I was born on a small island that no one had ever heard of until the last few years at which point it became synonymous with stars, models and unbridled wealth.
I pursued my studies in NY, with the exception of a BA in Lit. from UCSB in Santa Barbara, California.
Upon completing my BA I then returned to my small island to build a small house on property my parents had inherited and given to me. As I was completely unhappy with the architects generic blueprints, I threw them out and designed my own house which is composed of as many open doors as there are exterior walls. Then in order to maintain my privacy as the land around the house was slowly being built on, I then made walls around the land, which also help keep my trees in.
Consequently, I share my house with native birds that fly through occasionally, turtles that come asking for water during droughts, and few other insects that are much less desirable, such as mosquitoes, centipedes, and scorpions.
At the moment, I am presently working on renovating the house and the garden, and enrolled in this writing workshop (Gotham Writers Workshop). In the past, I was formerly employed at Roche Bobois US headquarters in NY as translator and then later in an Arabic investment firm where my employers seemed unsure of my position but provided me with generous bonuses.
(My bio for the workshop will end here. )
The only thing that I retain from this job is the memory of the desks reminding me of horse stalls which might suddenly be sprung open during which I and my other stall mates would take off like mad, as during a horse race. The only way I can account for such a strange idea is that perhaps I wanted to run away from the very sterile, stifling environment and free my colleagues with me, even though my closest stall neighbor was a Russian girl who was in a perpetually miserable mood and had a surprisingly rude temperament. I imagine she would bite me as te doors would spring open.
Rereading this, I can see that my last remark seems irrelevant except for my desire to prove to you that by wishing to save even the most difficult of people I am a nice or at least a decent person. However, if I am truly honest with myself, as well as with you, I suppose I should admit that I don’t really want to save my slightly delusional supervisor. But then, I suppose it could be argued that he didn’t look like he really needed saving, but from himself, which goes sadly beyond my level of expertise. If it was possible for me to save one from ones self, I would save myself.
Friday, May 22, 2009