Memo
TO: God.
FROM: Nury Vittachi.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing to apply for a new position. I realize you have not advertized any vacancies in the area in which I am interested, but I thought I would write in anticipation of a post becoming available.
The job I want to apply for is “Child”.
I realize that I am a little bit (okay, several decades) past the usual age for this position, but I believe I can be retrained.
*
Last week, I was crossing a pedestrian walkway with my child when we saw a beggar. I saw a smelly man flouting society’s conventions and speeded up my steps to pass as quickly as possible. My child saw a person in need and gave him a huge smile.
*
Then we crossed a car park. I saw a patch of dirty ground with oily puddles to be avoided. She saw rainbow-filled pools to be stirred into psychedelic patterns with the toe of her shoe.
*
Then we passed a group of men digging a large hole in the road. I saw an irritating danger to traverse. She saw a glimpse of the heart and lungs of the city and insisted on stopping to watch for a full eight minutes.
*
Then we headed to a shopping street for lunch. As a boringly predictable adult, I suggested Starbucks. But she smelled fried noodles and dragged me into a workmen’s cafe where we shared a really tasty meal for less than the price of one designer cappuccino.
*
Then I scanned the newspaper to look for cinemas, shopping malls or theme parks to visit. She decided “the fun-est thing to do” would be to take a ferry nowhere in particular and then take it straight back to where we started.
So that’s what we did. It WAS fun. And then we headed home.
*
On our journey, it became clear to me I am not cut out to be an Adult. How could I have got it so wrong? In my teen years, I believed I was born to be one. Not only was I growing taller, but my voice was getting deeper, my skin hairier and my birthdays greater in number. Drifting into Adulthood seemed natural.
However, I now realize this was a gross error. I had not fully considered the consequences.
So I resign from Adulthood with immediate effect. Please find enclosed my car keys, my house keys, my credit cards and my gold membership card to the Old Codgers’ Club.
*
I will no longer pretend to like subtitled European art house movies. When asked what my all-time favourite movie is, I shall admit to it being The Lion King.
*
I will no longer buy suits from tailors who offer me a choice of colors limited to grey, grey, grey or grey.
*
I will no longer pretend to enjoy books which have won the Booker Prize and will re-read The Magician’s Nephew.
*
I will no longer pretend I like sitting in bars late into the night discussing politics. I will go straight home after work and play Monopoly.
*
I will no longer eat organic lettuce drizzled with olive oil. I will have Coco Pops for dinner.
*
Why not join me? You might like it.
Amen.
TO: God.
FROM: Nury Vittachi.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing to apply for a new position. I realize you have not advertized any vacancies in the area in which I am interested, but I thought I would write in anticipation of a post becoming available.
The job I want to apply for is “Child”.
I realize that I am a little bit (okay, several decades) past the usual age for this position, but I believe I can be retrained.
*
Last week, I was crossing a pedestrian walkway with my child when we saw a beggar. I saw a smelly man flouting society’s conventions and speeded up my steps to pass as quickly as possible. My child saw a person in need and gave him a huge smile.
*
Then we crossed a car park. I saw a patch of dirty ground with oily puddles to be avoided. She saw rainbow-filled pools to be stirred into psychedelic patterns with the toe of her shoe.
*
Then we passed a group of men digging a large hole in the road. I saw an irritating danger to traverse. She saw a glimpse of the heart and lungs of the city and insisted on stopping to watch for a full eight minutes.
*
Then we headed to a shopping street for lunch. As a boringly predictable adult, I suggested Starbucks. But she smelled fried noodles and dragged me into a workmen’s cafe where we shared a really tasty meal for less than the price of one designer cappuccino.
*
Then I scanned the newspaper to look for cinemas, shopping malls or theme parks to visit. She decided “the fun-est thing to do” would be to take a ferry nowhere in particular and then take it straight back to where we started.
So that’s what we did. It WAS fun. And then we headed home.
*
On our journey, it became clear to me I am not cut out to be an Adult. How could I have got it so wrong? In my teen years, I believed I was born to be one. Not only was I growing taller, but my voice was getting deeper, my skin hairier and my birthdays greater in number. Drifting into Adulthood seemed natural.
However, I now realize this was a gross error. I had not fully considered the consequences.
So I resign from Adulthood with immediate effect. Please find enclosed my car keys, my house keys, my credit cards and my gold membership card to the Old Codgers’ Club.
*
I will no longer pretend to like subtitled European art house movies. When asked what my all-time favourite movie is, I shall admit to it being The Lion King.
*
I will no longer buy suits from tailors who offer me a choice of colors limited to grey, grey, grey or grey.
*
I will no longer pretend to enjoy books which have won the Booker Prize and will re-read The Magician’s Nephew.
*
I will no longer pretend I like sitting in bars late into the night discussing politics. I will go straight home after work and play Monopoly.
*
I will no longer eat organic lettuce drizzled with olive oil. I will have Coco Pops for dinner.
*
Why not join me? You might like it.
Amen.
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