the story so far

when i was five, i wanted to be a doctor. i'd use my dad's old stethoscope, his white work shirt (my lab coat) and a clipboard, where i'd write down diagnoses for my willing patient (usually Gene, then neighbour and only playmate) with his make-believe illnesses. my meds of choice were berries - freshly picked from the garden - and, for not-so-serious diseases like, say, disjointed bowels, i'd prescribe cut-up leaves.

when i was seven, i wanted to be a footballer - inspired by the football greats i'd seen on TV, although i could never remember their names. in fact, i hadn't the slightest idea what the rules of the game were, besides the obvious "kick ball around field and try to get it into the net-thing". truth be told, i just wanted to wear the outfit. i begged my parents for a jersey (or, as i called it, "the shirt with the number behind") and footballer socks - those over-the-knee ones. i never got the jersey, but i did get the socks. they were white, with "Nike" in red on the side. they were my favourite pair, although for years i pronounced "Nike" as "nike" instead of "ni-kee".

when i was twelve, i remodelled my room. came up with a design, and set off sourcing "pieces" to fill it up with. the result was my teenage nirvana, and i decided then that i was born to be an interior designer.

a year later, i wrote and directed the school play. it was a modern interpretation of Snow White, which got such rave reviews that i was sure that what i really wanted to be was a director.

along the years, this resumé of ambitions would include psychologist, hotelier, neurosurgeon, investment banker, stock-broker and chef, among others.

so it may be surprising to my five-year-old self (or then again, maybe not) that i sit here, barely seven hours away from turning twenty-four, surrounded by site analysis boards stuck on the walls, and the beginnings of the most challenging model i have ever had to build on a make-shift table behind me.

it's funny how things turn out, isn't it?