Muggsy Bogues

OK what is it tonight?
Please just tell me what the hell is wrong,
Do you want to eat, do you want to sleep, do you want to drown?
Just settle down, settle down, settle down…
I’ll give you candy, give you diamonds, give you pills,

Give you anything you want, hundred dollar bills,
I’ll even let you watch the shows you want to see,
Just marry me, marry me, marry me…

I’m so sick of you tonight,
You never stay awake when I get home,
Is something wrong with me, something wrong with you?

I really wish I knew, wish I knew, wish I knew…
I give you candy, give you diamonds, give you pills,
I give you anything you want, hundred dollar bills,
I even let you watch the shows you want to see,
Because you married me, married me, married me…
Married me, married me, married me…

I was young I learned a game,
That love and happiness were the same,
And now I’m older and I don’t play,
I found out the hardest way,
I got wasted, she got mad, called me names and she called her dad,
He got crazy and I did too, wondering what I did to you.

I gave you candy, gave you diamonds, gave you pills,
I gave you anything you want, hundred dollar bills,
I even let you hear the songs I wanna sing
I’ll give you anything, anything, anything…
I’ll give you anything, anything, anything…
I’ll give you anything, anything, anything…
Anything…
Anything…
Anything…

“Anything Anything” – Dramarama

——

Bain & Co. packed the house in the largest amphi earlier this evening, followed by a shoulder-to-shoulder hosted bar event at the Fontainebleau Chateau. This was the first top-tier consulting firm to come to campus this week, if you don’t count Roland Berger. AT Kearney and Accenture are on for tomorrow night, and the biggest bad-ass of them all, McKinsey & Co., is slated for Friday night. It was a tad surreal, sipping champagne in a marble-pillared room decked out with more cherubic statues than you can shake a stick at, while trying to look comfortable in “business attire,” and schmooze at the same time. What would Napolean think about all these nutjobs standing in his hallway?
I haven’t seen so many MBAs running around in suits since, well, our P1/P2, when the previous intake were in the thick of their recruiting season. It’s amazing how behavior shifts in the context of a cocktail party cum recruiting event. Trying to get in a word edgewise with a consulting firm partner at one of these gigs is like trying to post up with Patrick Ewing, Shaq and Yao Ming running interference. Polite elbows get thrown, petite folk get edged out, and the loudest, most dandruff-laden types, who inevitably sport the most poorly cut suits you’ll ever see, usually end up monopolizing most of the airtime. I’m not complaining, I’m just “telling it like it is,” to quote the Bain presentation. See, I’m the perfect fit for that firm. Maybe I should put this on my CV, like a fellow INSEAD blogger has chosen to do. But he actually gets traffic.

There’s so much on my mind, and so many things to do, not the least of which the brick of reading for PIM tomorrow and it’s already past midnight. I should really get on that, and get in to bed. Better yet, I’ll do both at the same time. But before I forget, I’ve been asked to start a fan-club for myself. Step right up and sign on the dotted line. You can be the inaugural member.

Gloria

You don’t know a thing about me
Is there something you should know?
I can tell you what you want to hear
Let your inhibitions just go

No, you don’t know what you will give up
You don’t know what you want
It may take you years to find out
You don’t know what you need
It’s something that may never come to you

Trust is something that comes easy
When you’ve never been a victim
Lies and promises and words are said
It’s your decision to accept them

No, you don’t know what you will give up
You don’t know what you want
It may take you years to find out
You don’t know what you need
It’s something that may never come to you

“Disconnected” – Face to Face

This, and “Anything Anything” by Dramarama are probably two of my favorite songs in any genre. I first heard this song ages ago, in the pre-Internet days, and spent a good number of years looking for the title. It would’ve made a great background for my angst-filled teenage years.  Hell, it’d make a great soundtrack for my INSEAD year.

——

It’s settled. I like PIM, and am staying in the class, much to my discomfort.

Today, we took a self-assessed “Rogerian Attitudes Questionnaire” in which we had to describe the extent to which we possessed a list of traits, some positive, some negative on a scale of 1 to 5, with the high end signifying “very much so,” and the low “not at all.”

Some positively Rogerian traits/behaviors, with my self-scored ranking in parentheses included in the sample were: Caring (5), Patient (2), Compassionate (5), Good at Perceiving Others’ Feelings (2), Comfortable With Ambiguity (2). Some negatives: Judgmental (4), Spontaneous (4), Uncomfortable With My Own Emotions (5), and the zinger, Like Action Movies (4).

We were then asked to sum the 4’s and 5’s for both positives and negatives. My results were +:43, -:29. I think that makes me slightly Rogerian, but the extremes worry me a little. Though I haven’t mustered up the courage to speak in class yet, it’s kind of funny how honest and open I’m being with myself in the course.  I shrunk a little when Fernando busted out, “Many of you like to play closet psychologist…” Yup; guilty as charged. I think I have the answers for everyone else, but I can’t even solve my own problems. Go figure.

I gasped (thankfully, no one was close enough to hear) when he asked us to write down what we thought the risks of empathy were, from the point of view of the person feeling empathetic. Empathy, as defined by Fernando, is the ability to get in touch with not only the thoughts, but the feelings of another person. The ability to not only put yourself in their shoes, but in their heart as well.

I’ve thought a lot about this topic over the last few months, and have been trying to figure out where my penchant for empathy comes from, and how far back this somewhat nefarious trait goes.  The first, I’ve got a shaky handle on.  The latter, I won’t be able to peg, because I’ve already gone as far as memory serves.  This might sound like some self-tooting of the ol’ horn, but I know I’m not Mother Theresa, and I’ve never really viewed the behavior/trait/ability as a good thing.  Do I want to get rid of it?  Probably not, but I can’t say I don’t wonder what life would be like without it.  Easier, is my guess.

There are some who would disagree with the assertion that I’m empathetic.  Pathetic, maybe, but not empathetic.  And they’d be right, in a narrow sort of way.  How many times have I been blind to, or lied to myself about what someone else is feeling?  How many times has that come back to bite me on the ass?  I don’t think it’s an issue of empathy so much as self-awareness and transparency, two concepts that Rogers believed to be crucial to his idea of “healthy” person.

Well, fuck, we all know I’m the paragon of health, right?  Whiskey, smokes, burning the Citroen’s transmission on low-gear sprints through the forest late at night, sleep deprivation, and participating in the INSEAD MBA program.  All signs of a healthy blogger.

Tomorrow is the same day.  Just with a different suit.

Receive

I lost myself on a cool damp night
Gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
and be what I want to be

When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more than I ought to drink
Because I brings me back you…

Lilac wine is sweet and heady,
like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady,
like my love
Listen to me…
I cannot see clearly
Isn’t that he coming to me nearly here?

Lilac wine is sweet and heady
where’s my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady,
where’s my love?

Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn’t that he, or am I just going crazy, dear?
Lilac Wine, I feel unready
for my love…

 

“Lilac Wine” – James Shelton

——

I’ve got a nasty little habit of hanging on to 99% of the receipts that end up in my pocket. It used to make sense when I was working and tracking my expenses, but this year, it has turned into a major nuisance, as the mounds of heat-sensitive paper are really starting to impede my ability to move around the bedroom.

Regardless of how useless these tiny slips of accounting have become due to my profligate INSEAD ways (hey, it’s all borrowed money anyway, right?), they do serve a purpose: to hit myself in the head and heart repeatedly with the sledgehammer of nostalgia. I’ve been accused of living in the past (and the future, but never the present, God forbid), and what better way to take a 8.27 second 100 meter sprint through the caverns of time than examining every little transaction from August 2007?

From the mundane, “Hey, I sure ate a lot of fish in the cafeteria during P1/P2,” to the shocking, “Dear lord, I drank a lot of beer in P3,” to the good times, and the bad, the cascade is relentless, burying me in an avalanche of tidbits, left gasping for breath.

 

Here’s one for the sandwich I bought at that stand in CDG Terminal 3 the day I landed, before picking up my little leased Citroen.

Here’s one from my first trip to Paris, driving around bewildered, dumfounded and awed by the history, like the tourist that I am, forever transiting from one locale to the next.

Here’s one from that weekend awash in champagne and crepes, breathing with effervescent happiness and twinkling eyes.

Ooh, here’s one from a visit to McDonald’s in August. I love that place more than I should.

Here’s one from that amazing dinner, honoring a cleanly lost bet with glasses of out-of-place mojitos, after an afternoon spent wandering back alleys filled with the clanking din of hammers on silver, where foreign skin is nary seen.

Oops, here’s one from Freddy’s Bar for a box of overpriced cigarettes. Off to the other stack to join your brothers and sisters you go.

Here’s the UPS tracking tag for a gift. I love gifts, though only on the giving end, never the receiving. Correction; what I love the fleeting moment of happiness, the toothy smile, the imperceptible jump in the seat of someone opening a present. That’s why I give. Fuck the “stuff.”

Ah, here we go. Pizza Pazza. This one makes me chuckle. I’d bet some serious money that if I had a receipt for every visit to this fine Italian establishment, one of the line items would always be the same.

Here’s one from that day spent racing to Paris, trying to find something to wear for the Winter Ball. I should’ve stayed in bed; I shouldn’t have gone; I should’ve been struck with the flu or dengue fever or cholera or a falling decision tree.

Here’s the stub from a flight home to days spent in grey, awaiting the return to hope, only to find more grey.

 

Another will join it soon, if nothing works out. Even receipts fade, eventually.

Desperately Seeking Mangrove

Which of the bold face lies will we use?
I hope that you’re happy
You really deserve it
This will be best for us both in the end

But your taste still lingers on my lips
Like I just placed them upon yours
And I starve
I starve for you
But this new diet’s liquid
And dulling to the senses
And it’s crude
But it will do

Which of the standard lines will we use?
I’ve been meaning to call you
I’ve just been so busy
We’ll catch up soon
Lets make it a point to

But your taste still lingers on my lips
Like I just placed them upon yours
And I starve
I starve for you
But this new diet’s liquid
And dulling to the senses
And it’s crude
But it will do

“Hope You’re Happy” – Dashboard Confessional

——

I attended the first session of “Psychological Issues in Management” (PIM) today, taught by the infamous Fernando Bartholome. It’s an interesting class so far. I’ll post on this when I have more data, but I didn’t find it shocking or offensive as many others in the classroom did, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by. For me, it was incredibly draining more than anything. I sat there, coiled and tense, waiting to be cold-called and flip on the flight-or-fight instinct, with an inclination toward the latter. Maybe it was just the jam-packed amphi and my closet claustrophobia kicking in. Maybe it was the way some of Fernando’s comments hit home, hard. Maybe I’m just imagining things and should stop listening to the little green men.

“If you know what this class is about, why are you taking it,” I was asked.

“I dunno; to challenge myself, to spite myself, to push myself,” I replied.

Who knows why I do the things I do? I sure as hell don’t. An impartial third party thinks I take selfless actions to further my path to sainthood whilst ignoring my Rogerian conception of “self.” Well, if that’s the case, then once my stigmata arrive from Amazon.com, I’ll be fit for canonization.

There are various parties going down tonight: P1/P2 section reunion deals, house gigs, get-togethers, and whatnot. I didn’t receive an invitation to any of them. Now let’s just get this straight: I do not crash parties. That’s just not my thing. If I haven’t made it to a mailing list and I receive a double, triple forwarded email with details, I just won’t go. Sure, this is INSEAD, and I constantly hear, “everyone crashes, who cares? Don’t be stupid,” but I won’t do it. Call it principle. Call it idiocy. Call it being antisocial. Call it what you will. I’m not whining about the state of affairs. It is what it is. I could network better. I could care more.

I’m tired, hungry, spent, and not really sure what’s coursing through me right now, though in an attempt to be Rogerian, I’m trying hard not to benchmark whatever it is against anything/anyone else, and am stewing in the deserted West Wing typing this by the harsh, clean glow of a lonely fluorescent tube.

The job hunt is already starting to overwhelm me. Thirty-nine messages were waiting in Outlook when I booted up this morning, a good two-thirds of which had something to do with employment. There seems to be a career services event workshop of some sort happening every night, and though I know from experience that I won’t extract much value out of them, I feel guilty if I don’t attend each and every one. There are something like six presentations that I want to go to next week, and the consulting firms have all sent out panic-mongering emails offering slots in limited-availability, “non evaluative information sessions,” asking us to reply ASAP and indicate our office geography of choice. As much as I hate to curse in a public forum, and as much as my excessive use of language bugs one particular reader, there’s no more appropriate turn of words here than a good ol’ “Fuck me.”

 

Memory

Today I’m gonna start again,
Find my home,
If only I could escape,
My danger zone,
I have to take my own advice,
Don’t make it hard,
There’s something in the universe,
The brightest star.

[Chorus]
Here’s what I’ve been waiting for,
Day, night, seen it all before

Memory! Telling lies,
I am scared and cannot hide,
When I sleep,
Be my guide,
Could this be my paradise?
Something deep in my soul,
Tells me where I must go,
All my dreams, telling lies,
Could this be my paradise?

I want to share it all with you,
The special place,
Imagining the perfect day,
In time and space,
The secret of the universe,
Is beautiful,
If you could listen close enough,
You’d here it call….

[Chorus]

“Memory” – Dumonde vs Lange

This track really does bring back memories; of leaving one of my favorite cities on the face of our little blue cosmic ball; of nearly blowing a subwoofer while blasting this song after saying goodbye to the first person to show me that there are other ways of thinking, and who incidentally took a little bit of me with them on their way out; of gulping down a giant tumbler of Jameson after saying that last goodbye and cooking up the biggest heap of pasta and sausages with D that night. Was that the night of The Screen Door Incident? Oh, man, I’d forgotten all about that, too.  Memory fails me, here.

–

Red alert, red alert; the Fontainebleau campus has been overrun by hordes of bronzed, beaming and bemused (by the “warm weather” and different “dress code”) folk from Singapore. Combined with the hordes of post-exam, beer-addled P1s running around like they’d all just won their own individual lotteries, trying to walk through campus today at noon was like trying to crowd surf at a Kenny G concert. Yeah, it didn’t work out so well.

You know what else may not work out so well? The next month of mental, physical, emotional gymnastics required to hunt for that elusive beast known as The Job.

 

Company presentations start next Monday and I swear you can see people walking around campus with their strong hand hidden in coat pockets, flexing away at one of these

to improve on their firmly professional-yet-friendly handshakes, and hitting the local chop doc to stock up on Botox for the truckload of shit-eating grins that they’ll have to deliver for the next four-ish weeks. And by “they,” I really mean “I.”

Things to do in the next 7 days:

• Create giant job spreadsheet with risk-adjusted, weighted variables including, but not limited to: geographical preference, proximity to networks, forecasted salary, industry preference, job title, job function, chance of getting any job, proximity to McDonald’s, PPP-adjusted living standard, flight radius to locale where I can get a decent milkshake
• Plug the 38,901,625 scheduled career services events over the next four weeks in to Outlook
  • Panic
    • Turn to my dear friend whiskey to assuage my fears
• Write cover letters for companies listed in bullet one
  • Realize I haven’t written one of these since college
  • Panic
    • Turn to my dear friend whiskey to assuage my fears
      • Possibly write better cover letters as a result
• Figure out what I want to be when I grow up
  • Panic
    • Turn to my dear friend whiskey to…figure it out for me?
• Organize my life
  • Panic
    • Realize whiskey probably isn’t go to help here

 

 

 

 

Adage

Now I know,
That I can’t make you stay.
But where’s your heart?
But where’s your heart?
But where’s your,

And I know.
There’s nothing I can say.
To change that part.
To change that part.
To change.

So many,
Bright lights they cast a shadow,
But can I speak?
Well is it hard understanding,
I’m incomplete?
A life that’s so demanding,
I get so weak.
A love that’s so demanding,
I can’t speak.

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Tell me if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

Can you see?
My eyes are shining bright,
‘Cause I’m out here, on the other side,
Of a jet black hotel mirror,
And I’m so weak.
Is it hard understanding?
I’m incomplete.
A love that’s so demanding,
I get weak.

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Tell me if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Tell me if you stay I’ll be forgiven,

Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

These bright lights have always blinded me.
These bright lights have always blinded me.

I say.

I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I’d never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.
Asleep, or dead.

‘Cause I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I’d never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.
Asleep, or dead.

‘Cause I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I’d never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.
Asleep, or dead.

‘Cause I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I’d never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.

Asleep, or dead…

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Tell me if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

“Famous Last Words” – My Chemical Romance

——

Are you one of those people who always wonder how you can get the old aphorisms to apply to your life?

“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”

“A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

I am.

Yet none of them ever work. All that seems to bring me forward is putting one foot in front of the other. One monotonous, trudging step at a time.

Ever have one of those nights when nothing goes right, and when you turn to the people you thought you could count on, you find only facades in their stead?

T-minus 36 hours until P4. This break has been nothing like I thought it would be. My mind has been on a giant roller coaster since Monday, and I have no idea what tomorrow is going to bring, let alone tomorrow-and-a-half. Absolutely no idea. Yet I s’pose I’m happier, at this particular moment in the space-time continuum. I’m thinking less, and that’s good. But I wonder…

Back to the Old Way, I suppose. Back to the perfectly correlated substitutes. Back to the Walk. Back to The Path.

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

Smile!

Diablo

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.“

King James Bible – Peter; Chapter 5, Verse 8

I write from a cheap but good looking desk in an expensive but cheaply furnished hotel in a faceless town tucked into a crease in the hinterlands of a soulless country, wondering why I’m posting again, and why there’s no ice in this place for my whiskey, and what on earth the deal is with non-smoking rooms. I think the latter answers the former, and really goes a long way towards invalidating the quote-of-the-day, but hey, what’s a drink or six between friends?

I have seen the devil, and however out of character my reaction may be, I’m not sure I like him much.

I’ve always subscribed to the belief that there’s no such thing as too much of a good thing. I’ve always been convinced that commerce, in its basest form of buying and selling (and any derivative thereof), is fundamentally good. I’ve always been partial to the hustle and bustle of humanity and the untempered flow of raw energy. I’ve always thought I was better off flying solo, until my time came to bid this mortal coil adieu.

All of the above has been slightly flipped on its head in the recent past. In the process, I may have actually learned (or acknowledged) something quite disconcerting about myself. Now don’t get me wrong; I still believe in commerce, and can still probably spend a good few hours walking around Carrefour, eyes agog at the cornucopia of plenty. I still like people, albeit in controlled doses, and energy still carries an indescribable high. The Amelia Earhart bit, though, I’m not so sure about anymore.

Maybe it’s time. Maybe that’s what I’m feeling. Maybe it’s time settle. Maybe it’s time to move back to DTLF-Land and work some semi-menial job that pays semi-well until I hit middle-management and become eligible for the 14 karat gold-plated paperweight, while financing the corrugated cardboard shack, beige Tata Nano and 2.27 kids along the way. If I’ve lost the game, as much as anyone not playing may say I haven’t, then I might as well hurl myself off this low-slung balcony right now. Or settle down and be semi-content for the rest of my life. Ah, the ashes of mediocrity. How I yearn to smear you on my forehead and forsake the taste of possibility for Lent.

But that’s not what INSEADers do, right? INSEAD participants cross the threshold into the “real world”, shoulders squared, heads held high, armed with the wisdom of kings, ready to ride the winds of change, to spin the wheel of fortune, to find their Personal Legends.

So P4 is around the corner…here we go again. Four more months until we step into the maw of the abyss. Smile!

Other Side

Chorus
How long how long will I slide
Separate my side I don’t
I don’t believe it’s bad
Slit my throat
It’s all I ever

I heard your voice through a photograph
I thought it up it brought up the past
Once you know you can never go back
I’ve got to take it on the otherside

Centuries are what it meant to me
A cemetery where I marry the sea
Stranger things could never change my mind
I’ve got to take it on the otherside
Take it on the otherside
Take it on
Take it on

Chorus

Pour my life into a paper cup
The ashtray’s full and I’m spillin’ my guts
She wants to know am I still a slut
I’ve got to take it on the otherside

Scarlet starlet and she’s in my bed
A candidate for my soul mate bled
Push the trigger and pull the thread
I’ve got to take it on the otherside
Take it on the otherside
Take it on
Take it on

Chorus

Turn me on take me for a hard ride
Burn me out leave me on the otherside
I yell and tell it that
It’s not my friend
I tear it down I tear it down
And then it’s born again

Chorus

How long I don’t believe it’s bad
Slit my throat
It’s all I ever

“Otherside” - Red Hot Chili Peppers

 —–

Good night, folks. It’s been an amazing journey.  Best of luck to you.

Oliver

The sun’ll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There’ll be sun!

Just thinkin’ about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
‘Til there’s none!

When I’m stuck a day
That’s gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And Grin,
And Say,
Oh!

The sun’ll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
‘Til tomorrow
Come what may
Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya Tomorrow!
You’re always
A day
A way!

“Tomorrow” – Annie

——

Today

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The wheel turns, and the madness begins. You know it’s getting bad when P1s are coming to this blog in search of academic tips. Hah! Silly students. Just write what you really feel about your group mates. You know you want to. Let it all out. Come on; it’s your last chance. Well, that is unless you decide to have another heart-to-heart “feedback session.”

Let’s see how many projects I can churn out in a day’s time and how much sleep I can get between now and Monday.

03:17. Do I love you, oh tomorrow?

When did everything stop making sense? Tomorrow.

Hills

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner
Sometimes I feel like my only friend
Is the city I live in, the City of Angels
Lonely as I am, together we cry

I drive on her streets cause she’s my companion
I walk through her hills cause she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds and she kisses me windy
I never worry, now that is a lie

I don’t ever wanna feel like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way I don’t ever wanna feel like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way, yea yea yea

It’s hard to believe that there’s nobody out there
It’s hard to believe that I’m all alone
At least I have her love the city, she loves me
Lonely as I am, together we cry

And I don’t ever wanna feel like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way
And I don’t ever wanna feel like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way yea yea ye-yea
Oh no no no
Yea ye-yea
Love me I say yea ye-yea

Under the bridge downtown
Is where I drew some blood
Under the bridge downtown
I could not get enough
Under the bridge downtown
Forgot about my love
Under the bridge downtown
I Gave my life away
Yeah yeah ye-yeah
Oh no no no
Yeah ye-yeah
Oh no no
I said yea ye-yea
I’ll stay

“City of Angels” – Red Hot Chili Peppers

——

It was one of those dinners, on one of those crisp nights, right before the scent of spring was set to ride in on the trade winds: Unexpected, impromptu, and awash in strained merriment and reluctant consumption. The toasts were plenty, but empty, pregnant with regret and unspoken goodbyes. This would probably be the last time, ever, that the same people would be in the same room in the same place. Countless “Bottom’s up!” could be heard over the din and cacophony, followed inexorably by a “Another bottle, please, miss!” Another one to drown the emptiness. Another one to assuage the guilt over relationships that never flowered beyond a simple “Hey!” while passing each other in the Galleries. Another one to bury the sorrow over story books never to be opened; paths never to be walked.

Here’s to you, friendship. Here’s to you, oh weighted probability tree of unknowns and never-to-bes. Here’s to you, my inexplicably bleeding nose. Here’s to you, INSEAD.