12. jack of all trades, master of none?

It’s strange how things I’ve heard, read or watched ages ago suddenly start making sense at random moments in my life. Proverbs that my mother used to say when I was younger – walaalka haduu macyahay lama muudsado – gain meaning as I grow up. Passages from books and poems I read as a teenager spring to my mind because of something I’m experiencing, and I realise I can relate to them in a way I couldn’t before.

Recently I’ve been internally debating between climbing the social/professional ladder vs. taking it easy and exploring my other passions in life while I’m still young. I realised I am pretty adamant about not looking back one day only to realise my life has been a series of unfulfilled potentials – or to say it with Thoreau’s words: “and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived”.
Like many, I’d rather have a bunch of failures on my belt than regrets, but it’s easier said than done, especially during the pandemic.

As I was considering this, I remembered a conversation from Terrace House 2019-2020 that I suddenly could relate to.
It was between Shohei and Haruka and the topic was quite similar to my line of thought. Shohei expressed having many passions and talents and not wanting to focus on one career only but on achieving his potential in several fields. I related to him when he said: “I feel trapped when I think of working in one field forever”. Haruka thought the opposite, saying: “I think it’s detrimental to identify as undecided to strangers. You risk coming across as wishy-washy”. Her critique stemmed from knowing how difficult it is in the Japanese society to embrace or accept Shohei’s attitude, as the standard there is working hard to achieve your one true vocation/career while the opposite is seen as lacking focus and determination.

The first time I heard this dialogue I related more with Haruka – maybe because I was still quite new at my job and I had the desire to excel at it. Now, a year later, Shohei’s side makes so much more sense to me and I find myself thinking that life would be too boring if I only focused on one thing.
Architecture? Project Management? It’s all fun and exciting, but why would I limit myself to that only? There is so much more I am interested in, writing, drawing, reading, travelling. I’d like to write a book, but I’ve always been focused on achieving one thing or another – school, moving away from home, finding a new job, reaching the role I wanted. And now? Time is ticking and before I know it I’ll be too old to take risks.
I should do more of what I enjoy, and take all the necessary time off work to focus on those things that give me pleasure and fulfillment.

Maybe I suddenly got reminded of this because it’s time to take action. Maybe the question is not what to do, but how and when I should do it.

9. exposure & attachment

Yesteday we went out for some errands after sunset and as soon as we passed the gate, I had this thought: “It’s nice to see the sheeps again”.
Right there, a flock of sheeps laid on the sun warmed concrete, calm and docile. Another was crossing the road in a haste to join their sisters, somehow aware of where danger lies.
We walked past them, so close I could’ve bent down and touched one of them. And while I was still processing that thought, I saw my father’s hand extend and reach for the nearest, smallest sheep. He gave it a gentle stroke from behind its ears to its back – a motion that the animal didn’t seem to be bothered by. Aware of where danger lies, and mercy too.
“It’s nice to see the sheeps again“, I thought, but then it also seemed like such an odd, fleeting emotion, no? How do you become attached to something so quickly just because you see it often? So you know what comes next – I googled it and, like nearly everything, turns out this fenomenon also has name:

I wonder if my tendency to get attached to things, places and people just by mere exposure is above, below or just fitting the norm.
Definitely food for thoughts.

4. Muqdisho – the arrival

We arrive at Aden Adde International Airport at 9am, perfectly on time. I follow the passenger to the passport control area and distractedly join a queue. Only half-way through it, I realise one queue is for somali citizens (Muwaddin) and the other for foreigners, and I’m obviously on the wrong one. I exit the queue to joing the one for those who hold a foreign passport, but a policeman stops me:
“Where are you going?”
“I think I’m in the wrong queue, I’m don’t have a somali passport”, I ezplain.
He waves his hand to dismiss the issue. “Iska joog meeshaada, stay where you are. You’re somali, aren’t you?”
I nod, and he goes: “Then you can stay, it’s fine.”
But I’m not convinced. I check the other side, where the visa counter is.
“But there is no visa counter here. Won’t they just send me to the other queue to get one anyway?”
“Waxaas ma jiro, there’s no such thing.” he says. He tells me his name and, pointing towards a corner in the hall where other policemen are sitting, he adds: “I’m there. If anyone says anything to you, call me.”
So I stay, forgetting his name almost immediately – but not his face. I briefly wonder if he’s bending the rules for me because I’m the only woman in the queue. Then I wonder if he knows how welcomed it made me feel with his rethoric question: “Soomali ma tihidoo? Aren’t you somali?”. Silly, right? Such a small thing can make you feel like you belong.
Shortly after, a woman with a child joins the queue. Then an elderly woman.
The elderly woman asks me if she can skip the queue because she can’t keep standing. I let her pass, and so do the men in front of me. Then they notice the mother and her child, and they let them go first too. Then they look at me, the only woman left in the queue, and tell me to go ahead as well.
I refuse cordially but they adamantly insist, then I insist more but they keep insisting. I know I shouldn’t accept (I’m not old, nor with children – why would a perfectly healthy person jump the queue?) but the sudden attention embarasses me and so I follow the ladies towards the counter.
A man at the front of the queue sees me and says: “I understand the elderly woman and the mother, but what about tan, this one?”.
Before I can answer, another man says: “C’mon, what are you complaining for? Let the women go first, man!”.
I feel even guiltier, but then the angry guy adds: “I understand one, but three?! This isn’t Europe, there is no such thing as ladies first here”.
I hold back a chuckle. Who will tell this man that no one lets women jump the queue in Europe? I ask him if he’d like me to return to the end of the queue – but that seems to irk him even more. He tells me to stay where I am, as if to say that the damage is done.
Suit yourself then, I think.
I hear him grumbling to his friend with a lower voice but soon after the drama is cut short when it’s my turn.
After passing the passport check, I find myself in the baggage hall, which apparently is also the entrance to the Arrival area of the airport. Those waiting for people and those waiting for their bags are all packed in the dimly lit space – four walls and a high ceiling filled with the background buzz of voices laughing and shouting orders.
I’m about to ask my father how they ensure that the baggages don’t get stolen, but I soon find out at the entrance: to leave with a baggage you need to show its tag. Where is my tag? Moments of panic follow, then I find it.
Once outside the airport, the light is so bright I have to squint my eyes. On our way to where I’m lodging, it feels strangely surreal that my flight has already ended – it felt strangely short.

As we drive, it’s 9:40am and all around us the city is buzzing with energy – a chaotic mix of people, cars, bajajs, cattle, donkeys and waste… A lot of waste.
Something has to be done about all this waste and dust/sand, I think, then I realise it’s a deja-vu. I had this his exact same thought three years ago.
Fast forward to 2020 – it doesn’t seem like much has changed in that sense, does it? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
We drive a few more minutes before reaching our destination – but the journey has just begun.

1. 2020 and the good in the bad

Is there anything more exciting for a blogger than starting a new blog?

I can confidently say that it’s in the top three of most exciting moments for a blogger, probably only second to getting a comment/like/share from someone highly admired – or getting famous, gasp!
My absolute favourite part? Writing this – the first post. The introduction. The declaration of intent. Oh, call it whatever you like, it’s never quite consistent with what comes after anyway.
Do I sound too used to this? Well, it’s hardly my first rodeo and, frankly, it’s just part of the regular maintenance that occurs overy 4/5 years of my life, after I realise there is no need to subject my readers to my old, embarassing posts. So new blog, new content, new thoughts – and when to best start if not at the end of a majorly cathartic year such as 2020?
The world has been through a lot and I’m sure that even those who haven’t experienced hardships directly probably have felt how fragile their happiness and wellbeing are.
The possibility of abruptly loosing the things in life that we take for granted is humbling, isn’t it? Doesn’t it put all in perspective and “makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of?”?

Since Covid-19 was unequivocably a strong reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed – this year I really did my best to make the most of today – and I learned two valuable lessons in the process.
First, to never hold back from asking just for fear of rejection. Is there anything more cowardly, childish and self-sabotaging than this? Being a daughter, an employee, a citizen -overall a human being with limited independence and a growing list of people I need to consult before making a decision- I think I had a tendency to filter my requests for fear of voicing them and having them rejected. At one point at the beginning of this year I somehow spontaneously overcame this when I realised that, surprisingly, when I ask for something more often than not the answer is yes. Needless to say this was a truly mindblowing notion for this 27 year old who thought she had everything figured out!
I still get a bit anxious before asking but now I kind of just push past it and accept the outcome.
Which leads to the second lesson learnt in 2020: to stop overplanning and let destiny take its course.This year, the things I did not plan had a much better result than those I planned, and I think the unexpected good in the bad made me even more appreciative of what I had. This reminds me of the quranic verse that says “[…] But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not” {2:216}. In theory I always said I put my trust in Allah, but only this year I truly felt like I wasn’t in control of my life – and I was happy with that.

“S,” you’ll say, “What’s with all this optimisim now? It’s 2020!”
My dear readers, old and new, it’s because it’s 2020!
Because of how hyperaware I’ve become of exactly how bad this year could’ve turned for me, because I know I’m no different than everyone else who had to endure the loss of a loved one, a hard-earned job, a long-planned journey, wedding, purchase of a house – because for destiny, luck or pure coincidence I have been spared all this… Well, everything that goes well in my life feels like a miracle that could’ve easily not occured.
And even though December is the month in which historically I have started the most inconsistent things of my life – well, so what? This year might be the exception that defies the rule.
This is what I want to do today, and there is no guarantee it will be consistent but I will give myself a chance at this exciting habit of blogging again.
And you? That thing you’re not doing for fear? Stop hesitating – it’s all in your hands!