2009 - a rather strange year...

If 2008 was quite possibly the single most intense year I've ever had, 2009 was the polar opposite, the most low-key year in all my adult life. I guess if you've pelted through life for two decades, having a quieter year is to be expected even though it can be difficult to live. When I'm used to all years having some highlights, a year like this feels like nothings happened. Of course many lovely things have happened but everything gets pitched against past experiences, past highs - so you have to hit even higher for it to nudge into conciousness.

Low-key doesn't mean bad though as I can see many good things that happened in the year. However as my recent past has been marked by some major achievements every year (usually in the work sense), 2009 has felt as if I've been laying strong foundations for the next chapter. I have no idea what lies ahead in this next chapter, I know that I want it to include my own family but as ever, this remains the one area of my life where I feel I have no control. At the end of the day, what is going to happen will happen - at times I do wish it would hurry up a bit though!

When I moved back to London from Ibiza in March, my flat was rented out and as I didn't have any work immediately, I took the safe option of moving back into the family home. It's not a decision I would have made by choice, it was more a decision of circumstances. In previous years, work has come my way fairly easily and I expected more of the same, even during the recession. However, something had changed fundamentally in what I wanted from work. I'd achieved all I needed to achieve on a personal work level before I left for Ibiza (and I never would have gone if I still felt I hadn't reached the peak that I'd been so determined to get to for a number of years) and deep down inside I knew that I wanted to find a way of working that would give me the freedom, flexibility and finances to live a life between London and Ibiza - and neither of the two things I'd done before would allow that. When the Arbonne opportunity came my way, as soon as I grasped the business potential, I realised I'd found the thing that could make my dream a reality, I just have to work it and it will happen. But the set up means that you're not necessarily making big money immediately - you take the biggest pay cut ever in a bid to earn more than you've probably dreamt was possible.

Back in London, staying at my parents house and with little money and initially no work meant socialising disappeared from any scale of importance. Also when I'm feeling slightly off-kilter as I did when I returned to London, I only want to see those I'm closest to. I spent a lot of time with Claud and the boys - with Kymani and Elias as my godsons, it only felt natural to go and hang out with them and they always lifted my spirits when I saw them. Staying in Dulwich meant that my nearest neighbour turned out to be Wilding, only two streets away. We embarked on a lot of spontaneous socialising in East Dulwich and by the time he moved out of the area a couple of weeks ago, I found myself considering him one of my best friends, certainly one of a handful who I would confide in about anything.

This sort of more spontaneous socialising suits me better - with Wilding, most of the time one or the other would call or text suggesting meeting up and an hour or two later and that would be it. No foreward planning, no getting diaries out to consult when we both had a free window - I think the only times I saw him when it was slightly more "organised" was when he was either DJing or doing one of the podcasts live. With Claud and the boys it was a little more planned but by days, not weeks in advance. Whenever I was free, I'd slot in with whatever they were doing which meant I've seen a lot of the boys this year. By Easter it was becoming apparent that they recognised me and even Kymani who takes a long time to warm to people was coming round to me. Now he'll be more excited to see me than twin Elias, but I'm very much a part of both of their lives.

One of the things I really didn't like about life before I moved to Ibiza was how difficult it was to see friends, spontaneity was a word that just didn't seem to feature in most people's vocabularies. You'd have to consult diaries and plan weeks or even months ahead to get a two-hour slot with someone you considered a close friend. The main consequence of that is by the time you meet up, have said hello and got past the "how are you" bit, it's time to go home again. And so it goes on, every time you meet up, you never get past the "how are you bit" so you end up feeling somewhat disconnected with people. It's fine if they're social acquaintances who you only see out and about and it's normal to have a 3-second conversation but strange with people you'd consider closer. Maybe I was at fault as I seemed to have a lot of friends and would flit between different people, different groups. I saw a little bit of lots of people.

It's been different this year, at first through circumstance and now I wouldn't choose it to be any other way. I've spent a lot of time with just a few people and consequently I feel I've got much deeper, stronger, tighter bonds with them. When my mum first went into hospital in November, it was Claud and Wilding who were the only two people who knew what was going on. They provided constant support, always asked how my mum was, always asked if we'd had any results. They are the two people in London I know I can go to if I'm feeling wobbly, if I feel in need of a hug. And the great thing is, having spent so much time with them the past few months, I feel completely at ease being totally open with them. So even though I haven't liked not having much money, not feeling work has completely taken off and being back in my childhood home, something very positive, very special has come out of it, as it seems it always does!

I didn't focus on Arbonne until the beginning of October and used August and September to jetset around, doing all the things I wanted to do, all the things that if I'd been working full-time (even for myself) would have been impossible to do. I gallavanted around and it all felt quite decadent and at times a bit reckless but I'm glad I did it! There was only one week in those two months when I wasn't getting on a plane but I still found myself at the airport as Simone was in transit and I wanted to get a couple of hours with her. My two trips to Ibiza meant spending a lot of time with Octavia as I was staying with her and that was just brilliant! She has to be my favourite person on the island and the first person I'll see I can stay with whenever I head over there. I flew up to Edinburgh for the night as Wilding as doing another live show of the Perfect Ten. Ten days later I flew back up to Scotland for Daryl's wedding in the Highlands, against the beautiful backdrop of Loch Lomond. And then a day after getting back to London from my second trip to Ibiza, I jetted off again to LA to celebrate Carly's birthday with her. So although this year has felt very low key, it has been very much friend-focused and I think deep down inside, that was something I wanted, needed, had been looking for.

The other thing that I'm aware of is that after three years of kinesiology treatment, I finally feel that I'm back to normal. When I last went to see the kinesiologist at the beginning of October, I was acutely aware of the fact that my hormones were still wonky and I found myself wondering if I would ever feel better, would I ever be okay again, would I ever find myself feeling normal again? In that session, the problem that came to the fore was candida in my stomach, quite possibly the reason why I looked and felt constantly bloated in my lower stomach. No matter how many sit-ups I did a day, my lower belly just had a mind of its own. I was given a whole heap of supplements to take for four months, with a secondary supplement to try and balance the hormones. When I started the course of supplements I was feeling truly horrendous and once again wondered when, if ever, would I be better?

But I was determined to take the supplements properly, the correct number every day and not miss any days out. The first month I didn't see or feel any results but by the second month, my bloated stomach disappeared and other stomach problems I'd had eased away too. And amongst all of this, it felt like my hormones were back to behaving normally. I'd hate to think what state I would have been the last few weeks while we've been having parent health scares if my hormones were still all over the place. I probably would have plummeted and then had to drag myself out again from the lowest depths. Yet now, having to face some fairly stressful situations, I held it all together and got on with things, my hormones not preventing me from functioning properly. Further research into candida showed that it can cause a hormonal imbalance or depression and so this may have been one of the major problems all along. Finally I feel like my insides are back to being healthy and I can resume normal life where health is concerned.

So 2009 is definitely not a year when nothing happened. But what's been going on has been part of this foundation I've been laying for what is around the corner. I feel like I'm ready for whatever it is and once it comes, I can spring into action, knowing my health is back, I think I've dealt with any other outstanding issues and grown and developed and created a bedrock of incredibly strong, loyal, brilliant friends. When next year kicks into action and whatever magic coming my way comes, I'll look back at this time and be thankful that I got everything in order so I was ready for the next chapter!

My favourite song of 2009....

It's been another year where I haven't bought that much new music, or even listened to many new albums. However, even in the musical drought, I did get hold of the new Prefab Sprout album "Lets change the world with music" and that ended up being my favourite album of the year (I listen to it every night as I drift off to sleep) as well as providing me with my favourite song of 2009.

The song is "God Watch Over You" and is the fourth track on the album. Being so blase about religion, I actually struggled in the beginning with loving a song so much that talked about God. But I fell in love with the lyrics and have accepted the song for the beautiful words, even if they do mention God. I understand the meaning, the spirit of the song, to care about someone so much that you want them to be forever protected and what a beautiful sentiment that is. Here are the lyrics, let them capture you too!

God Watch Over You

I've no time for religion,
maybe doubt's a modern disease?
Then I look at you, and here's what I do,
I wear holes in both my knees.

I pray that God protects you,
and if he is busy elsewhere
may his legions speed
in your hour of need
and surround you till he's there.

I pray that God protects you...

God watch over you
every minute, every moment
God watch over you
every minute, every moment
God watch over you (and if you fall)

May he stretch out his arm and catch you,
keep you from harm, or sweep you
into his palm...but...

God watch over you
God watch over you

I've told your guardian angel
not to let you out of his sight
or attempt to fly - if he sees you cry
he's to stand his ground and fight,
I've warned your guardian angel...

God watch over you
every minute, every moment
God watch over you
every minute, every moment
God watch over you (and if you fall)

May he stretch out his arm and catch you,
keep you from harm, or sweep you
into his palm...but...

God watch over you
God watch over you (and if you fall)
God watch over you

God watch over you
God watch over you


I love the way that Paddy McAloon puts lyrics together. In the first verse, the last line "I wear holes in both my knees" - although the words are actually nonsensical, they immediately create an image of someone on their knees, praying fervently. He projects an image using words that don't actually make sense. Although this is quite normal for a Sprout song and the lyrics on this album are nowhere near as bonkers as they have been on other albums.

The whole album is linked by the dual themes of music and religion. And when I hear someone sing so passionately about music, all it makes me want to do is put down some roots somewhere (I've been living like a hobo for nearly two years now), get all my stuff out of storage, set up my decks, sort out my CDs and albums and make music a big part of my life again!

Numb...

Otherwise known as not feeling anything. That's how the last week or so has been. Nothing to do with the cold weather we've been having, everything to do with both parents being admitted to hospital just before Christmas. Back in the middle of November, my dad collapsed. Not quite in front of me but I was in the room and had my back to him. I turned to see him with his head and upper body collapsed on the dining table, he looked like he had gone. I screamed and turned away, hitting my forehead at the same time (I have no idea why I do this but I've noticed that when I witness something bad, I hit my forehead - can anyone explain this?). Then I turned back and went to him, all the while in a state of panic and fluster. My aunt and uncle were there too and my mum was in the kitchen. We were all panicking and I realised that at least one person needed to get a grip and take control of the situation so I picked up the phone and dialled 999. By this time my dad had lifted his head from the table, announcing he'd "just been resting". For a split second I thought I'd over-reacted but then I'd seen him looking dead and decided that he was under-playing the scene, not me over-playing it.

My dad kept insisting he was fine but I wasn't convinced and carried on with the 999 call. At some point, he had another attack and although he remained upright because we were holding him, his eyes went funny and he wasn't really there. My mum came into the room and asked him how he was. "I'm fine" he replied. "He's fine" my mum said, followed by "you can cancel the ambulance, he's fine...". She then tried to give him some water and his breakfast until I told her not to. The first paramedic arrived pretty promptly, followed by the ambulance and a second crew of paramedics. They checked him out, said we'd done the right thing by calling 999 and took him off to hospital for a full check-up. I had to go with him even though I hate hospitals and my older sister Rahila followed behind, bringing my mum with her. While we were in A&E waiting to see someone, my dad asked me what happened. I asked him how much he remembered. He remembered me coming into the room but not much else after that. The next thing he remembered was after the first paramedic had arrived. It dawned on me that there was a period of about ten or fifteen minutes he had no recollection of and it was during this time he was insisting he was fine.

Once Rahila arrived at the hospital, I left in a daze and complete state of shock. I know this was the case as I went to the bus stop and didn't even register that I was stood at the wrong bus stop. It was only when a few of the right buses went straight past even though I was trying to stop them that I realised something was amiss. Eventually I got on the right bus and got home. I was in shock by what had happened but more in shock by the reaction of both parents, insisting that everything was okay. My parents tend to deal with things by that great Pakistani trait, sweeping everything under the carpet and being in total denial about things, particularly when they are staring right at them. It's a trait that frustrates me but it seems as if many people are too scared to look at what's going on and hope that by brushing things under the carpet, it will magically disappear. Sometimes the crap under the carpet is so big it creates a mountain with the person sat precariously on top, convinced that everything is okay but that's only because they can't see the big pile of crap they're sat on.

Once back home, my parents told others that the reason my dad had collapsed was because he'd been making breakfast or hadn't had breakfast - anything to gloss over the fact that something might be wrong. And it's amazing how people will buy this. They told the same story to my brother and I heard him relaying it to one of the neighbours who'd come to ask how he was. I went out and told my brother that his story was in fact incorrect - my dad has a history of mini strokes, although this time the hospital think it may be something to do with his heart. My brother told me the same thing had happened a few years ago when he'd been there with my mum. They'd done nothing as my dad had come round and said he was fine. Turned out my dad had collapsed last year as well at the time of my brother's wedding and once again, came round quickly insisting he was fine. And once again, nothing was done...

After this episode with my dad and seeing the level of denial that people operate under, I decided to go to a hospital appointment my mum had the following Friday. Her haemoglobin count has been plummeting which means something is wrong. The local rather useless GP's clinic had put her on iron tablets but still the haemoglobin level kept going down. In the meeting with the Consultant, my mum insisted she was perfectly okay but with the haemoglobin count continuing downwards, the Consultant said that she wasn't perfectly okay and they wanted to admit her straight away so they could investigate further. She wanted to go home to get her things so I made her stay and wait for a bed, sending my dad home instead to get her things. After hours of waiting a bed finally came up and we could leave her in the hands of the hospital staff. While we were waiting for a bed, another Consultant came to see my mum. He mentioned the term myeloma and my ears pricked - this was the term Rahila had asked about when I'd called her to say they were going to admit my mum. In the meeting with the first Consultant, I hadn't known what to listen out for but after talking to my sister (she's a doctor so knows these sorts of things), I knew to listen out for myeloma even though I had no idea what it was. The doctors suspected my mum might have myeloma and wanted to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if that was the case. I asked the Consultant what myeloma is and he wouldn't tell me as he said it upsets people and I should look on the internet.

Once I got home, I spoke to Rahila and told her what the Consultant had said. She said not to look up what myeloma was but by saying that, I did exactly that. Switched on my computer, went to Google and typed in myeloma. It didn't take long to discover that myeloma is bone marrow cancer, it's not curable and it's rare. Via the internet I found out that my mum might have cancer. When I went to bed that night I lay there worrying and after a few hours of not being able to sleep, got up and phoned my cousin in Dallas who is one of the many doctors in the family and we'd been trying to get hold of him. He asked me if they were testing for myeloma and I said yes. When I went back to bed, still unable to sleep, I found myself projecting forwards in a world where my mum does have myeloma and I had to stop myself - you can't react to something if you're not sure about it which leaves you not being able to have any emotional reaction at all. And you have to remain in emotional limbo until there is a confirmed diagnosis.

My mum stayed in hospital for a week. I went into auto-pilot, juggling work around being at the hospital between 2-8, the normal visiting hours. Work was busy and it was good to have something else to focus on at an otherwise trying time. It made me realise that I need the parameters of work to help me cope during challenging times. My mum was scared about the biopsy, about how painful it would be. Every time a nurse or doctor came to see her, she'd keep asking the same thing "will it hurt, will it be painful?" She wanted to have as many people as possible there when she had the biopsy and for every visitor she had who was in some ways connected to the world of medicine, she asked if they could be there for the biopsy. We knew she couldn't be on her own when the biopsy happened and it turned out that both me and my dad were there when the procedure finally took place.

My dad and I had to wait outside the room while they did the biopsy. My dad was still talking about going to Pakistan (they were due to go the following Sunday). Even though the Consultant had advised against travelling when my mum had been admitted, my dad still thought she might be okay in time to travel on Sunday. I had to tell him that they wouldn't be going to Pakistan on Sunday even though he was convinced it might still be possible. I felt like the person who was spoiling all their fun, telling them they couldn't do the one thing they always do and maybe spend the whole year looking forward to.

Once the biopsy was done, we could go back into the room. My mum was lying on the bed looking shocked. When she saw us, she started to cry. I had to tell her not to cry as that would make me cry and then we sat with her, either side of her bed, holding her hands. At one point, my mum asked me to lean in so she could hug me. I guess she needed the human contact and it made me wonder if I hadn't of been there, would she have asked my dad for a hug? Probably not. A lot of Pakistani people of my parents generation have no physical contact with their spouses in public. I've never seen my parents hold hands or embrace or hug, nothing natural and spontaneous - it's strange growing up in a household where there is no natural affection between parents for children to see. My mum doesn't even call my dad by his name, preferring to use the term "soon yay" which translated from the Urdu means something like "listen here". In fact, a Japanese friend of my sister's was staying at the house for a while and she actually thought my dad's name was "soon yay" as that's how she heard my mum call him and assumed that was his name.

My mum came out of hospital a few days later and had to go back the following week for the biopsy results. Another week of waiting in limbo, unable to react. I went to the hospital the following week and although she was seen by a specialist myeloma consultant, they still couldn't give us any definitive results and had to go back two weeks later. Another two weeks of not knowing, being in emotional limbo, not being able to react. I found the time trying. My closest friends knew but I realised that I couldn't tell other close friends as I wasn't sure what I was going to tell them - my mum might have cancer. But then she might not. Being in limbo is tiring, whatever it's about but this kind of limbo is particularly tiring.

Two weeks later, the week before Christmas, we went back to the hospital to get the results. The doctors confirmed what they suspected - my mum had myeloma and would need to start treatment. This time they had to explain what myeloma was, they had to tell my mum and dad that it was cancer and she would need to start a course of chemotherapy. The bombshell finally dropped, my mum's ill, she's been ill for a while, probably a couple of years or more. She couldn't say she was perfectly okay anymore as there was now the proof to prove that that wasn't the case. I wasn't sure how my mum or dad would react to the news. I wasn't sure how I'd react either. Both parents were okay, subdued but okay. My mum didn't start crying and I thought she might. I didn't start crying either and I thought I might. Much later I realised that I was on auto-pilot, had been on auto-pilot since my dad collapsed and there's no room for emotion here.

After the diagnosis, I called Rahila to tell her. While we'd been in the meeting, my phone had been switched off and when I switched it back on again, I could see that my younger sister Alia had called a number of times and sent texts. When I spoke to Rahila I asked her whether I should tell Alia over the phone or go and tell her? Alia is prone to getting very emotional and upset by things like this and I wasn't sure how best to handle it. Rahila said it would be okay to call her so I did. When I told her that they had confirmed myeloma she burst into tears and kept asking "are they sure, are they sure?" This was pretty hard as although I can keep my own emotions in check, when others around me start crying that's when I start to lose it. And I didn't want to lose it in the corridor of King's College Hospital with lots of people passing by. I'm sure they're used to it but I'm not.

My mum had to start the course of chemotherapy straight away and as it's something that can be taken at home, I left my parents in the pharmacy to wait for a big bag of drugs while I went home and then on to dinner with friends - finally I could tell my nearest and dearest what was going on. Actually only three of my best friends knew that anything was up, Claud and Wilding in London and Simone in Abu Dhabi. They were a constant source of support in the limbo period, calling, texting, emailing to see if there was any news, to see how I was. Wilding sent me a text, asking how everyone was, how I was. And I replied honestly, I didn't know how I was because I just seemed numb, I didn't feel anything. Even once the bombshell had dropped, no reaction happened. I waited for a great rush of emotion but nothing. Obviously I didn't feel happy or joyful but I didn't feel scared or sad or broken-hearted either, I just didn't feel anything. And for someone who feels everything, who is very much in tune with feelings and emotions and lives life by how they feel about something, it was strange to feel nothing.

When I came back from work the next day, I asked my mum if she had started the treatment. She hadn't as she'd come down with a cold or flu. When my parents left the hospital the night before, they stepped out into the cold, rainy night and got a bus back to Dulwich. On that short journey home, my mum picked up a bug and couldn't start the treatment until she was well again. A few days later, I noticed that my dad's right eye was droopy and he had a rash on his head. I asked him about it and he said that his eye had been like that for a few days and the rash was dermatitus. I called Rahila to tell him about my dad's eye (she's an opthamologist) but she was out shopping so I left a message with my nephew instead. The next day we all got together at Rahila's for her birthday lunch. As soon as Rahila and her husband Andrew (also a doctor) saw my dad, they said he had shingles and needed to start medication immediately. As it was a Sunday, Andrew took them both to A&E instead of hunting around for a pharmacy that might be open. As soon as they saw my mum, they said she had pnumonia and admitted her straight away, particularly after the myeloma diagnosis. My dad was given medication for the shingles and came back home again.

So, before the reality of my mum's myeloma had a chance to even begin to sink in, she was back in hospital with pnuemonia, caught on the bus home after being diagnosed. My dad probably came down with shingles at the same time. A part of me wonders how much they managed to fight things off while they believed that everything was okay but as soon as they found out that my mum has a form of cancer, something inside of them just collapsed. Not one fell, they both did. A few days after my mum was admitted, my dad was brought back into A&E by Rahila. He'd had a home visit by the doctor who was not happy with his worsening condition and when Rahila saw him later that evening, she said she was bringing him straight in. I was already at the hospital with my mum. She'd been kept in isolation while they tested for Swine flu but once they got the results that she didn't have the virus, she could be moved onto a Haemotology ward. Once again we waited for a bed and I asked the nurses if I could wait until she was moved and they said yes. Once my dad came in, I went down to A&E to see him. When I explained to the nurses where I was going, they expressed the disbelief that I felt, one parent already in, the other just being brought in. And this is with two people who until this year have not had any major health issues that have involved overnight hospital stays. I never imagined that 2009, this strange year that so many have hated and can't wait to see end, would have been the year that my parents literally began to crumble in front of me.

When I got down to A&E and saw my dad, I started laughing. My dad started laughing too. The situation was quite surreal and unbelieveable and it felt like I'd accidently walked onto the set of some Hollywood Christmas movie. My dad looked like a tom cat that had been scrapping. His face was swollen and his eyes had practically disappeared. The shingles had left him with sores and scabs all over one side of his forehead and head and he had stubble. I don't think I've ever seen him with stubble, so fastidious is he with his shaving. At one point he was sat next to a guy who was a bouncer who'd been attacked. My dad looked as damaged as this man who'd been hit by a few and had his head stamped on. I finally left the hospital at around two and collapsed into a tired heap in bed.

With both parents in hospital, life revolved around them and their health. I was on auto-pilot, not being aware of much else. With it being the Christmas period, you don't even have work to distract you for a few hours, to add a bit of normality in an otherwise bizarre period. I took a day off on Boxing Day and got out of London, went to see friends and get fed. Even just a few days of hours spent at the hospital leaves you physically drained and exhausted and in my case, hungry. After a few days of eating hospital sandwiches, I needed to go and get fed, as well as have a little escape. After the hospital on Christmas Day I went off to Claudette's house for Christmas dinner and then away again on Boxing Day for a lot more food and time spent with friends. I thought this break would refresh me a bit but when I went back to the hospital on Sunday, I felt weepy and hungry and if I did feel any emotions, they were anger and frustration, not the emotions I was expecting to feel. On Monday night as I tried to sleep but found I couldn't, it felt like someone had whacked me round the head with a shovel and I had all this anger and frustration inside of me with no place to come out.

The next morning I made an appointment to see the counsellor attached to the department my mum is a patient of. It was really good to talk to her and start to come to terms with what had happened. The thing that I found most strange, probably struggled with the most (apart from incredible exhaustion, even after ten hours sleep a night) was that apart from feeling angry and frustrated, I didn't feel anything else. I didn't feel scared by my parents' mortality or the cancer diagnosis, I didn't feel sad, I didn't worry, I just didn't seem to feel anything that I would have expected to feel. For someone who is so in tune with emotions and knowing how I'm feeling, to go through so much and not feel a thing just seemed bizarre. I don't hide from my feelings but it seemed they were hiding from me. This leaves me with the problem of not knowing what to do, what I want to do, what I don't want to do - I've always used how I feel about things to take action, my feelings guide me so when you have no feelings, your terms of reference for how you live your life, how you function, have been whipped away from you with nothing to replace them.

The counsellor said this is normal, when you go into auto-pilot, you have to do, not feel, the priority is to be practical, not emotional. Also I won't let my feelings surface until I feel I'm somewhere where I feel comfortable and relaxed - I may be staying at the family home but it's not my home - until I'm somewhere I feel truly comfortable, the feelings will remain hidden. After this was explained to me and the counsellor assured me that my feelings would return, it made me realise this emotional void I've been living recently is a lot of people's reality. So weird, I'm finding it difficult to feel nothing and so many people make themselves feel nothing or hide from their deepest feelings and emotions as a way of coping with day to day life. I'd choose the full range of emotions any day. It's been worrying not knowing when exactly my feelings will return, when I'll begin to feel "normal" again. It helps that I know all the things I can do to make me feel better (I'm in pursuit of good feelings, the bad ones can just stay away) and even just a short run today made me feel just that little bit normal. Talking to my friend Soraya in Ibiza shed light on what I was going through a little more as she said one of her friends was experiencing exactly the same thing. Even just talking to her made me smile and feel happy again. So, it feels like the numb feeling is starting to lift in time for a new year, a new decade! Just as well, I didn't want to go into 2010 feeling emotionally lost and numb....

End of a decade

I was reading the Observer Music Monthly's feature on music from the last decade and it suddenly struck me that we're just over a month away from one decade ending and a new one starting and I hadn't even realised until today. I was so baffled by this that I asked out loud "does this decade end this year or next?". My friend Lucy said next year but as I sat there, counting the years from 2000 to 2009 on my fingers, it dawned on me that the decade was coming to a close...

It feels like the decade it trying to end quietly, without anyone noticing, a bit like someone leaving a party without saying good-bye to anyone as they don't want people to know they've left. It feels like the noughties are trying to sneak out, tip-toe away without anyone making too much fuss. Is there something strange going on or is this what happens when you're a decade older and wiser? I know in general it's been a strange year globally because of the recession but even without that, I can't quite decide how I feel about this year. Generally when I look back over the year, I can easily identify the highs and the not-so-highs and the year will have a particular feel to it, it'll get lodged in my memory bank for particular reasons. 2009 just doesn't feel like that....

I can see the good things that have happened in the year, but these have often been the result of an otherwise not great situation - they've been the silver linings to my clouds. It's not been an ecstatically high or horribly low year but it's coming to an end and I'm not sure quite how I'll remember it.

I remember 1989 coming to a close and the excitement of a new decade about to start. Excitement tinged with a little apprehension, you're 20, you think you know everything about everything but actually you know nothing as you have little or no life experience. You're excited about what the new decade will bring but at the same time wondering what exactly it will bring and all you can do is wonder. The Berlin Wall had come down a few months earlier, I'd left home and started university and the adventure had just begun. Soul II Soul were singing about a new decade, I'd just read an article that profoundly changed my life as it resonated in a way that nothing had done before.

The end of 1999 seemed to be an even bigger affair for everyone, not just the end of a decade but the end of a millenium. Everyone was wondering if there'd be an IT meltdown just as we welcomed in the year 2000. It seemed like a big deal then but imagine it now - technology has leapt so far forwards that if you took away the internet and mobiles and other gadgets from people, even for a few hours, there would certainly be a meltdown - of the human kind....

Lets see what this new decade brings!

Been a long time....

....since I last posted but I'm still here! The main reason for a lack of posting is that I have another blog but it's a private blog, for me only. There's nothing wild or crazy in it, just that I treat my blog like a diary and some of the stuff I write about, well it's not for public consumption. I've always written privately, even when I was doing the blog regularly last year, writing is my way of dealing with things in my life but that doesn't mean I want to share it with the world, just want a place to get it down.

Anyway, since my last post here, a lot has been happening and here's a quick overview. I went to Ibiza again for a few days. I was slightly apprehensive about going as Will my ex was going to be there and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about being on the island at the same time as him. There's no animosity between us but he's just not a part of my life and as my first trip to the island happened a few months after we split up, Ibiza is a part of my life post-Will.

I got to the island a few days before he was arriving with the boys. I didn't have any contact with Will prior to going but he knew I'd be there and he was cool with that. The day they all arrived, Colin sent me a text to say they would be in Ibiza town later that evening and I said I'd meet them for a drink once I was back. I was off hopping around the island with Octavia but once we were back in town, we went to meet the boys for a few drinks. We had a hilarious few hours - I didn't engage that much with Will but I wasn't rude or difficult, just didn't have that much conversation for him. At one point, a slightly drunk Octavia turned to Will and the conversation went something like this:

O - so, you're Will?
W - erm, yes...
O - The Will?
W - err yes...
O - well you're a bloody idiot aren't you! I haven't known Azra that long but she is amazing!

She said some other lovely things about me but I can't remember exactly what these were because by this point, we all had the same reaction:

"Oh my god, I can't believe she just said that" and secretly thinking "she's just said what we've always thought but no-one ever said it out loud...."

I found the whole thing hilarious but it was one of those moments where you're left with your mouth hanging open in slight disbelief. The next day we were going off to Space (me and the boys, no Octavia) but we all met for a drink beforehand. From what Octavia said, Will thought I was dressing quite provocatively but I pointed out it was just my "Ibiza" wardrobe, in fact it was exactly the same outfit I'd worn to Space when I'd been in August. Once in Space, I hung out with the boys but didn't really engage that much with Will again. It wasn't intentional, I just don't feel any real connection with him anymore. He's still a lovely, sweet, gentle person but our lives are so different and I've moved on so much and we have nothing to bond us together.

After the previous night's hilarious turn of events, little did I know that that night would also have a funny twist. We'd been at Space a couple of hours and I was on the dance floor with all the boys, including Will. I turned round to see him a couple of feet away from me, snogging some woman he'd just pulled. A few years ago that would have hurt me so much yet all I could think was "Oh Will, if you had to pull someone in front of me, couldn't you have gone for someone younger and hotter!" - the woman in question was not exactly a stunner and that place if full of gorgeous girls. The next thing I thought was "Space is massive, do you have to do this right in front of me when you could have disappeared to a quiet little corner....". But although I had thoughts running through my head, I didn't feel anything and at that precise moment I gained a little piece of wisdom - a person can't hurt your feelings if you have no feelings for them.....

After Ibiza I came back to London for a day and then flew off to LA for a long weekend to celebrate my friend Carly's birthday. I visited LA twice in 1994 and didn't like it at all but on this trip, I fell in love with the place. I think it probably helped that Carly lives in a very cool part of Venice, not far from the beach and the vibe reminded me a little of Ibiza. It was great to see her and hang out with her in her home town as whenever we've met before, it's always been in London, I've never seen her on her home turf. We went to Palm Springs for the actual birthday celebrations, taking over Hope Springs for the weekend. The place consists of 10 double rooms, each with an en-suite and a kitchenette, positioned around a series of 3 pools, the main pool, a hot mineral pool and an even hotter indoor mineral pool. The whole place was decked out in gorgeous midcentury modern furniture and it felt good to be in such beautiful surroundings again. We were a total of 20 people for the birthday celebrations, most of them new faces for me. On the Saturday, I found myself in a total blissed out haze and when I'm like that, I don't really talk to anyone. It's not being anti-social, just that when I'm having my prolonged moments of joy, I seem to quietly enjoy them and experience them and talking is the last thing I want to do. By the Sunday, I'd found my voice again and we had a great morning hanging out in the pool, lots of animated conversation and laughing and plenty of anecdotes from me.

Once back from LA, I knew that the decadence of the previous two months had to end, to be replaced with total focus on Arbonne. During August and September, there had only been one week when I'd not been getting on a plane and although the jet set life-style was great fun and I got to hang out with people who are very special to me, it meant that my life was too disjointed to give Arbonne any real commitment. Having set things up before and knowing how I work, I need to focus completely on something and create momentum early on otherwise it just doesn't work for me. I want to see results quickly, I want to get on with things and if I feel like I'm dithering around, I lose interest.

So the last two months have been work-focused and November in particular has been great. As with anything, the results you see are effort-based - the more you put in, the more you get out. It helps that the products are just so amazing and having been using them for about six months now, I can really see the difference in my skin. Someone thought I was 22 a few weeks back so something is definitely working!

The irony is that my best week so far was also the week that we had health scares with both Ami and Abi (my parents for anyone who doesn't recognise the Urdu terms). I think finally they're coming to terms with the fact that their health needs attention and by ignoring things, they are doing nothing to prolong life. Ami spent a week in hospital and had a bone marrow biopsy - we're just waiting for the results to see what's going on. It's been a worrying, stressful fortnight but at least I've had work to keep me busy and focused but still allow me the flexibility to spend time at the hospital when need be. The busier and more focused I am, the better I seem to deal with things so just as well I got things kicked into action when I did.

There's not much else to report. I'm still staying at the family home in Dulwich but it'll be time to move on soon, particularly as my friend Wilding who lives 2 streets away is moving out of the hood in a few weeks time and suddenly Dulwich will lose a large part of its appeal. We've had some great spontaneous sessions hanging out and he has become a most brilliant friend so it'll be sad when he goes but no doubt it will be the catalyst for me to move too, although I still have no idea where I want to live. I still love the Palace but I know I don't want to move back into my old flat, a case of life moving forwards not backwards. I'm sure something will pop up soon to entice me to a particular place in London....

Yoga

I have done yoga on and off for the last seven years. By on and off I mean that I'll do it religiously every week and then stop for a year or two for some reason.

I stopped doing ashtanga yoga when I moved to Ibiza so a year and a half ago. I was going to start there but never got round to finding a good teacher locally. In my last month, I did loads of Bikram yoga which was great but I still prefer ashtanga.

I've recently returned to my Saturday morning yoga class. I'd been meaning to start up ever since moving back but the thing that really propelled me back to class was that I've been swimming a lot in the mornings and often I'd find that after a swim, my body literally ached to do yoga, to be stretched and lengthened again.

I went to class about six weeks ago. Fortunately my body didn't feel too tight and it didn't feel as if I'd gone backwards too much. My body is very unsupple, always has been, so any length of time away from regular yoga often makes a huge difference. But things seem to be okay. In fact, I found I got into positions I'd never been able to get into before - simply because I'd forgotten that I'd never been able to do them. I found myself in one position and then thought "hang on, I couldn't actually do this before..."

I've done a couple of classes since. My body feels completely different. More open and strong and I don't know why that is. Last Saturday I got into a headstand properly and held it for a minute without toppling. I've never been able to get into a headstand before, I've always positioned myself by a wall and flung my legs up onto the wall and then slowly, gingerly moved them away and tried to keep my balance. But this time I managed it. You have to have fairly strong stomach muscles to be able to get into the position - maybe all those stomach crunches have made a difference after all!

I was so excited by my progress (it only took seven years to do it!) that I told my older sister when I saw her later.

"I've done a headstand and I'm going to do a grasshopper next"

"What's that?" she asked.

I went to demonstrate it and got into the position. I could only hold it for about a second before I toppled backwards but I still did it. That meant two firsts in one day - result!

This is one of the things I love about yoga. I am constantly making progress but it is millimetre by millimetre. And for someone as impatient as me, I'm surprised that I don't get frustrated by my slow progress. But I know that is because my body can only do what it can do. If I try and force it into something it's not ready to do, I'll get hurt. For someone in such a hurry to get every where and do every thing, it's good to have something where I make gentle progress but it's always a huge sense of achievement!

My dad's operation

My dad had total knee replacement surgery a few weeks ago. He's 81 and it was the first time he'd ever stayed in hospital. He wasn't even born in a hospital so it must have been quite a strange experience for him. He came out a week later and is now recovering at home and hopefully he'll be fully recovered soon and able to resume normal life.

I'm not sure how my dad felt about going into hospital or having the operation. We don't talk emotions in my family, which is a little strange for me because I do. But the whole experience seems to have aged him about two decades so he now looks like the old man that he is, as opposed to the young whippersnapper that I always think of him of. It looks like he's shrunk and I'm wondering where his spirit is, I really just want him to be back to how he was before....

Watching your parents age in front of you is no easy thing. I remember last year when I was back from Ibiza for the Luxury Travel Fair, staying at my parents place. Me and my dad left the house at the same time and walked round towards the bus stop together. As we got to the zebra crossing his bus was coming so he ran to get the bus and as I crossed the road, I turned to watch him. It suddenly struck me that his shoulders were no longer straight, he was completely dipped on the right hand side because of his bad knee. A few months ago his knee was causing him so much pain he had to start walking using a walking stick. I think my dad must have found this really difficult as it's a sign of getting older and he's not into the ageing process. I remember the first time I saw him walk with that stick, I caught my breath - suddenly my dad looked like an old man.

I'm not sure how my dad's operation has affected anyone in the family, him included. All I know is how I've felt about it. The day my dad was having his operation I was flying up to Edinburgh for the night. At the back of my mind was the thought of how quickly I could get back if anything went wrong. Perhaps a better daughter wouldn't have gone at all and I found myself grappling with guilt but I went, staying in contact by phone before, during and after his operation. The thing that worried me was not the operation itself but his age. Does getting better get harder as you get older?

When I got back from Edinburgh the next day, my mum said "your dad's doing so much better already. They've taken his oxygen mask and drip off!" (obviously this would have been said in Urdu, she doesn't talk in English to me). When she said this, I realised going to Edinburgh was the best thing I could have done as if I'd been there the day of the op, I would have gone straight to the hospital and seeing my dad with an oxygen mask and drip would have hit me quite badly. I hate hospitals anyway, hate seeing people in pain or suffering. I remember when I was a kid and my dad still used to work evenings in Macey's chemist. One time when he was at work, someone came into the chemists to rob them I think. My dad got hit in the face and his glasses were broken. My mum told us what had happened and I went and hid in my room, sobbing all night about someone hurting my dad. I've never been a daddy's girl but I am very close to him, always have been.

I went to see my dad the day after I got back from Edinburgh. In my head, he'd be up in his bed all chipper and cheeky and joking with the nurses. What I saw was an old man who looked like he'd shrunk, he looked frail and feeble and vulnerable. He wasn't eating properly as he didn't like the hospital food - I didn't blame him, it looked pretty dreadful to me. I went with Rahila my older sister and as she's a doctor, she grilled the hospital staff on how my dad was doing. They told her that he'd taken a fall in the night. He'd failed to mention it to us himself. He'd got up in the night to use the bathroom and instead of calling someone to help him, my independent dad decided to go alone with his zimmer frame. Somewhere on the floor there was water and he slipped. I don't know how long he was there before someone found him but we had to tell him off for going alone in the first place. But I guess it must be hard for him. His whole life everyone has depended on him, relied on him and he never likes to ask for help. He's fiercely proud of everything he's achieved alone and asking for help doesn't seem to come naturally to him (I can see where I get it from then!)

I found that first visit to the hospital really difficult. For my dad hours lying in a hospital bed may make him think of his own mortality. Going to see him in hospital made me think of his mortality. I felt horribly strange afterwards, it's not something I like to think about. By chance I was seeing my friend Wilding after the hospital. Somehow, since moving back to London, Wilding has become one of my closest friends and he's one of the two friends I've seen the most since getting back. He was a good person to see because I knew I could say or feel anything with him, if I'd wanted to cry he wouldn't have got embarrassed or uncomfortable by my tears. This is progress for me as I'm usually so intensely private with my innermost feelings so good to know that I'm now more comfortable talking about things.

The next day I went to see my dad again. I still found the hospital visit difficult. I got home drained - in the words of the Manics "you're tender and you're tired". The week of my dad's operation I had nothing planned socially apart from the trip to Edinburgh. This was a good thing as I found things hard and I would have cancelled all social plans. As usual I didn't give any thought to how I might feel about this all but maybe there's no point doing that as one of the things I've really learnt about myself over the years is that I can't pre-empt how I'll be feeling about anything. I didn't expect to be knocked sideways as much as I was by seeing my dad in hospital. That evening I had two choices - stay home or get dragged out by Wilding for a drink. I went for the latter option - at least I knew that if I wanted to talk about stuff, I'd have someone who I felt really safe and comfortable with to talk to. As it was I was okay and we had fun, cooing over a puppy called Willis that the owners had brought to the bar with them. We must have been cooing a lot as they came over and plopped the puppy on my lap for a while and that was kind of cute and cheered me up no end.

On our way home (we live two streets away from each other), we stopped off at the chip shop. The chip shop is a couple of doors up from Macey Chemists where my dad used to work in the late 60s and early 70s. I got chatting to the chip shop owner and asked him how long he'd had that shop. Thirteen years he said. I then asked him if he knew my dad (my dad is pretty famous in Dulwich and Peckham). He did. I got excited that he knew my dad - it made me realise that my dad has this total other life as he wheels through Dulwich and Peckham that we know nothing about - I can imagine him in it but I've never seen it. I told the man about my dad's operation and I was touched when he asked me to pass on his best wishes to my dad, it seems like lots of other people care about my dad too.

Funnily enough, when I started this post I was feeling a bit wobbly about my dad (although he is doing much better and will soon be fully recovered). Now I feel a lot better - writing always seems to help so much. I guess I just need to capture somewhere what's going on inside. A few years ago when I had the launch party for my interiors business, I did a little speech and at the end, in front of about 250 people (mostly friends and close family) I did a very big thank you to my dad. He had no idea I was going to say what I said, nor did anyone else in that room. It was an emotional moment, not just for me but for everyone listening. I had people come up to me afterwards saying "I've always wanted to say what you've just said..." It was one of those goosebump, lump in the throat moments - I could barely talk at the end and had to quickly put a record on. But my dad has been amazing to me. He's allowed me to be the person I am, even if I've been doing things that the wider Pakistani community would frown upon. He's been on my side and supported me, even when he's been completely baffled by some of the things I've chosen to do, some of the paths I've merrily skipped along.

I remember when I was 16 I got a job in the Crown and Greyhound in Dulwich Village. You can probably guess by the name that it's a pub and I come from a good, respectable muslim family. I was working in the restaurant and not allowed to even serve an alcoholic drink as I was under-age but still, muslim girl working in a pub doesn't really go down too well. Naturally I kept the actual location of my workplace a secret from the family, just telling them that I had a job in a restaurant in Dulwich Village. One day my dad said he'd give me a lift to work. As we got into Dulwich Village, I said "you can drop me off here". He carried on driving and pulled up right outside the pub. It went quiet in the car and I waited for the bollocking. It never came. Instead my dad said to me "I know where you work and that's fine with me. But you know how the Pakistani community likes to talk so probably best to keep your work place quiet from everyone..." As Pakistani dads go (particularly as this was in the mid-eighties), this was pretty progressive, forward-thinking. I'm not sure why he's always given me the freedom to do what I've wanted. Maybe he saw that I would do it anyway so might as well support it instead of trying to control me. I've really lucked out with my dad and I will be eternally grateful for that. And now I'm just waiting for him to be better enough to start break dancing again!

My parents and Arbonne....

As I'm still staying at my parents place in Dulwich, they've watched my little fledgling enterprise get started. On their part, this has consisted of taking the deliveries of my stuff and watching it take over the reception room that I've turned into my makeshift office.

I was trying to get them to use the products and tried talking my dad into using the eye cream. Even though he's 81, he still likes to feel like a young whippersnapper, still puts Grecian 2000 into his hair (although there isn't actually much hair left) and still dresses like a dapper gent. I thought he'd be into using a cream that helped get rid of the lines around his eyes but he told me that he doesn't use anything and that was the end of that.

Then the other day, I was sat on the bus next to my mum and she saw me get out the Arbonne handcream and put that on. She smelt it and commented on how lovely it smelt. I told her I'd give her one of the mini samples of hand cream I had at home.

After this, my dad asked me how this whole business worked. When I explained that all the products I had were samples, not for sale, and that I introduced the range to people by getting them to try the products for a few days, he looked interested. Later he came into my "office" and loitered without saying much. This is his way of telling you that he wants to talk. And he said, "well if everyone is trying these products, I'll try them too!" I laughed, my dad has never been into products. So I'm going to give him an eye cream and the body serum to use on his feet to keep the skin soft. He looked very pleased with himself when he wandered out of the room.

A minute later, my mum came bustling in asking for her hand cream. I got one out and gave it to her. She opened it, smelt it and then said "can I use this on my face too?" She, also, has never been into skin care products. I explained that it was only for hands and there was another cream for the face that I'd get for her. I think they're rather excited about these lovely new products coming their way. If they like them, I'll just carry on buying them for them, they would never pay that much themselves. I was thinking about it the other day and it made me chuckle, I could just see my dad saying with immense pride "I'm a bargain hunter!". In his world you'd never pay £25 for a cream when you can buy a cream for £1 in Lidl or Netto, even if they are a world apart in quality. Or even better, I could see him saying "I'm a pharmacist, I recognise these ingredients, I can make this myself!" and then he'd be off on some tangent about starting his new skin care business, making products using the recipes from my products....

Sleep....

It's nearly 3 in the morning and I've been awake for at least half an hour, maybe longer. I only went to bed at midnight so there's no way I've had enough sleep. The chances of nodding off again at the moment are pretty slim so that's why I'm blogging from bed and doing something I absolutely love - listening to some of my favourite songs on the iPod in bed! This activity will do nothing to help me get back to sleep as I get so excited doing it that I usually end up dancing (or doing a little jig) in bed, instead of trying to lull myself to sleep.

I know why I'm awake so early, it's all to do with adrenaline. In a way, it's a good sign as it means my dodgy adrenals are working well for the time being. It does however mean that any hint of excitement in my life and I'm like Tigger on an overdose of coffee, literally bouncing around all over the place. And waking up very early although this is a record. Normally it's around four in the morning. After a few months of life feeling a bit strange, I think the tide has turned and it feels brilliant! I'm excited about the new Arbonne business and am just getting on with it. I'm off to Camp Bestival in a few days and that feels like the homecoming after Ibiza. I've not been out properly since my return, not seen a lot of people so Camp Bestival is going to be the first time for me! There are a few other things bubbling away as possibilities but I'm keeping quiet about them for the time being - it could be just too much for me to cope with!

I have no idea how long the adrenaline surge will last. I need to remember to stop drinking coffee as that makes me worse when I'm like this. I just hope I don't keep waking up after a few hours sleep the rest of this week - I don't want to rock up to Camp Bestival and then burn out on my first night. I also don't want to have big dark circles under my eyes. The Arbonne eye cream is a miracle cure for dark circles but even that can't help me at present - I've been waking up very early a lot recently.

What Azra did next...

Wow, it's been over two months since my last post. The longest I'd ever left if before was about three weeks so that's quite a gap. A lot has happened in that time so guess I'll jot in down here...

In my last post I talked about my desire to write a novel. I've finished my creative writing course and to be honest it was not very good. That may just have been the teacher but I didn't feel like I learnt anything and certainly not how to write creatively. Maybe I just can't write fiction, everything I wrote was based on my own personal experiences. I had really hoped to learn how to put together compelling stories and plots and create characters but I feel no closer to this than when I first started. However, this much I know - I'm not creative unless I'm feeling fairly happy in my life and as the last few months have been full of uncertainty, the atmosphere has not been conducive to creating anything. I haven't given up on the writing, maybe I can write fiction in different circumstances but at present, nothing is coming. Or it may be that I can only write based on personal experience and I'm just not ready to do a memoir-style thing (and nor do I want to). I'll give it another go later!

I also spoke about having no idea what my life was going to be like in London again. I certainly didn't expect to be doing what I've started doing but then I never do the expected, whatever that may be. I've just set up another business, this time a botanically-based skin care business. I always thought that if I set up another business, I'd do products as opposed to a service that I offer. The problem with a service is that you're capped on what you can earn, you can't duplicate yourself or work more hours than there are in the day and you get to a point and then get stuck. I've spoken to other freelance people and many of them echo this very same thing.

The products are from a company called Arbonne, Swiss-formulated and made in the States. The products were launched in the UK in November 2007 and will never be found in retail outlets so it's up to Consultants like me to spread the good word (and they are amazing!). They are chemical-free, paraben-free and don't contain any animal by-products (the collagen that is put into cosmetics and skin care to plump things up is made from chicken's feet - yuk!). It's all happened very unexpectedly and it's been a steep learning curve taking in all this new information, particularly detailed information about the skin care industry.

Now that I've got started and am on my way, I'm pretty excited about this. However, there was a point about two weeks ago when it felt like a petulant child had a raging tantrum in my head. For two days. At one point it got so bad I had to go for a run to try and get rid of it! I've always pushed myself, had high expectations (sometimes too high and it can be a pain as no-one else has any expectations of me) and followed my heart, usually making brave bold moves that others would perhaps think about for 5 seconds and then leave, the prospect of that leap being too much to fathom. Well, I'm the person who would always make that leap, go for the thing that no-one would do! That's what happens when you follow your heart, you end up doing crazy things as it feels right and you have no other way of making decisions as you've always followed your heart, always done what feels right, even if it seems totally bonkers!

This decision was not based on anything going on in my heart, I didn't have any sort of feeling about it apart from "well nothing else has fallen into place so far, lets give it a go...". But once I did, my petulant child raged, tormenting myself about making a decision to do something that anyone could do - for all intents and purposes, anyone could set up an Arbonne business. There's a formula that you follow, you feel like a sheep and at times it has felt like the blind leading the blind. There are certain aspects I have not been impressed with but that's made me determined to do it better myself, particularly when putting together my own team. Anyway, I let the child rage for 2 days and then came to terms with why I had made this decision - I've led an amazing life, had fantastic experiences and done more so far than some people will do in their lifetime. But at no point did I ever think of financial security or stability - that's all far too sensible for me and I figured it would just happen (I think I always thought I would marry it which in itself it quite a scary prospect....). So apart from buying a flat when properties were still dirt cheap, I have no financial security at all. If I don't work there is no money - I may have done amazing things but I haven't built anything to carry on earning, even when I'm doing something else!

So, that's what Arbonne is about for me. I've set some new goals - I'd like a house in London and a house in Ibiza. I assumed that these things would come into my life along with a husband so I never made them personal goals. Regardless of what happens in my private life, if having a house is important (and it is), then I need to find some way of making it happen! Onwards and upwards!

I feel like I can come out of my enforced hibernation now. Well I have to in order to start spreading the Arbonne word! I've hidden away the last few months, I'm like that when I'm not sure what's going on. I've seen a couple of very good friends regularly and they have kept me feeling chipper during the past few months! I'm going to blog more, particularly as I think it will be a good way to chart my Arbonne progress and success!

From London to Ibiza and back.....

I'm just about to send one of my email updates to let everyone know that I'm back in London again. Normally I'd provide an update on what's been going on but the last update was done nearly two years ago (when I announced I was moving to Ibiza), there would be a lot of stuff to put in an email and seeing that I have a blog, I figured the best place for an overview of my time in Ibiza should be here and I can provide a link to this post in my email. So anyone who'd like a brief encounter with my Ibizan experience, read on. Anyone who'd like to read in more detail, most things are posted somewhere here on the blog.

Back in June 2007, I sent an email update announcing to my world that I had decided to move myself and my interiors business to Ibiza at the beginning of 2008. I was coming to a stage where I felt like I wanted a really big change and I'd wanted to live on the island ever since I first visited in 2002 so the decision was made in about 5 minutes. I was a third of the way into a one-year contract consulting at the British Ukrainian Society and decided to move once the contract ended. I'd also been juggling interiors with the consulting and found it difficult to give one hundred percent to both things so decided to focus solely on the Society for the rest of my time in London. It was in a fledgling stage, having only been launched in the UK and I wanted to ensure there were strong foundations for a successful organisation before I moved to island life.

When I first started at the Society, I was concerned about whether I could give another project as much as I had given my own interiors business. I needn't have worried as somewhere along the line something magical happened and I loved the challenge of the project. From this immense high, I left London in early February 2008 to move to Ibiza, turning up alone, not really knowing anyone, not speaking the language and not having any real work leads or contacts.

My life in Ibiza fell into 3-month cycles, each completely different. One of the things that instantly stands out with life in Ibiza is how intense it can be, each quarter felt like a year, not three months. You find yourself in situations that you have never encountered before, even if you've lived overseas already. Things have the ability to go from one extreme to another in the blink of an eye and you have no idea what's around the corner. Amazing opportunities can crumble in front of you in a matter of weeks and the most heart-warming situations can turn to heartbreak overnight. There seems to be a constant ebb and flow to island life.

The first three months were bliss, even though I was living in a rundown house with little hot water or electricity but the surroundings were stunning and it made up for any lack. I soon found solutions to the problem of not being able to take a shower properly or use a hairdryer (join the local swimming pool and swim six times a week). Life in those first few weeks involved trying to do things I took for granted in London (shopping, going to the post office) in a place where you didn't know where anything was and everyone spoke Spanish. But it's amazing how quickly you learn and adapt and start striking out on your own again. I remember the immense sense of achievement when I went and bought fire for the wood burner the first time by myself. Sadly I didn't see that much success in actually lighting the fire so ended up giving myself the job of cleaning the fire before it was re-lit. I eased myself into getting used to my new surroundings, started learning Spanish and after a few weeks of taking it easy, started looking for work.

The plan of action in a place where I had no contacts was to get some cards made up with photos of past projects and distribute these all over the island, including all the main estate agents. I was quickly contacted by an independent estate agent John who went out of his way to see how he could help me, putting me in touch with a few of his contacts. One seemed particularly interesting, a guy called Alberto who'd been working on the island with his wife for about a decade, doing up and renting out villas. They'd also recently opened up an interiors shop and John said that they always had more work than they could handle. I had to contact Alberto once he was back from his latest buying spree in Morocco but before I had the chance to get in touch, we met by accident in the street.

During the second quarter, I started doing bits and pieces of work for Alberto. They were getting ready to open some luxury villas in Bali and needed help with research for the project. I also started helping out with their work on the island - Alberto likes to keep a tight team so everyone gets involved during the busy summer season. During this time I also secured some writing work, doing a monthly interiors article for the main English-language magazine on the island. Things were starting to move in the right direction as far as work was concerned but it was a difficult time as I found myself quite homesick and missing everyone in London and not entirely sure if the move I made had been the right one. However a pair of cheeky kittens had come into my life and made it their sole responsibility to keep me laughing and happy at all times. They'd been born to one of the cats at the house and as my housemate Bea didn't like cats, I took on the responsibility of looking after the five kittens and the mother cat (who was barely a kitten herself). I wasn't planning on keeping a kitten myself but one day, when they were about four weeks old and starting to clamber all over the place, getting cuter and cuter and more and more mischievious by the day, one of the kittens looked over at me with his big soulful eyes and I thought "I think I'm going to have to keep you!". Then I didn't want him to get lonely so I kept the youngest one too and the comedy pair had me constantly amused with their hilarious antics.

At the end of six months, I came back to London for my brother's wedding still unsure about whether I wanted to be in Ibiza or back in London. But once back in the city, I made the decision that I did want to live on the island and the focus would be about finding enough work to enable me to live there.

The third quarter started with the firm decision about wanting to live on the island. I'd made some lovely friends there and Alberto had enough work for me for at least another month. The short stint back in London had cured me of my homesickness as I'd been able to see friends and family and I was raring to get back and get on with things. But just before I returned to the island, I had a text to say my two kittens had died in the week I'd been away. I returned to the island absolutely heart-broken and cried more than I've ever cried before. I'm still baffled by what happened but as my housemate was meant to be looking after them while I was away, I decided it was time to find somewhere new to live. Also out of the blue, Alberto offered me full-time work running the interiors shop and doing the sales and marketing for another of their projects, a luxury boutique hotel in Marrakech. This was in addition to working on the Bali project and some other projects in the pipeline. I moved close to work and a new chapter took off.

It was all about work. Things moved in leaps and bounds and I found myself with the exciting challenge I'd been looking for. I threw myself into it, working six days a week bringing a bit of order to an otherwise chaotic organisation. It felt like I'd found the natural successor to my work at teh Society as the challenge was immense but so was the opportunity. The end of the third quarter found me back in London again for my godsons' first birthday. As soon as I arrived back, it was like I'd never been away. It felt as if I had two lives, one in London, the other in Ibiza and I belonged in both places. This concept of two lives is familiar to me, I've grown up with two very different cultures, my work has been about two very different things and now I had a life in two different places. During this trip, London captured me again and I found myself starting to think about moving back again, maybe in a year or two.

The last quarter was still about work but things changed dramatically. I'd been busy raising the profile of the Harissa Collection (the collective name for all of Alberto's different projects) in the UK but when it was time to deliver, things remained chaotic. There were a number of occasions where I found myself with my head in my hands thinking "I can't believe this is happening.....". The work is amazing but there are too many projects going on simultaneously, spanning three continents, for all things to receive adequate attention. The entire team is tiny with Alberto and Yvonne in strict control of everything so not really much room for independent thought. I soon realised that I'd taken things as far as I could working with them and decided that perhaps it was time to head back to London. My last month on the island was bliss. I finished work sooner than expected but that meant time to make the most of the island, see friends and throw myself into intensive Spanish lessons. It was the perfect way to end my sabbatical in Ibiza.

When I decided to move to Ibiza, I had no idea why I was going, apart from the fact that I'd dreamed to living there ever since I first visited in 2002. I had no idea how long I would stay or what sort of life I would find. All I knew was that I wanted to go, wanted a change of scene and a different quality of life and answers would present themselves to me at the appropriate time. As I wound up work, I found myself awake very early one morning. I lay there thinking about my move to Ibiza and my imminent move back to London. It dawned on me that the main reason I moved was to see if I could do it, if I could move to another country all alone, where I didn't really know anyone or have any contacts or work leads or speak the language and see if I could make a go of it. I'm fascinated by the journeys that people make in search of something new, something better, uprooting themselves from one place and starting a new life somewhere else.

For the last few years, I've been acutely aware of some of the journeys that my parents have made in search of a better life. From the move from India to Pakistan during the harrowing period of partition on to a new life in London. When my parents got married, my mum was in Pakistan and my dad was in Great Britain. They'd never met and got married over the phone and then my mum got on a plane for the first time in her life to go to an alien country to meet her husband, a complete stranger. It was fine as my dad is a wonderful person but after talking to my mum about this, I've often wondered if I'd have the courage to do something like this but the thought of marrying a stranger is such a strange concept to me that I can't really comprehend it.

A part of me did wonder if I could turn up alone in a new place and make a go of it. I was curious to see if I had that intrepid gene or whether it had disappeared in a comfortable life in London. I'd already lived overseas three times before but all three times had been more organised - I was going for a reason, I had something to do when I arrived, I was expected. When I moved to Ibiza, there was nothing in place apart from somewhere to stay as soon as I got there. It was up to me to create my experience. And I have to say, there is something quite wonderful about taking your whole life, throwing it up in the air and seeing how it lands. The year away injected a breath of fresh air into my life - new experiences, new places, new people, a new language.

Life back in London is still an unknown for me, I have no idea what this coming chapter holds. One thing I do know I'd like to do is write a novel. I don't know what the story will be but I think it will span continents and generations. Apart from that, it's the usual work and play scenario and looking at London with a fresh pair of eyes. I think time away from this great city does that to you!

London Book Fair

I've spent the last couple of days at the London Book Fair at Earls Court. There were some interesting seminars on, with the focus country being India. I don't know if the British Council had chosen India before Slumdog Millionaire came out in the cinemas but it seems like this is the country to watch at the moment.

I had the opportunity to listen to a Q & A session with Vikram Seth, the author of "A Suitable Boy". He was speaking about his last book "Two Lives" which I read last year. It is a fantastic book, a biography of his great-uncle and great-aunt and their experiences in Germany during the Second World War. I don't usually like biographies or autobiographies, often they are crammed full of tiny bits of information that bear little importance but the writer feels the need to put in everything, instead of choosing the best bits. "Two Lives" was a world away from this and really was a joy to read. The Q & A session was equally enjoyable.

I then went on to a seminar on how to reach the ethnic millions in the UK. At times this veered into "the British publishing world is full of white middle-class people and there should be some positive discrimination to get some brown faces in". I struggle with things like this. As far as I'm concerned (particularly in London), the opportunities are out there, regardless of colour, creed, race or gender. If you are professional and hard-working and have the right attitude, then there are few barriers in the way, unless of course you choose to construct some yourself. OK, there might be some industries that still remain quite "white" but I think that has as much to do with them not being so popular with ethnic minorities - if you look at other professions like medicine or dentistry, the numbers are more balanced. I'm uncomfortable with the liberal attitude to positive discrimination - someone getting a job because of the colour of their skin as opposed to merit and ability. Most jobs I've worked in I've been the only "brown" face in an otherwise sea of white, it's never been a problem. What matters most is my ability to do the job and that has nothing to do with the colour of my skin.

Sometimes ethnic minorities get too caught up in their victim mentality, if anything bad happens, it's because of the colour of their skin, no other reason. I remember listening to a family friend last Christmas. He was moaning about the fact that it was so difficult for muslims to progress and do well in this country. When I pointed out that I'd had some fantastic opportunities and had done well, he answered back "well not everyone's as pushy as you!". At this point I think I snorted. Being driven and determined has helped me to succeed but anything I've achieved is down to me being pushy! As I've long suspected, this particular uncle has a big chip on his shoulder and no matter what you say, he'll always see things from the victim's stance.

I went to a panel discussion this morning about India called "Through Fresh Eyes - Literature of Ideas". The panel comprised of emminent Indian writers, mostly non-fiction. It was a fascinating debate, one that brought language to the forefront. Most Indian writers who are read in the Western world write in English. This automatically means that this will be the elite - how much real understanding will they have of other worlds, other lives if they move in elite, priveliged circles? People writing in any of the native Indian languages rarely see their work translated to reach a wider audience so the snapshot we see of the country just touches the tip of the iceberg.

Recently I've started reading books by Pakistani writers that were written in Urdu and translated. The thing that struck me was how clumsy the language seemed. I've read many South Asian writers (who write in English) and their beautiful command of the language is a joy to behold. But these translations felt chunky and clunky. Maybe that is the problem with countries where English is spoken and written as much as the native languages (but only by the most highly-educated). Books will be published that have been written in English so the art of translation is lost or certainly it suffers. I thought of other foreign writers I've read who've written in their mother language and the book has then been translated - very few of these writers seem to suffer the same problem. It's also difficult to get the educated elite to embrace the native language instead of English as speaking English is seen as being so much more sophisticated. I always find it amusing when native Indians or Pakistanis talk amongst themselves in English, when another language is their mother tongue.

I was thinking about language earlier this week. My strongest language is English but the first language I spoke would have been Urdu. I still speak Urdu to my parents and family members of their generation. Where did I learn to speak English and from whom? I wouldn't have learnt it from my parents so did I learn it from the television? Or did I start school not speaking English? I've always thought it an advantage to have grown up bilingual. I'm sure it's helped me when I've been in a foreign country, immersed in learning a new language. But sometimes I wonder if these early bilingual days are a hinderance to my capabilities in English? If I'd grown up speaking only one language, would my command and ability have been much higher? I have friends who are writers and I'm always struck by how beautifully they use words and language. I asked one what his secret was and the answer? Practice! So I guess there is hope for me with the language I'd love to deploy magically, all I have to do is use it! And perhaps read a dictionary from time to time!

London Book Fair Masterclass - How To Get Published

The London Book Fair 2009 kicks off from Monday at Earls Court. There are some great seminars and workshops so I've decided to go along as a budding author.

This morning I went the a Masterclass titled "How To Get Published". I arrived early, maybe an hour before the doors opened. I hadn't registered in advance and wanted to make sure that I was able to get a seat. A handful of people were already milling outside the entrance doors by the time I arrived. The milling crowd were instructed to form an orderly line and by the time the doors opened, a long snake of people weaved its way around the building.

Once in and registered, we could go upstairs for coffee and pastries. I stood in the room and watched people coming in, trying to see if I could spot someone who might be the next big thing in publishing. I don't know what I was looking for but I thought if I looked hard enough, I might spot some magical quality. I didn't but it was fantastic to see the room filling up with people from all walks of life, all ages - all with one common purpose - the desire to be published.

After coffee and people-watching, I went into the conference room and made my way to the front. All the prime seats were already taken so I plumped for the second row, in the middle, where I would have an excellent view of the panel guests. The room had capacity for over 500 people and by the time the event started, all the seats were filled, people sat with notepads and pens at the ready to glean any nuggets of gold from those that knew.

The panel was made up of a senior commissioning editor from Bloomsbury, the Co-Head of Books Department from United Agents and three authors. The industry voices kicked off, sharing sage advice on how to get published. The thing that struck me immediately was that both representatives absolutely loved books and loved what they did, they had a passion that was clear to see. I don't know why I was surprised by this. I get really excited by the work I do and can get very passionate about it but in general it seems that if people are genuinely excited about what they do, they tend to keep quiet about it. Or maybe most people end up in jobs that they're not that excited about and so can't inject any joy or enthusiasm into their voices when they talk about it. A lot of people I know are crazy about music but very few make it their world so it was great to hear from people who had turned passion into work.

After the industry experts, it was the turn of the authors. Once again, more tips on how to do it. I scribbled away furiously but realised that most things they said were applicable to anything you do, not just publishing. Having dived into interiors six years ago and learnt stacks along the way, the tips I heard were not new but it was brilliant to hear them all again for a completely different industry. I guess at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what you do as the fundamental lessons are the same. Here are the main qualities that were essential:

- be passionate about what you're doing
- remain excited and optimistic
- work hard, put in the energy
- remain professional
- no room for arrogance
- be patient
- you need stamina, it won't be an overnight thing
- do your research
- write every day
- believe in yourself
- practice and hone your skills
- have the courage to let things go if they don't fit in the book
- listen to your voice and write from the heart
- be strong enough to take the rough with the smooth
- need to have confidence in yourself
- do things to keep yourself strong, do not undermine yourself
- passion, passion, passion!
- and stacks of hard work!

I know I've repeated myself with the last two points but they really did drive this message home. When the seminar finished, I found myself buzzing. I don't know if this was caffeine or excitement (I think it was the latter) but the old guy sat next to me said "I saw you scribbling away. Did you find it useful?". And yes, I found it incredibly useful even if I heard key messages that I knew already from running my own business. The points above could be applied to anything you do, these qualities are essential to succeed in life! At least I know in advance a little of what to expect and when it comes to being optimistic and passionate, I know I'm okay there too! Now all I have to do is come up with an amazing story and hope that I'm a gifted writer!

I'm going to spend the early part of next week at the main book fair. It makes sense to immerse myself in the world I want to be a part of, particularly while I have some free time. I start my creative writing course on Monday evening so things are moving in the right direction and I'm very excited about writing a novel.

I've also been out enjoying the city the last few days. On Thursday I went along to a night that was part of "Land of Kings" - a 2-day festival all along Kingsland Road and Kingsland High Street. Although there were lots of different events, I just went to one where my friends Harry and Tayo were DJing. It was in this mad little venue below a brightly-lit yet empty restaurant. When you walked into the restaurant, you had no idea what lay below and after a bit of confusion where the girl sat in the restaurant directed me to the ladies toilets instead of the party, I found where I was meant to be. It was a "classics" night which meant that I knew most of the records which pleased me enormously. Of course I love hearing something amazing I've never heard before but sometimes it's good to hear a load of cheesy records that you know all the words to!

Yesterday I went to the South Bank to meet my friend Barbara for a coffee. We're old friends from my Foreign Office days but have always bonded over a love for silly accents, hilarious antics from our days working together (which still make us laugh all these years on) and a shared passion for what we're doing. I got up to the South Bank early and although it was grey and pouring with rain, the sound of a jazz band playing by Hungerford Bridge filled me with an enormous love for the city and put a big smile on my face. I went up to investigate the impromptu mini orchestra and found about five or six guys from South America, all playing away and entertaining the crowds, with one drumming a beat on what looked like a large plastic water container. People were milling around enjoying the music and one couple started doing a brilliant be-bop dance at the bottom of the stairs. I don't know if they were professional dancers but they had some slick moves going which all added to the entertainment.

Barbara and I met and went up to the cafe in the Royal Festival Hall for coffee, cake and a catch-up. While we talked, the orchestra that was going to be putting on a free concert at 7pm tuned up and got ready. It was none other that the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra from Venezuela (Barbara had already seen them on Wednesday), the orchestra made up of former street kids that had wowed the proms back in 2007. I remember hearing about this amazing orchestra at the time and as luck would have it, I got to see them by chance. They were excellent and after playing some classical pieces, moved onto more Latin-inspired music where they really came to life. Whole sections of the orchestra would get up and dance around, there was an enthusiasm and energy that was infectious and even the rather reserved English audience started tapping their toes and clapping. Some even whooped in joy (or maybe that was just me) and once again, I wished I could do one of those ear-piercing whistles but I've never mastered the art which perhaps is a good thing. I got the bus back home stil buzzing from what I'd seen and heard and the continuing rain did nothing to dampen my high spirits!

I'm off out again tonight, back to Kingsland Road for my friend Andy's party Discobox. He's teaming up with the boys from Lovebox, maybe they're having a box-off as I think they're all playing in the same room. Taking over the other room is original soul boy and house don Terry Farley. I haven't seen Terry since way before I moved to Ibiza so it will be good to go and say hi to old man Farley and see what gems he has in his record box. I can't have a late night though as I'm off to a Sunday sermon tomorrow morning. It's on Curiousity and the speaker is Robert Winston. I've heard it's been incredibly popular with over 400 people attending so a great success for the School of Life who organised it. I'll come back and fill in how the curious sermon is!

In London...

It's been two weeks now since I arrived back in London properly. Although I got back a month ago, a week later I jetted off to Dallas for just over a week so the first two weeks still felt like I was in transit.

My blogging has taken a back seat of late but when I looked back over some of my posts from last year, I realised how valuable it is to keep writing, no matter what's going on. Writing in times of uncertainty are great when you can go back and look over how you were feeling, particularly when the situation has changed.

I feel like I'm in hibernation at the moment, preparing for the next chapter. I have no idea what that next chapter will be. I don't know where I'm going to be living or what I'm going to be doing. I'm currently staying at my parents' place in Dulwich. Location-wise it's great but I'm viewing it as a temporary arrangement. I may move back into my flat in Crystal Palace. I wasn't planning on doing this but my tenant seems to be gripped by some financial woes and ultimately my mortgage is my responsibility and I need to take care of it. Also with the mortgage market getting trashed last year (apparently 2 years ago there were over 200 mortgage providers, now there are only 15), there are no good deals for buy-to-let mortgages and it may make more sense to move back and get a good deal on a normal mortgage. I've started putting my interiors cards in local shops and will continue to do this in other places, as well as let all my friends and contacts know that I'm back in London. It would be good to do some consulting too. Previous work has come when I've been approached by consultants I've worked with in the past. I've heard that LinkedIn is a good platform for getting your experience out to a much wider audience so that's another thing on my to-do list.

I've kept a fairly low profile since getting back. Only a handful of my friends know that I'm actually back and even fewer have seen me since my return. It reminds me of when I was made redundant and I had a few months of not really knowing what I was doing. I kept a low profile then too, only coming back onto the scene when I had a big announcement to make, that I was moving into interiors. If you're going to make an announcement, might as well do something like a complete career change! My dad keeps asking me if I've got any interviews lined up and I've tried to explain that my previous consulting work has come to me, not the other way but I'm not entirely sure he gets what I mean. He's suggested going back to my Ukrainian job but I've told him a few times that my position has been filled by someone who's doing a fantastic job. I think deep down inside he wishes I'd never left the Foreign Office. He did suggest that the other day but it would mean reducing my earning potential by about two thirds and I'd be living in poverty!

In the past my current state of limbo would be causing no end of worry. But I gave up worrying at the start of this year, as my new year's resolution. Having awareness about potential situations and moving to prevent any negative outcomes is good. But worrying endlessly about what may or may not happen is a waste of time, makes you ill and has no benefit at all. So I've decided to give it up! I'm treating life at present as what it is, a little holding area where I can get ready for the next stage even if I don't know what that is. It's good to have a little quiet time every now and then. I've had the chance for reflection and taken action on the last epiphany I had in Ibiza (I had 3 in total while I was there which is quite a lot for a year) and read some books that help me make sense of the world.

Last week I read The Secret. Over the years, I've read a few personal development books but The Secret seemed to be filled with pearls of wisdom that I'd never read before. It's about the Law of Attraction and how you can manifest anything in your life, you just have to ask. You receive when you're in a state of happiness and joy and it is your responsibility to make sure you are. Reading that struck a chord. I often experience profound moments of joy and in that state, thinking about my life and what I may want in the future is infused with feelings of intense love. The key is to feel like this all the time and there are lots of ways this can be done. I found it interesting that things I'd written in my blog in the past are mentioned in The Secret - the importance of daily meditations and the daily practice of giving thanks for everything in your life so far. It talks a lot about love and encourages you to feel love for anything and everything. My ability to feel like I've fallen in love with strange things (working at the British Ukrainian Society, cats, a dog and a lamb in Ibiza, my property development project in 2006 and various people in a purely platonic sense) appears to be a good thing and I should carry on doing more of the same. It also drove the message home that in moments when I'm feeling a bit grumpy or down, I need to shift my mood as I can't generate positive vibes from a negative head space. All good stuff and I encourage you to read the book if you haven't done so already!

I've taken to running in beautiful Dulwich park. It's not the same as running on a deserted Cala Jondal beach but a good alternative option now that I'm back in the city. I'll add in some swimming and yoga soon too. I was hoping to do a 5K run in a couple of weeks but missed the deadline for application. I've carried on training as if I am doing the run and I was happy to do my first 5K run since getting back - that took place yesterday.

I start my creative writing course in a few weeks and with that my focus and attention will turn back to writing a novel. I know I want to write about partition and journeys that people make but further than that, I've yet to evolve a story. I'm sure the course will be excellent in helping me put together a compelling story. A friend asked me the other day if I missed Ibiza and I said no. But the truth is that I do miss it, miss the intense rugged beauty of the place and the wonderful friends I made there. But I know that the island and all my island friends are still there, a couple of hours plane ride away and it will only be a matter of time before I head back for a visit and to breathe in deeply everything I love about the place. Meanwhile the bright lights of London beckon, even in my hibernation!