and because their parents do. I also think that many who vote want to see their team win and so they don’t see the point in voting for the Greens or Lib Dems simply because we all know they won’t beat Labour or the Conservatives. Every vote counts and yet people insist on seeing it count. It’s a real shame.

Poor old Gordon Brown. Never my first choice for PM but then I chose Blair in 1997 (not that I could vote then) so I’m not the best judge of such things. What I see in Brown is a real desire to do good and make a difference but, as with so many politicians, his good intentions are crushed by bureaucracy and grumpy opposition. He’s had the most ridiculous term in office, with natural disasters, economic failure, etc, etc. He’s not the type to long for disaster so he can prove himself. I imagine that when the Twin Towers fell Bill Clinton was banging his fist on his desk in frustration, knowing that he’d be in his element in the midst of such a situation and would be exactly who people wanted to turn to. Poor Brown isn’t made of the same stuff, it seems. He’s had to take on the mantle of a party destroyed by his predecessor and is visibly finding it hard to cope. Although it’ll take a hell of a lot to get me to vote Labour again I can’t help but feel sorry for the old chap.

It is encouraging, however, that the Lib Dems won more constituencies than last time. Onwards and upwards, however slowly and however long it takes. I do hope that I’ll see a Lib Dem government before I leave this world and I particularly hope it’ll be run by my sister! Good old Brian Paddick really seems like a noble character and the only reason he didn’t have my first preference vote is because of his inexperience and the way I saw him crumble under Paxman’s glare. However, he really seems like a good man who knew what he wanted to achieve and would take on the advice of those who knew better. I do hope he runs again after Boris cocks it all up.

So, Boris. Racist, homophobic, generally ignorant, admittedly lazy and – particularly irritating to me – NOT A LONDONER. How can a man who happily uses the word ‘picaninnies’ run something as socially and culturally volatile as the Olympics? What is a man who compares gay marriage to a union between a man and a dog going to do when more nail bombs are thrown into Soho bars to maim innocent homosexuals? How can a man who admitted that he didn’t bother doing any work when he edited the Spectator run a city that never stops working? And, in a pettier matter, how can a stylish and cutting-edge place like London be represented by someone who looks like THIS?!

Okay, okay, I’ll stop. There are silver linings to this very black cloud, after all. Primarily, if Boris messes this up it’ll have a devastating impact on the reputation of the Tories and that can only be a good thing for the whole country. Perhaps that’s a sacrifice London has to make for the greater good. Secondly, he is a lazy git and never does his own work, so the aides he’s hired (apparently great at what they do) will be largely running the show.

I promise here to raise my hand and admit that I was wrong if Boris does a good job, albeit reluctantly and with much bitter muttering. My comfort at the moment is that I had a wonderful time in London on the final day of Ken’s reign. The last day of London’s sanity and I was there to drink it all in. It was the end of an era and I’m so grateful that I could be in my beloved city before it got hijacked by BoJo the Clown.

1.  Handed in my dissertation and I think it might…just might…be a bit…good!

2.  Got one of my assessed essays back and I got a first!

3.  Had my last ever lecture and seminar today!

Okay, so the last one is bittersweet and more than a little freaky but I’m nonetheless over the moon and wonderfully free of work for the next couple of weeks. It’s bee-yoo-tiful :) The last few days have been spent mostly in the library, slaving away over words and ideas and fretting about what it’s going to end up like. It hasn’t been too bad actually, though I did frequently wish I could pause it all for a while. It was quite nice to have one main focus for a week or so and pour my brain out onto 27 pages.

And that’s it. That document about a foot away from me, double-spaced and bound. Over there, that one. That is the culmination of my entire academic life. My dissertation. Done.

So, what do I do now? Good question. Right now I’m in my room yawning and writing this, waiting for Jen to come home and celebrate with me. I assume that celebration will involve laughing on the sofa and watching bad TV all night, which is what I’ve been looking forward to for a while. Mylo’s nearly finished now and we’ll all go out tomorrow night. Oh, and Wednesday too :) I’ve decided against going to Thursday night’s thing. I’m sorry, I simply cannot go to any event called a ‘blowout’, it sounds distasteful. I could never find an outfit for such a thing!

Anyway, I’ll stop babbling and go and make waffles. Because I’m worth it.

I’ve finally given into peer pressure and started a WordPress blog so that my nosy housemates don’t have to come all the way downstairs to see what I’m thinking!

I already have a private blog and have had many online journals in the past, so here’s hoping this one doesn’t get relegated to the weblog cemetery any time soon. I’ll be writing here intermittently, usually when I’m supposed to be working, and it’s likely that nothing I write will be of any consequence but I do prefer it that way.

The title this blog came to me when I was listening to Mozart’s Piano Sonata No.11 (you know, the one that goes ‘diddle-diddle-dee, diddle-diddle dee…’) and my computer decided to sniff at it, snobbishly. The music shuddered for a moment and the happy, trilling notes seemed to trip over themselves. They regained their balance shortly afterwards but there was something quite lovely about the sudden break in the purest perfection. Something realistic and honest that appealed to me.

My little life has been something of a stumbling sonata. Beautiful, happy, successful and full of luck, but recently something happened that made me stumble and though it’s been four months (four months, a week and three days, to be precise), I’m still working on regaining my balance. Those who know me and are reading this will know what happened and have stayed staunchly by my side, guiding me along and catching me when I start to fall again. Despite my stumbling, I feel incredibly, elatedly and almost unfairly lucky.

So, welcome to my idle musings, daydreams and general nonsense. Enjoy!