My Relocation Agent is not German!

With my new position as a Senior Project Manager in Germany was provided an on-site relocation service. A relocation agent had me appointed to assist with my work permit; registration to the Town Hall; apartment search; transfer of driving licence; etc. Normally, this agent is a person who knows very well the administrative and social particularities of the region in question. As it turns out, the (oh so powerful) Murphy's Law striked once again on my ass as I'm trying to figure things out in my new environment.

Amongst the most common stereotypes the popular world associates to the German people are the fact that they are direct; they love rules, organization, and structure; they are punctual; they love soccer; they are well insured; they are distant; they love to drink beer; they know how to bake bread; and they love sausages. Based on these above-stated perceptions of the German people from a foreigner's eye (and a fair amount of personally experienced spots), I can assure you that my relocation agent is NOT German, especially when it comes to organization, structure and punctuality!

I have indeed gone through some rather negative experiences with my relocation agent, which managed to bring me to total dissatisfaction in terms of customer service. Keep in mind that this is the first time that I go through such a process, so my expectations are pretty low since I have no previous experience to base myself on. And yet, she managed to bring it to a level that could only be explained by the fact that she must have been Italian in a previous life (based on the same previously mentioned Popular World Common Stereotype Framework). You would think that with so much money invested into making a new employee comfortable in his new environment, the company that hired me would insure a high level of customer service, but in the end all of it can be completely scewed up by one person if her very self is as backwards as Kriss Kross pants. Unfortunately for myself, it was the case of the relocation agent I had the priviledge to come across.

Registration

It all started on the very first day that I landed in Germany. I was on my way to the temporary relocation apartent when the so called relocation agent reaches me asking to meet her in a few minutes. Apparently, we needed to go register myself at the Rathaus (Rathaus is the German word to say Town Hall... How ironic, right?) and it could not wait until my post-travel jetlag recovery nap. When I arrived at the apartment, she was indeed on-site, waiting for me. When we got to the Rathaus she realized that she had forgotten the necessary papers without which it would be impossible to go through the registration process. No worries! Let's walk to the car and get the papers. At the car, she realizes that the papers are not there. Therefore, they must certainly be at the office. No worries! Let's walk to the office and get those darn papers so that I can register and finally get to my temporary relocation apartment where I will be able to recover from the 10 hour trip (all the way from Montreal to Amsterdam, Nuremberg and finally, Herzogenaurach) from which I found myself unable to sleep on the plane. This was the first time it ever happened to me... Stressed, are we? New job; company; industry; city; country...Alouette! So yeah, definitely! Back to my relocation agent, it really seems like she never has all the papers at once. It would have been nice if she would have come prepared with all the necessary documentations the first time. So we walked from the car to the office and then, back to the Rathaus where we re-did the line and went through the registration process. If only she had the papers with her in the first place, all of this precious time we lost could have been used on my recovery!

Two days after my arrival, I had a second appointment with my relocation agent at 8:00am sharp at my doorsteps to go open a banking account, pick up my temporary work permit and bring my driving licence to an agency to have it translated to German. She arrived in front of my apartment door at 8:15am. Not bad, but not German-like. On top of that, only then had she asked me to bring 200€ with me to pay for the work permit. This kind of expanse should have been planned in advance as one cannot assume I have this kind of money in my apartment if no one told me to plan for it. One would think that it has been enough misfortune in only one day... WRONG! The cherry on top was that when we got to the offices, we realized that they only opened at 10:00am. This translated in my mind into two extra hours of sleep which I will never see again! At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood started to warm up a little.

Apartment Search

For my apartment search, I had clearly communicated my requirements many times as we have spent a lot of time looking at apartments during my Look/See visit back in April. However, the flats we have visited did not match my requirements at all. They were often too expansive, to small or very sketchy (to say the least). When I mentioned to her that I was looking for an apartment that filled my requirements in terms of location, size and cost, the only thing she thought of saying was that I should live a little and allow myself more comfort. In other words, she wanted me to choose a more expansive flat (probably to boost her sales commission). Really?! How inappropriate is that?! I think this is a very uncalled-for comment to make in a professional-client relationship. The way I manage my budget is none of her business! There are definitely many good reasons for me to look for a specific type of apartment and she does not need to know them at all. For all I care, all she needs to know is the list of my requirements and not the X and Y of them. Imagine I have a specific investment plan which requires a certain level of monthly savings if I want to reach my objective. Imagine I have debts I need to reimburse. Imagine I have decided to embrace this new hipster trend that is the one of a minimalist lifestyle. Imagine I have someone in charge back in Montreal which requires me to transfer a fair amount of money every month. Whatever the reason is, I stand my ground by saying that it's none of her business and she should not comment on my choices of lifestyle under any circumstances!

Following this event, I decided to look for an apartment myself. I found an interesting apartment in the northern part of Nuremberg (which I did not end up choosing). So I asked her to drop by and have a look at the neighborhood for a second (without even going into the apartment). To that, she answered that she did not want to drive in this area because she needs to go home to see her dog and have dinner with her husband who is already waiting for her. It looks like she prioritized her own life over the service she is meant to provide. On top of that, while looking at apartments, she never knows exactly where it is located, she mixes up with neighborhoods and loses a substantial amount of time just driving around trying to figure shit out. As a result, she rushes me to have a look around the apartment quickly to catch up on the lost time while driving around searching for the right address... like it was my fault!

To sum up, in two weeks of search, she was never able to send me listings that suited my needs, so as mentioned I decided to look myself. My search was successful in only three days. During that time I was able to contact the owner, book an appointment, visit the apartment and sign the contract. I don't understand why it was so quick and easy for a foreigner like me who does not know how the system works in Germany, while it was so difficult for her to find a handful of apartments that filled my requirements for someone who has been living here her whole life. At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood was at a burning hot temperature.

Mail Delivery

As far as my mail is concerned, I did not have an apartment yet at the time I went through the whole process of registration at the Rathaus, opening my banking account, pick up my temporary work permit and bring my driving licence to an agency to have it translated to German. Therefore, the address provided to all of these instances was the one from the relocation agency. Then, my beloved relocation agent is supposed to bring them in hand to my temporary relocation apartment until I find my own apartment and transfer all my accounts to my new address.

I was waiting for some important letters containing my banking PIN to be delivered to my temporary apartment. Only, when I mentioned it to my relocation agent, her vague answer she provided was that I would get my letters sometime during the week unless it's an emergency. I thought it would speed up the process if I mentioned that it was an emergency as I was out of money and I need my PIN to withdraw some cash. To this statement, she answered that I could pass by the relocation agency if I needed my letters so urgently. Didn't she just say that she would drop them off if it was an emergency? The problem I had was that the agency's offices are not yet open when I leave in the morning and they are already close at the time that I come back from work. In addition, my temporary relocation apartment is located at a solid 45 seconds away from the relocation acengy. So how much of a pain would it be for her to walk to my temporary relocation apartment and drop what belongs to me in the first place? This situation happened a few more times where she kept forgetting to deliver my letters to my mailbox. Those letters contained critical documents such as my residency permit, my banking information, etc. She kept promising to pass by and drop them, but the promise was never fulfilled as I was found disappointed every time. I kept asking over and over to drop them as soon as possible, but it was unsuccessful. At this point in time, I have to admit that my blood was boiling and I could feel it starting to evaporate.

To be honest, I have no idea of the process to follow, nor of the remaining steps until the end of the service. This does not provide me with a sentiment of security while relocating in a totally new country. Thankfully, I am resourceful person who always finds ways to get the right infromation and get by (knock on wood) regardless of how competent my relocation agent is. Right now, I have no more blood flowing through my veins since the boiling made it all evaporate. I think it's fair to say that I have just built up an irreducible mental strenght that resembles the one of a Tibetan monk. For all these above-stated frustrating moments I have experienced, I came to the objective conclusion that my relocation agent is not German! Perhaps I should buy her this book (see picture below)!

A sample from a totally fake resignation letter

ATTN: VPGM, Product Development Program

Undisclosed Company

1234, Fake Street

Fake City, FP

A1B 2C3

Fake City, June 15 of 2015

Subject: Letter of resignation

Dear Mr. Vice President General Manager, Mr. Functional Director, Mrs. Human Resources Director,

Please accept this written statement as an advance notice of my resignation from the Undisclosed Company. I intend to work through the next three weeks with my last working day on Friday, July 3 of 2015.

It has been an honor to work for this company, and I will always be grateful to have had the opportunity to evolve in a Program Management position on such an important product development program in a world renowned company.

The decision to leave this undisclosed company and its team has not come easy. It was finalized after a rigorous evaluation process and careful consideration of all factors. I love my work – the duties of this job, the people I work with at the office, and the many stakeholders who took part in the projects I had the privilege to manage and deliver over the past three years. However, I feel the adventure I am about to embark upon will be beneficial to my long-term career goals and objectives.

I sincerely thank you for the opportunities, experience, and knowledge gained during my career as part of this family. I will greatly treasure all the memories and I hope the relationships developed through those three years will remain over time. I wish the Leadership Team and Management of the Undisclosed Company every success in this critical time of change for the organization. If there is anything I can do to provide a smoother transition during my remaining weeks, please feel free to let me know.

Yours sincerely,

_________________________________

Jamz, ABC, DEF, GHI

Young Professional

CC: John Doe, Director, Program Management, Product Development Program

CC: Jane Doe,  Director, Human Resources, Product Development Program

Parachûté en pleine lecture

[...] et puis, subitement, je me suis laissé entrainer dans cette histoire comme dans un roman sans préface. Comme si j'avais ouvert un livre au hasard, en pointant aveuglément un paragraphe de manière totalement aléatoire, et que je commençais à le réciter à voix haute. J'étais si captivé par l'intrigue que j'en oubliais la prémisse. Mais, quelle était donc l'origine de cette histoire et comment en sommes-nous arrivés jusque là? Est-ce normal que l'auteur glisse le lecteur aussi rapidement dans un climat routinier alors qu'il n'en est qu'à quelques pages du début? Il me semble que le secret d'une histoire bien racontée réside dans la qualité des descriptions sans lesquelles le lecteur ne peut se situer ni dans l'espace ni dans le temps. Les repères que l'auteur place petit à petit, au fil des paragraphes, comme des mies de pain le long d'un sentier, permet au lecteur de tisser d'intimes liens entre le personnage et sa personne, de comprendre quel chemin est emprunté, de savoir d'où il vient, où il va. Il s'agit d'un travail de moine qui nécessite un ascension progressive et contrôlée, étalée sur plusieurs chapitres pour finalement en arriver au point culminant où chaque nouvel élément apporté s'imbrique parfaitement dans l'histoire en cours. Par ailleurs, comment le lecteur est-il sensé apprécier complètement un bouquin alors qu'il le lit pour la première fois? Saurait-il différencier les détails importants des anodins dès la première lecture?  En tant que lecteur, aurais-je dû m'acoutumer de cette oeuvre au préalable avant de le réciter? Aurais-je dû m'y apprêter progressivement en ne lisant qu'un infime petit paragraphe par semaine?

Certains trouvent du réconfort dans l'odeur d'un bouquin. Ces feuilles, jaunies par le temps, évoquent en eux une sensation apesante, comme une impression de déjà vu qui incite le lecteur alangui à lire nonchalament. Enivrés de lignine, nous sommes persuadés de comprendre le font du texte alors que notre hémisphère gauche ne fait que reconnaître un amalgame de caractères qu'il était autrefois parvenu à analyser. Nous scrutons ces lettres d'un véritable automatisme,  sans réfléchir sur le vrai sens du discours. Très vite, l'auteur perd le lecteur. L'idée dernière chaque figure de style et leur première lecture se déphasent peu à peu. Le choix de mots atypique et l'usage de double négations viennent complexifier la lecture. Le lecteur et l'auteur ne s'entendent plus. Mais, ce n'est pas de la faute de ce dernier. Il avait tout simplement pris son aise sans tenir compte de son auditoire. L'auteur s'en veut, car il croyait plaire au lecteur. La relation auteur-lecteur autrefois véhiculée par le bouquin est désormais rompue. Même les plus grands chefs-d'oeuvres peuvent terminer sur des tablettes poussiéreuses s'ils sont incompris.

J'ai horreur de l'assuétude et appréhende grossièrement les trajets rectilignes. J'observe mes doigts et me dis que la teinte sepia sur mes phalanges témoignent d'un trop grand nombre de pages tournées en si peu de temps. Pourtant, je n'ai toujours pas trouvé le sens de cette histoire. Peut-être aurais-je pu conserver un teint rosâtre, témoin d'une santé hors-pair, si j'avais seulement eu la force de prendre mon temps. J'aurais pu imposer mon rythme à ce roman, mais la curiosité à eu raison de moi. N'étant pas félin, je n'ai pas eu peur de m'éteindre, à défaut de brûler chacune de ces feuilles à petit feu.

La chaleur de ce livre consumé laissera très vite place à un froid inconfortable pareil à celui d'une chambre sombre et humide. Quelle ironie que d'embraiser un feu de paille avec du papier! Seulement, aurais-je trouvé cette salle aussi sombre et humide si le livre ne s'était jamais consumé? Quelle satir que de me personnifier à travers un lecteur! Sans allégorie, aurais-je réussi à vous faire comprendre que tout ce charabia n'est qu'une métaphore? Aurais-je réussi à véhiculer mon message si j'avais amené ce texte de manière conventionnelle? Si la vie est un livre, l'amour est un roman. Il raconte une histoire qui se compose progressivement, un mot à la fois. Sans prémisse, le roman n'est que passion passagère, sans font ni forme... vide de sens. Désormais, vous savez ce que c'est que d'être parachûté en pleine lecture. Mais, prenez garde aux flammes. Ce qui compte n'est pas la chûte [...]

PS: Bonne relecture...

Exquisitely yours, Pain.

"I am studying calculus 2... ugh, and it's such a pain in the ass. A useless pain in the ass!"

My first reaction was to answer that there is no such thing as useless pain. I didn't know where this came from, but all I knew is that it was an intuitive and almost evident statement.

My cousin was referring to the boredom she felt studying while she could have been doing something oh so much more...let's say, fun! But, when I read this text message, it just linked back to all the deepest suffering a human has to go through a lifetime, which is often as useless... if not more! It got me thinking... Can't we simply deal with life without suffering? Is it an essential aspect of our life?

Than another friend, with whom I usually have very spiritual discussions, was debating on the fact that our lives are all predestined, that everything is already written for us. Honestly, I have my own specific point of view regarding "destiny" but if she is right, and everything is already planned, than why are we taking these hard times so personally and seriously? If everything is already known, and there is no other way around, why are we working hard? Or scared? Or constantly over-thinking?

What is suffering? Do we choose to suffer? Is it all in our mind, so we'd be the ones controlling it? Are we all natural sadochists? Is there a way we could avoid suffering? And would that be healthy?

I know it is going to sound very "emo", but I love pain. And I know, that if we all get really honest with our own self and think about it seriously, we can always find something weirdly exquisite in the concept of suffering. And I can't explain it. It doesn't seem to make sense...but it does.

Our pain is in our mind. Our mind decides to let us feel it. It's a sensation, just like pleasure. I believe it has the same nature, as I always felt there is such a fine line between these two, a very fine line. It's just as if your mind decides at the very last second if this should be identified as enjoyable or painful. But the existence of the sensation is real and it comes from the same source.

And it's beautiful.

Our mind needs to go crazy and loose control in order for it to refocus on the important direction, to be aware of its own nature and limits. Our heart needs to be broken, to be thorn apart and smashed, in order for us to know its value. Our body has to hurt from time to time. It is its only way to express itself, loud and clear, as if it's crying out loud for love and affection.

And it's beautiful.

In chemistry, when two substances get in contact, there is something happening, there is a reaction, which leads to a transformation. Something needs to happen. Both substances had the potential to "become", it's their unconscious knowledge, that needed to be triggered. Something needs to happen, a reaction, which is the uncomfortable experience, in order to become this transformation, to change and be aware of the potential they both had. Same goes for us, as much as we know what we should do, what we are meant to do, what is the good thing to do, we need to be in contact with reality and to let this reaction explode in us, to let it blow our whole existence, in order to see this transformation.

And it's beautiful.

Sometimes, it's the only way we got shaken up so hard, so that we finally understand. Finally understand what people have been telling us for years. We knew it, deep down. But it's boring to simply acknowledge it and accept it as it is. The human is a practical being, it needs to feel and live things in order to understand them completely. So the aspect of "good" and "bad" is a very abstract ideology. It sinks in our unconscious until we allow ourself to get in touch with it. To live it, without fear. And when you surpass this fear of the unknown, it takes courage. Because daring to experience the truth, your own truth, is painful. So when you accept the fact that you are going to suffer eventually to quench your thirst of curiosity, you receive that uppercut punch right in your stomach when you were the least expecting it.

And this shakes your whole body up. Your bones, your nerves, your organs. Your blood changes temperature for a millisecond. Your heart skips a beat. Or two. Or it simply forgets its task. Your brain doesn't know how to function anymore. You hallucinate. Your eyes see foggy. Your electromagnetic field is confused. You choke, completely. Like the big technology crash we were all panicking about in 2000? Well, this is the real shit. It happened. A complete disconnection, a loss of network. The black whole.

You're all shaken, your body, your mind, your soul.

And it's beautiful. 

YES, it's beautiful!

Ironic, isn't it? Painful and beautiful?

Life is ironic, the whole concept of being alive is ironic. Our existence is pure irony, since we are not getting alive out of it anyways. And still, it's beautiful! Everything is beautiful, and everything includes the stuff we were conditioned to see as bad, as wrong or ugly. Life includes every little thing around us, every smell, every touch, every single color, even the ones our eyes can't see, down to the very atom level of the oxygen we breathe... everything. And the core of everything is beauty. Existence itself can't be anything else than love and beauty.

So the very existence of pain itself is beauty.

If pain is beauty, don't be scared of it. Embrace it. And most importantly, don't hate its factors. Don't blame the assholes for being in the friendzone, don't blame your ex for your current emotional instability, don't blame yourself for actions you should have taken or your parents for the missed opportunities. Instead, be grateful for all these pain activators. It makes you suffer? Good! You need it. You are human after all.

Take it and learn. Take it and absorb it until you are confortable with this pain. Accept it and deal with it. Let it guide you. Let it teach you. Let it lighten you. Let it transform you.

Let it transform you. It is going to hurt.

Beautifully. Exquisitely.

Haven't you ever read this little story of the man who has been seen to constantly knock his head against a wall? Someone came to him and asked why is he inflicting this suffering upon himself.

"I wanna hurt myself because it's painful, and when I'll stop it's going to feel good."

I am not saying let's all search for all the painful situations and suffer forever!! I am just trying to demystify the benefits of pain in our life, since we can't really escape from it, can we? I'd rather see it as beautiful, in case you haven't realized it yet! :)

I wonder what the caterpillar transforming into a butterfly feels? I would guess it's not an easy transformation. It probably thinks that it is dying, agonizing slowly in the dark.

And we all know what happens next. Or wait... do we?

"There is no such thing as useless pain. There is only useless fear of pain.

L [u] I

Doté d’une empathie singulière, il lutte pour les causes qu’il considère justes. Déjà bambin, il négociait brillamment et défendait les intérêts des plus démunis. C'est une conséquence de cette vie qui a souvent été indigne envers lui. Alors, courageusement, il refuse de lui donner raison.
Justice est son mot d’ordre. L’injustice l’amène à mordre.

Ne trouvant sa place nulle part, il se la constitue parmi d’autres. Ses amis lui accordent enfin ce dont il a souvent été dépourvu. Ils le conseillent, le soignent, l’écoutent et lui offrent leur amour. Pourtant, le malheureux n’est pas totalement comblé. La réalité, longtemps niée, révèle que les siens semblent l’avoir négligé. 

Malgré les nombreuses embûches, il ne désespère pas. Heureusement, il s’arme de résilience suite à tous ces embarras. Il devient patient, sociable et apprend à s’adapter en tous lieux. 

C’est la vie. C'est ainsi. 
Il comprend tout maintenant, c’est une question de position dans la fratrie.

L’aîné est le plus responsable. 
Le benjamin est le plus gâté.
C’est une question d’ordre. 
Quelle infâme fatalité !
Il n’a pas trouvé sa place et il fait pourtant de son mieux. 
Quel douloureux tourment que d’être l’enfant du milieu.

La coupure

La tension est palpable au lendemain l'annonce de cette nouvelle percutante qui ne laisse personne indifférent. Au retour des vacances du temps des fêtes, les sourires se sont instantanément transformés en airs d'enterrement. Aussitôt la nouvelle tombée, les locaux où il fait normalement bon vivre à l’écoute des conversations et éclats de rires qui m’empêchent normalement de me concentrer, mon cubicule étant adjacent au couloir principal, ont été troqués pour un silence des plus angoissant. Entre les murs de cet open space, plus un son n’est entendu, plus une parole n’est prononcée. Tout le monde attend son tour au purgatoire du Technoparc.

Cela fait deux jours que nous attendons. Aucune communication de notre supérieur immédiat ni de notre directeur. Aucun mot pour nous rassurer, encore moins pour nous motiver. Les rencontres d’équipe journalières que notre gestionnaire avait soigneusement pris le temps de planifier une semaine à l’avance ont toutes été annulées. Pas une parole n’est prononcée, mais lorsqu’on croise un haut dirigeant dans les corridors, celui-ci nous regarde et baisse la tête, comme s’il savait quelque chose sur nous, comme si notre sort était déjà décidé et que tout le monde le connaissait sauf nous... ou est-ce la paranoïa qui s'est emparée de ma raison?

Dans l’attente perpétuelle, nous apercevons les partenaires d’affaires en ressources humaines qui marchent tels de bourreaux accompagnés de leurs condamnés qu’ils amènent un par un dans une salle isolée. Ils n’ont pas vraiment l’air de se réjouir de ce sal boulot. On peut même facilement présumer que ça les dégoûte, mais quelqu'un doit le faire. Les conversations fraternelles à la machine à café ne sont plus que des regards croisés un peu gênés qui chuchotent en silence : « je sais ce que tu penses, je pense la même chose. On n’a pas le droit d’en discuter, mais... je m’excuse. »

Au fond du couloir se trouve le cubicule d’une amie. Celle-ci me donne des nouvelles au fur et à mesure qu’elle les reçoit du troisième étage, où se trouve son ami qui voit les faits en direct. En effet, son groupe de travail a été touché de manière imminente par les coupures d’effectif. Leurs têtes sont désormais mises à prix comme de vulgaires petites bêtes qui font la queue pour passer à l’abattoir, entendant les cris de leurs prédécesseurs en souffrance. Ceux-ci reviennent un par un à leur bureau et ramassent leurs effets personnels en un éclair. Le temps de le dire, le bureau est vide, propre, vierge, comme si rien ne s’était jamais passé. C'est alors que je me demande lequel des suplices est le pire entre le renvoi ou l'attente dans l'ignorance la plus totale. Et alors que ce collègue racontait les faits à mon amie tel un reporter en pleine zone de guerre, une petite tape sur son épaule est sentie. Son heure a sonné…

Cela fait trois jours que je ne ferme pas l’œil, essentiellement parce qu’on ne nous communique aucun détail. Mon coéquipier m’a raconté hier qu’il avait aperçu notre gestionnaire dans le bureau des ressources humaines. Les jeux sont faits, rien ne va plus. Des rumeurs veulent que la direction ait décidé de procéder par ancienneté pour remercier les employés de leurs services à moindre coût. Manque de peau, je suis le plus jeune de mon équipe avec deux ans d’expérience. Le jeune cadre dynamique que je suis ne peut pas rivaliser contre les quelques dix, quinze et même vingt-cinq ans d’expériences qui prédominent au sein de mon équipe de travail. Un collègue a tenté de me rassurer en évoquant mon jeune âge comme pilier de son argumentation. Celui-ci développe sa pensée pendant plusieurs minutes en me disant que j’ai le luxe d’être plus facilement embauchable vu mon faible coût pour l’entreprise qui déciderait de me parrainer, que vu mon faible nombre d’obligations personnelles et familiales (pas d’enfant, pas d’hypothèque, pas de stress), je pourrais même me permettre d'attendre quelques mois pour bien magasiner mon prochain choix d’entreprise. Selon ses dires, mes possibilités sont infinies: « I’d love to be in your position! Sky is the limit! You’re young, you’re smart, you’re ambitious! Go nuts!” I will go nuts all right si je n’ai pas de nouvelles bientôt! Et tout ce à quoi je peux penser, c'est que ce collègue a intérêt à terminer son exposé rapidement si je ne veux pas me faire pincer à discuter malgré moi, au lieu de travailler. Pour paraphraser Gad Elmaleh dans son tout premier spectacle Décalages, normalement c’est le bruit qui vous dérange, mais aujourd’hui c’est le silence qui nous tue!

Aujourd’hui, j’ai décidé d’enfiler mes plus beaux habits de travail. Mon veston noir repassé, ma chemise noire à carreaux fins sur un fond blanc, mes boutons de manchettes, ma cravate en soie noire et mon pince cravate en acier inoxydable. Look impeccable, cheveux fraîchement coupés, cou parfumé, Je me suis vraiment mis sur mon 31. Ces habits pourraient sans doute leurrer les gens que je vais croiser aujourd’hui, leurs faisant croire que mon estime est gonflée à bloc, que je suis prêt à tout pulvériser sur mon passage. Tassez-vous, voici un jeune ambitieux qui est prêt à prendre la place des licenciés, un peu comme un jeune Wal-Mart aux reins solides qui s’installe là ou un Zellers qui bat de l'aile avait autrefois pignon sur rue. Mais, en fait, j’arbore plutôt mon complet funèbre qui m’accompagnera lors de mon dernier repos. Étant plus jeune, mon père m’avait raconté une histoire. Il s’agissait d’un homme qu’il avait connu, car il l’avait eu comme client au marché qu’il tenait quand j’étais enfant. Cet homme n’allait vraiment pas bien et un jour, il décida de se payer le costard le plus dispendieu qu'il puisse trouver pour ensuite l’enfiler et se jeter dans la Rivière-des-Prairies. Aujourd’hui, c’est un peu comme ça que je me sens. Avoir la classe pour ses obsèques, c’est un peu le dernier souffle d’honneur qu’on a avant de faire face au pire.

Le téléphone vient de sonner. Sur l’écran s’affiche le nom de notre adjointe-administrative. Je réponds et celle-ci me demande si je peux me rendre disponible pour une réunion d’urgence à 11:30am. Mon premier réflexe fut de lui demander de préciser s’il s’agissait d’une réunion seul à seul ou avec toute l’équipe. Mon cœur palpite et la tension dans l’air n’a jamais été aussi palpable qu’on peut la couper au couteau.

(À suivre...)

Cet attachement insupportable

D’abord, la passion frappe sans prévenir.

Nos états d’âme varient nettement à la vision de l’être aimé. À l’aube, notre euphorie atteint son paroxysme pour qu’à la tombée de la nuit elle se transforme en mélancolie. Subitement, un instinct d'habile chercheur surgit en nous.

Pourquoi ce regard ?

Pense-t-il à moi ?

Pourquoi une réponse si tardive ?

L’ai-je irrité ?

Alors, les mots puis les gestes sont minutieusement analysés pour poser le diagnostic. Une fois le tableau dépeint, ces signes sont traduits comme des preuves de considération de la part de l’autre ou des motifs justifiant une souffrance d’une durée indéterminée. Entre-temps, les membres de notre entourage, impuissants, deviennent les spectateurs confus de nos montagnes russes émotionnelles.

Ensuite, quand la patience rend l’âme et que tous les efforts semblent vains, une longue période de deuil s’en suit. Les individus sont alors touchés inégalement par les symptômes de cette incommodité.

L’un crie.

L’autre pleure.

D’autres se taisent.

Et certains se vengent même sur des cœurs innocents.

L’humain est ainsi conçu, à la manière d’une machine devant réagir d’une façon particulière aux assauts d’Éros.

Finalement, le combat prend fin et le temps devient un allié de taille. Il nous permet de se reconstruire, de se retrouver et de se soigner de cette honteuse dépendance.

Et nous nous promettons de garder précieusement la clé de notre cœur pour qu’aucun autre mortel, dorénavant, ne parvienne à nous heurter…

…jusqu’au prochain bourreau.

The Exponential Selfish Love Effect

I don't want to be in a relationship! There, I said it! Why would I anyway? It's so demanding to manage all these responsibilities and efforts you have to make to please that other party which you barely know, who is neither a family member nor a friend. All of that only to feel good when she tells you she loves you. Feeling good when she tells you she loves you! Isn't it ironic? We spend so much time talking to strangers, dating, going out with people for the sole purpose of finding this little treasure, the smallest Russian Doll, who will be able to give you back all the efforts you've had first put as cash down with no guarantee whatsoever that you will one day get the exact amount of efforts previously invested. Call me ironic! Call me Cartesian! Tell me I think that way because I'm a manager... but it does sound like a sucker deal to me! So many times I've been told by a woman that I am selfish that I finally decided to embrace it! Make lemonade, people... make lemonade!

It's been almost three years that I'm on the market - dating casually here and there - the male counterpart of Sex and the City if you will. I recently decided to slow things down on the emotional side for the profit of what the clinical psychologist Meg Jay calls building my identity capital during my defining decade. I know what you are thinking! Don't get crazy here! I did't go see a clinical psychologist, I just happen to watch TED Talks from time to time (wink-wink!). By identity capital I mean doing things that add value to who I am, something that is an investment to who I want to be next. By the way, if you don't already, everyone should have a five year plan describing where you want to be and what are the major milestones to get there as per the plan.



So it got me thinking, why would I want to be in a relationship if it's for someone I barely know to take my focus away from achieving a second master's degree, volunteering at my professional association, networking, traveling, doing sports or any playful activity that fulfills me and contributes to my well being and both psychological and emotional balance, but first and foremost, my money? I will tell you why. It's because the human nature is selfish! We want to have someone in our lives so that we don't feel lonely. But truth is if you keep yourself busy enough not to have the time to feel lonely and focus on what really matters (yourself), the hell with women! The hell with your hand too for all I know! And curiously enough I realized that my dating cycles were perfectly synchronized with my level of business. When I was very busy with working full time, studying and doing sports, I didn't feel the need to date simply because my intellect was so busy that my caveman instincts were stored in a drawer; because I like to think I am one of the few men on the face of this planet who truly believes that nowadays the alpha male defines itself through his brain rather than his proficiency to hunt a mammoth. It's called evolution! Therefore, I think I'm better off putting my eggs in the right basket - my brain - instead of tapping them againgt one. On the other hand, at the end of a work rush, right after my mid-terms or between two soccer seasons, I'd always feel lonely and felt the urgent need to go out and seek for a potential candidate. Ok, I agree that it might sound like an easy de facto paradigm, but let us dig a little deeper to figure out if we can prove our initial assumptions.


Over the last three years, (not to brag, but) I had several occasions of settling down with one of the girls I have dated. Then I decided not to! I started realizing that every single time my date wanted to get a little more serious I'd look back at my books, my soccer cleats, my backpack and tell myself: Are you crazy? You're 27, young, smart, well spoken, in perfect health, good dresser, good looking (so they say)... Why would you want to restrain yourself to tell one person you love her and hope she will payback the exact same amount of love so the balance evens out. You can love yourself all alone and keep 100% of your cash down! It's a pure economic fact. I'm not much of a gambler if you haven't realized it yet.

Here is an interesting fact that tells a lot about females (in general): every time I was actively looking for a relationship, I would have the hardest time catching the attention of women surrounding me through my many different circles. On the other hand, every time I minded myself to focus on building my identity capital, women would fall from the sky and poor from every direction texting me, facebook-messaging me, approaching me in parties, giving me looks in bars, etc. Frame it the way you want it whether it's that women want what they can't have or don't know what they want. Either way, it seems likes it pays off to be selfish (attention-wise). Yet another clear-cut (nut) case of reversed psychology.

So, now we know that I wouldn't invest blindly in a costly asset with high risk and no guarantee, we also know that a person in its twenties - the defining decade - must definitely build his identity capital and, last but not least, we know that attention comes when you focus on yourself. So let me ask you this - oh, love guru from beyond the face of the earth who magically inception-ed all people on this planet that it's better to be with someone than being single: Why would I choose to be with one woman if I can spend all these love units towards myself and enjoy every single moment of my life loving myself and focusing on my shit, plus all the exponential marks of attention I get from women coming (from) left and right? And the best part is that I did not spend one single love (and money) unit up front to receive 10 times more of this love back. I kept it all for myself, like the selfish fucker I am. It's just as if a banker would tell you Sir, do not spend one dime! Do not buy any stocks or bonds! Don't even bring your money into our bank! We'll give you 10 times whatever is under your mattress in no time! I think we have just reached a whole new level of selfishness! And don't get me wrong, I know I am an asshole, but at least I am psychologically/emotionally (and financially) balanced!

Un rêve

J'ai fait un rêve intense. J'étais avec mon ex au Mali. Elle se plaignait, j'en avais marre qu'elle se plaigne constamment. Je devais aller faire une formation vidéo. On était dans un village. Le sol était brun. Beaucoup de verdure. Un peu de sable de le vent. Le bus qui nous avait déposé devait repartir bientôt. Je lui ai dis que si elle en avait marre, qu'elle pouvait partir, mais que je n'allais plus me donner la peine de la suivre. Plus maintenant. Plus jamais. Elle a dit qu'elle ne savait pas comment retourné. Je décide d'au moins la reconduire au bus. Après, elle s'arrange comme elle veut. Un gros nuage noir se forme. Les villageois deviennent nerveux et commencer à parler dans une langue que je ne comprends pas. Ils donnent un nom au nuage. Il bouge si rapidement. Si rapidement. Et pourtant il n'y a pas beaucoup de vent. Juste un peu de sable dans l'air. Un villageois me traduit en français : des sauterelles, un nuage de sauterelles. Abritez-vous! . C'est surréel. Je savais que ça existait, mais je n'en avais jamais vu. Les sauterelles commencent à apparaître. Elle existent quand elle m'accrochent au passage. Autrement, ils sont juste flou. Trop rapide. Je regarde mon ex. Elle est plus loin. Je me demande si je vais la rejoindre ou je me cache. Trop de sauterelles. Je me cache derrière des arbustes. Je les vois passer rapidement au dessus de moi. Il y en a qui passent sous les arbustes. Je les bloque dans leur passage. Je suis couché et ils s'entassent le long de mon ventre. Ça grouille. Je les balais d'un geste demain. Il y a d'autre. Je les enlève. Mais autant s'ajoutent. Respire lentement, ça va passer ça fini toujours par passer. Respire

Purple Rain

The dust that I clean out of my mind is the ink that splashes in your face. Ink is my only weapon and I need to fight hard this time. I don’t believe in blood as a victory proof, I believe in respect.

I love to take risks. I know. I am no good. And you were a fun risk to take, a dangerous one, knowing I have a weakness for everything related to arts. I knew it would be trouble, but I guess I am a little masochist. You release such a mysterious energy, as if instead of being an artist, you were art itself. I was tempted. But I behaved, I didn’t let it show, I am a lady. But a human too after all. 

Peace. No wonder this word left a scar on my own skin. I wanted to remember, how important it is be in peace with myself, at every moment, everytime. And to realize when I am not. And in this moment, there is a disconnection between my heart and my mind. They are at war. 3rd world war level, Russia against USA type of war. And I am thorn apart, my mind is driving me crazy and my heart is keeping me weak. It’s just as if I’m standing under a purple color rain, dazed and confused. I feel like I’d need to step away, protect myself and go hide under a shelter. And on the other hand, I can’t leave, I am trapped in this mysterious, unique and beautiful rain. I know I’ll get a bad cold. But there is no way I can move.

You are not rain. You are not art. You are another human, who’s been hurt, and lost and confused and who is probably trapped under another colored rain somewhere else.  You are caught up into something as well, but I can’t reach out to you completely. I just wish we were confused about the same things. I wish we were trapped in the same cage. It would have made it easier to figure everything out.

This purple rain, I like it. This world you live in, I dig it. I breathe it. My lungs are craving it, always.The same way yours crave that cigarette. Sometimes I feel that people need something that will remind them they need to breathe. So they start smoking or doing yoga. It’s simply a way not to forget to take big breaths. Because we get so caught up in life that it becomes easy to forget what keeps us alive in the first place. A breath, simply a breath. But I don’t forget. I don’t need puffs and Om to fill my lungs with air. All I need is Art, to keep me in awe and Love to keep me breathless. It’s all it takes to remind me to breathe.

Between your piano ballad song and your spanish guitar solo, the more I inhale your world, the more I realize your purple rain is polluted. My lungs hurt, my heart aches. It is not healthy. It is not the pure air I craved for. My mind notices but my heart, as stubborn as it is, refuses to see. You’ve written your soul away to your senses, you sold it out to the devil. Your air is full of art, but it is lacking love. Just like a plant needs sun, I need love. Otherwise I faint away.

My leaves are now yellowing, and my roots are getting weaker. It is time for me to seek what is good for me. What will bring back my colors. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret anything. That purple rain soothed me, it taught me what I needed to learn. It created a real feeling of happiness and carefreeness in me, your purple rain leaked just like freedom on my skin. But, as I expected, I got a cold for staying under that weather for too long. I now have to look for something that won’t be ephemera, something that will nourish me deep into my roots for good.

For those like me, who seek purple rain, it is important not to be prudent. Go for what your heart craves, it doesn't know what it is getting itself into. But let it go anyways. Follow him. It will get thorn, it will shine and it will bleed. It will crawl, and with whatever is left of it, it will sing of dying happiness. Sometimes, it will be happy to be sad. And other times, sad to be happy. Because there is a fine line between sadness and happiness and that's the only thing that the heart understood. So if your heart wants it, let it. You will get a cold. And a heartbreak. But whatever breaks only allows more light to enter throughout the cracks. So don't be afraid to tear it apart. Explore. But always bring an umbrella with you, because you never know how bad that purple rain can get. And if you are courageous enough to step out of the rain, you will be able to be blessed by the view of the rainbow. You will realize that while you were seeking the purple, you couldn't be aware of all the other colours of the spectrum that were there to blow your mind.

Ink is my only weapon. And I needed to fight hard this time. I don’t believe in blood as a victory proof, I believe in respect. That’s all I’m asking for. And some tea, I'd like some tea too. They say it soothes the soul. And helps a cold.