Girl and City

A few nights ago, I went to see the Wizard of Oz, the musical. It was surprisingly good, particularly the munchkins who were all (very talented) elementary school kids. The scarecrow, the tin man, and the lion were amazing singers and dancers, and surprisingly, the lady who played Dorothy was the least impressive of the troup.
During intermission, two other girls and I ran across the street to a jazz and supper club where we quickly drank a glass of wine and shared a chocolate crepe before running back into the theatre for the second half. A musical, jazz, wine, and chocolate in the same night? How often does that happen?
I have never gone to a musical before, so I can check that off my life list¹! Now that I’ve seen one, I want to see more, many more!

After the show, I rushed over to an Italian restaurant nearby where SRF was celebrating a belated birthday. I was obviously late for dinner, but they poured me some wine and we had a jolly good time. I arrived just in time to explain to the dinner party why the wines they had ordered didn’t taste good (I had become the resident wine connoisseur to my friends ever since I went on those wine tastings last year). My alcohol tolerance is an embarrassment now², but that hasn’t stopped me from drinking.

We went to The Club³ after dinner⁴, except there was also a fashion show launch party there that night, so it was packed. I ran into a lot of people I hadn’t seen since second-year. Every time I ran into someone that night, they offered to buy me a drink, so two hours in, I had already had five drinks, none of which I paid for. It didn’t help that one of my friends from TheBusinessSchool had bought a private booth and bottle service and was handing me vodka tonics whenever my hand was empty. Free drinks are the worst way to stay sober (if that makes any sense).

Then I ran into YAR. Remember YAR? He is now in TheBusinessSchool, a year below me, and we had had lunch together a few weeks ago. I remembered that I still owed him lunch since I let him pay last time, but in order for it not to be a date, I’d insisted that he let me pay if we went out again. So I offered to buy him a drink when I ran into him, thinking this would absolve me of my obligation to take him out to lunch. Since our date two years ago, I had realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea for us to get involved. Besides, we didn’t leave things off very well last time, since he kissed my friend after taking me out to dinner. I was also under the impression that he currently had a girlfriend. Unfortunately, by the time I bought him a drink, I was far too inebriated for my own good.

Ironically, as a result of my buying him a drink in order to get out of buying him lunch, I ended up sleeping with him.
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1. You have no idea how great it feels to actually be making progress with my life list. I encourage everyone to make one! [↩]
2. Case in point, chugging that glass of wine during intermission made me tipsy for the second half of the play. [↩]
3. It is the official club of TheBusinessSchool because we go every week. [↩]
4. I wasn’t dressed for clubbing, and hadn’t planned to go out originally, but in my tipsy state of mind, I was easy to persuade. [↩]

Last Thursday, I went to New York for TheConsultingFirm’s “Sell Day”. It is basically a dinner that they invite all offerees (everyone who got an offer) to, and try to convince you to accept the offer. There were also some people there who had already accepted their offer, like me.

Most of the offerees there were vying for the New York office, but I did meet two girls who were also going to Singapore (and had also already signed their offers) < -- potential roommates!

TheConsultingFirm had booked out the second floor of Country, a restaurant in mid-town New York that has received considerable praise since its opening in 2005. Unlike the name, the restaurant was not "country" at all, it was very much the height of cosmopolitan sophistication. The finger-food that came around during cocktail hour was impeccable. There was a particularly memorable lobster pastry that makes me want to go back to New York just for another bite.
After some cocktails, finger-food, and mingling with the consultants and other recruits, we got down to dinner.

The dinner consisted of a butternut squash appetizer, which was smooth with the subtle hint of autumn ingredients. For my entree, I chose the mushroom risotto, which was creamy and very flavourful. For dessert, there was a hazelnut chocolate mousse cake, as well as miniature chocolate fruit cups and dipped chocolate "kabobs".

For everyone who had already signed their offer, or announced that they were going to sign, the firm had prepared an expensive bottle of French champagne. Several consultants hinted to us that we should open up the champagne right there and then, but I wanted to save mine and share it with my parents. After all, I am the most indebted to my parents, and they are the least likely to ever have expensive champagne, whereas I will probably have plenty of opportunity to be wined and dined during my consulting career (in fact, later that very night, some of the partners bought us several bottles of champagne at the afterparty).

At the dinner, one of the consultants who interviewed me in the first-round came up to congratulate me. From her, I learned that not only was I the only one from my school, but also the only one from Canada. There's nothing like the weight of your nation's reputation sitting on your shoulders to make you drink faster. All the other recruits were from top American universities such as Harvard, Stanford, Yale, UPenn, Cornell, MIT, and so on. Ironically, I became the center of attention for being the only Canadian and for coming from a school that few had heard of.
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The other day, I was telling an acquaintance about my horrible hangover the day after Halloween. “I never used to get hangovers like that,” I mused. “In first year, I would just have a headache the next day.”
“Yeah, well, you’re getting older,” he said nonchalantly.

WHAT?
I’m getting older?!

I mean, yeah, I know I’m getting older, but it never even occurred to me that age would be the reason for this hangover differential. I just figured I was drinking more now on a given night than I would back then (although I’m not sure if that’s entirely true – most of the time I feel like my alcohol tolerance has lowered).

But really, how could three years make such a big difference hangover-wise? It’s not like I’m 80. I’m only 21. That’s not old.

In the last two years, I have seen myself turn from a teenager into a “young woman.” I have been focusing on how great that is, but maybe there’s another side to the story. Sure, it’s great not to feel grouped with the “irresponsible, consumerist teenagers”¹ and instead with the hip, urban 20-somethings. Sure, it’s great to be able to dress older, be taken more seriously, and treated like a lady. But once the novelty of being a 20-something wears off (as I’m sure it will in one or two years), will I just feel old?

Already, everyone younger than me feels too young. I don’t know what that means exactly, but there’s a feeling of disdain in my mouth whenever I see them. “Oh, those first-years. They have no idea what’s coming.”
I can’t date younger men because men my age are already too immature for my taste, much less the fresher boys. We’re looking forward to different things. I’m looking forward to the start of my dream career, of moving halfway around the world by myself and proving my worth. They’re looking forward to the rest of their university career, of doing well on exams and meeting girls at parties. I read the business section of newspapers every day to keep up-to-date on what is happening in the financial markets. They keep their iTunes playlist updated with the latest Billboard hits.
And yes, I was once in their shoes. But just because I can see their point of view doesn’t mean I can’t think it juvenile and silly.
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1. Although I’m definitely a consumerist 20-something. [↩]

Today I signed my offer with The Consulting Firm and mailed it. I received the offer package a couple days ago but I waited until my parents had a chance to review it before accepting it. Obviously, they were thrilled. I will be making more money than they had ever hoped for, certainly enough to be fully financially independent. In spite of the excessively expensive housing prices in Singapore, I can afford my own place in a condo in the city and still have disposable income to spare. It is a dream come true in every way.
I have only ten months standing between me and the next phase of my life, six of which is to be spent in school. I hope to travel for the other four months – perhaps to Europe with some friends, definitely to China to see my ailing grandmother.

Yesterday, I met WAF in The City for some shopping and dining. Although she was happy to hear my news, she was preoccupied with her own.
“I might be pregnant!” She hissed at me through the racks of a particularly tacky store.
“What?”
“I don’t know, my body has been acting weird lately.” She proceeded to describe to me just exactly how her body was acting “weird.”
“Have you missed your period?” I asked.
“No, I have it in a week.”
“So, it’s not for certain. It could just be your paranoia. Why don’t you take a test?”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
We dropped the subject as we continued shopping. Over dinner, I approached the matter again.
“I don’t know how you could not know. I mean, if you’re not, then you don’t have to worry.”
“But what if I am?”
“Even if you are, it’s not like you don’t have options. It’s not like it would be outside of your control.”
“If I am, should I tell him? But which one should I tell?” She had had unprotected sex with two different men on two consecutive nights a few weeks ago. Believe me, I work very hard at not judging.
“If it doesn’t make a difference to your decision, then I’m not sure you need to. But you may not even have to worry about that if you just take the test.”
She finally agreed that she wanted to know, and she wanted to know while I was there. So near the end of dinner, I slipped out and bought her a pregnancy test and she took it in the bathroom. She was testing a few days earlier than the test recommends, so the results are not necessarily conclusive, but either way, it came out negative.

“Phew,” she said, when she finally came out of the bathroom. She’d have to take the test again closer to her period, but at least for now, she was comforted. We decided we needed to celebrate – my job offer and her non-pregnancy – so we went to a swanky bar on the 51st floor of a building that overlooked the entire city.

“Cheers,” I said, raising my glass.
“What are we toasting to?” she asked.
“To dream jobs.”
“And no babies,” she added.
“Cheers,” and we clinked glasses.
As we sat outside on the wrap-around balcony, sipping champagne, and admiring the city lights, I silently took a snapshot of the view and vowed to remember it. For all my yearnings to get away, I still loved this city. It was beautiful and familiar and welcoming. It was the city I grew up in, the city that taught me about love and heartache and friendship. It was home.

“I’m going to miss this place,” I said, to no one in particular, and raised my glass as a toast to The City before I finished the champagne. Goodbye, Toronto.

I’m going to Singapore!

Yes, you read that right. Against all odds, and I really mean all odds, I got a job offer! This time next year, I will be working for one of the most prominent financial services consulting companies in the world. Moreover, the Singapore office travels the most, because most of the clients are not in Singapore (it being a city-nation, after all). Travel throughout the Asia-Pacific¹ region is par for the course, and travel to Europe is probable as well.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the dream job. Well, my dream job.
I thought I would get a good night’s sleep tonight, but I was so excited, I only slept 2.5 hours. Which is why I am writing this entry at 5:19 am².

So, to backtrack. I arrived in New York City at 6pm, after being strip-searched at U.S. Customs³. There turned out to be three of us going to the interview on the same flight, so we decided to take a limo to the hotel. (Ok, we didn’t, but we seriously considered it. After all, the company’s paying for it, and it would have cost the same as the three of us taking separate cabs.) The hotel was gorgeous, as most hotels in Manhattan are, I have come to realize. I had a king-sized bed, two huge mirrors, a flat-screen TV, and all the bells and whistles you can expect at a boutique hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Oh, and the room cost $400 USD a night. I checked their website. Yeah.
My room looked almost identical to the picture on their website:

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1. Hong Kong, China, Taiwan, Thailand, South Korea, Japan, Australia. [↩]
2. I was actually up at 1:30am, but I tried to sleep until 3:45 am, at which point, I gave up. [↩]
3. Ok, not exactly strip-searched. But the customs lady chose me to do a “random search,” which consisted of patting me down thoroughly in front of the entire line, and having my suitcase opened and every pocket checked. [↩]