Just Block

You'd think that with the multicultural population of London, it would've occurred to the major chemist outlets in the city to stock what in the rest of the world is known as simply 'Sunblock'.

But no. In spite of the vast number of brown people that live in this city, it seems that none of them want to protect their skin from UV rays during the summertime. That's the only explanation I can fathom for the fact that there is no pure sunblock to be bought in this city.

Geared at the pale folks, there is suntan lotion with protection from UV rays, tanning sprays with 'mild protection', mild tanning with 'strong protection' and even (this is my favourite) 'bronzing sunblock'.

Now, seeing as I am quite happy with the shade of bronze I already am, I just want to find something that will leave my skin the colour it is, while still protecting me from skin cancer. Is that really so hard to do?

In London, apparently so.

Dissertation Research

This is so clearly the best piece of research I have come across while reading for my dissertation on Diasporas:

'At the independence day celebrations in Ghana, a toast was proposed to the mosquito, which had discouraged white settlement.'

Cancer Chronicles

It seems to be the season of recurrence and death.

You can pray hard for things to not happen.

You can believe in the power of 'good', and that 13 year olds don't die when there's still so much of life that they haven't seen or done.

And yet, my pint-sized hero, older and wiser and calmer than any adult in his situation is dead.

When recurrence and death do occur, the rationalisation process begins.

I can imagine he's in a better place, no longer suffering etc etc; because really, what else is left than to explain it any which way I can?

Unfortunately, whether I can comprehend what happened or not doesn't change the fact that a little boy died, a family lost their only child and the rest of us feel guilty and grateful for still breathing.

Eureka

You know the people that have always known exactly what they wanted to do with their lives? The ones that had purpose and direction and unwavering belief that they were meant for a certain profession?

I'm not one of those people.

I was meant to be a doctor. Then a journalist. Then a social worker perhaps (insert laughter here), or a PR person... my career seemed to be assuming the direction of endless dabbling. And I was really okay with this, given the rationale that the more things I try my hand at and end up hating, the easier it would be to arrive at the thing I really wanted to do.

Simple process of elimination.

Which is why it was such an absolute joy to have worked at something that I enjoyed every minute of for the last three months. Now, it's true that I didn't get paid for it and that some of the work also involved drone stuff (read data inputting), but these are minor details. In the grand scheme of things, there is the possibility I have found the exact job profile that I would be happy to do for the rest of my life. And by that I mean the next five years at least!

Yay to me.