On my father

I have not been able to write about my father’s death since he passed away, eight years and one month ago. This is not particularly noteworthy except for the fact that I love to write. I love to read. I love to put my thoughts down on pen or paper or Microsoft Word document. But on a childish level, it has felt like if I write about my father’s death, then it will become real. More real than the fact that he has, obviously, not been around for the last eight years and one month. More real than the fact that life has moved on without him, in the annoying way that life does. More real than a gravestone, or a burial, or a persistent absence. I don’t know why I’m suddenly ready now. Eight years and one month later - here is an epitaph, for my father. 

—- 

My father had a gift of making each of his five children feel like they were his favourite. I, his eldest daughter, so like him in temperance, was his favourite. Faten, his headstrong secondborn whom he had always understood more than her mother ever could, was his favourite. Nazurah, who he treated so tenderly and was with him in KL when the rest of the family wasn’t, was his favourite. Zahirah, his beloved, easy, youngest daughter, was his favourite. And of course Ali, the rose amongst the thorns, the youngest child, the only son, the finale to our family, was his favourite. What a wonderful legacy to leave - for all your children to be convinced that they were one that their father loved best.

—-

I was in Cambridge doing my MBA when I got the initial messages from my husband in KL - yellow flags, but not yet red at the time. “Abah seems different. Is he angry at me?” “Abah seems silent. Is he stressed about something?” And then one night the biggest red flag. “Abah seems to have had a stroke at dinner. He’s in the hospital. I’ll keep you updated.” The panic, the many cigarettes smoked in the backyard of my student housing, in the dead of the cold night air. The family video call with the doctor, all siblings dialled in from all corners of the world, to hear the diagnosis: stage 4 small cell lung cancer, that had spread to the brain; several months left. And what was unspoken but was signalled across to all my father’s children like an SOS signal that only the five of you could detect - come back to him, now. 

—-

Epitaphs are hard, because memories are not chronological. Where do you start? With your earliest memory? Or your last? 

Your earliest memories are hearing Les Miserables playing over and over again on your father’s sophisticated and expensive record player and sound system set up. With Faten, surprising your parents with home made gifts after work one day; jumping out from behind the plant in the living room to gift them what was probably just empty boxes in recycled wrapping paper. With Faten, diligently scraping at spilled candle wax on the floors of your house, pretending that you were both engineers “like Abah”, because though you both have no idea what it is engineers do, obviously it is scraping candle wax. Picking out a tie in the morning for Abah to wear to work, from the seemingly massive tie collection in his drawer. Horseback rides on Abah, and he would take turns to have his (at that time) three daughters ride on his back. The cheerful yellow wooden “tree house” in the garden that Abah designed and constructed (like a true engineer) for his daughters, complete with real roof! And fabric curtains! The special Friday lunches - or were they breakfasts? - that he used to have with you and Faten, when Brunei followed the Islamic way of having Fridays off for school and the civil service. Bedtime lullabies each night before bed, where Abah would play Tears in Heaven or If or Hotel California on his guitar before you went to sleep; silhouette of a shirtless man, holding his big acoustic guitar (the 12 string guitar instead of the 6 string if you were lucky that night!) in a doorway, singing to his kids before he’d spend his night at his desktop computer in the family room like the night owl he was. And if you woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or get a glass of water, you’d know that he’d be there at his computer. It was reassuring, and made the nights seem less scary to you as a child. 

As you got older, other memories too - Abah promising to send you to an Ivy League university, no matter what. And you finally graduating, triumphantly, even after so many visits to the university’s financial collections office requesting payment plans, because although your father’s construction projects had been delayed, your parents had miraculously, incredibly, with so much sacrifice, managed to fund your US dollar higher education. 

Your father’s pride when you got your first job. The first time you took him out for lunch and coffee (Americano with milk on the side, like Zahirah now drinks) at Chinoz KLCC, and paid with your own pay check. His friendliness (and maybe to an extent, some relief) when he met your future husband for the first time. And when he met your future husband’s parents, and got along with them so well. 

And towards the end: the sickness that took over, and that strips its victims of any dignity. The puffiness from the steroid medicine, and faltering speech caused by the brain tumour. The British Blue shorthair kitten that he called several pet stores across KL to find (with such determination that you’ll never know was because of his cancer or in spite of it), and that he insisted you had to adopt, much to the bemusement of your non-pet-person husband. The final days were he was bedridden, where there was no more speech, when doleful eye contact was the only means of communicating. The late nights in Brunei when you and your sisters and brother would take each turns staying up at night with your father so he wouldn’t be alone, even in the dead of night. Some nights it was just you, and him, and the moon. And you’d hold his hand - which felt so familiar and yet always strange for a family that wasn’t big on physical affection - and say in your heart all the things that you wanted to tell him but couldn’t, because it’s always been easier to write things than to say it; knowing that he’d hear what was in your heart. Say things like I love you, Abah (so enviously easy for some people to articulate, but so difficult for our family because we just don’t talk like that). Say things like I’m sorry (because there’s always such a long list of things to be sorry about, isn’t there? Sorry for being selfish, sorry for not being more grateful, sorry for not being a better daughter). Say things like don’t worry about us - we’ll be ok - we will take care of each other when you are gone. A lifetime of thoughts, fervently communicated telepathically from your clasped hand to his. 

And then finally, the real end: the ambulance that came to take your father to the hospital, when his breathing had slowed to a worrying level. The hospital bed, where your mother and siblings stood around your father, each touching a different part of his body, just to feel connected to him for a final time. When everyone said goodbye, and that it was ok to let go. And though Abah’s eyes were closed, and he was already unconscious by then, it was as though he had heard what everyone said, because a single tear trickled out of his eye, and suddenly there was no more breath in his body. And you realised that you had just seen a life depart. That your father may have been there for your birth, but you were there for his departure. The nights after, where you sobbed into your husband’s shoulder in the darkness of your bed. 

And the after after - for there are many memories after, eight years and one month’s worth of memories after. How your skinny little British Blue kitten has grown into a contented fat cat, but how he’ll always really be your father’s cat first of all. The bittersweetness of family milestones, because every joyous event and family drama (the birth of your two sons, your younger sister’s wedding; the fights between your mother and third sister) will always be irrevocably marked by your father’s absence, by the wonder of how it would have been different if he was still around. Life goes on, and expands beyond the grief. 

But you still send out the same messages, like a radio message into the universe. Fervently communicating telepathically, the things in your heart you wanted to tell him out loud but couldn’t, because it’s always been easier to write things than to say it; but now there’s no choice than to say it telepathically because he’s not around to hear it. Things like I love you, Abah (so enviously easy for other families to say, but that you are now teaching your sons to say like it’s no big deal at all). Things like I’m sorry, I’m sorry (because there’s always still a long list of things to be sorry about - sorry for being selfish, sorry for not being more grateful, sorry for not being a better daughter). Things like don’t worry about us - we are taking care of each other now that you are gone, but we will always, always miss you. 

A lifetime of thoughts, still communicated from your heart to his, that you will send out until one day you, too, are gone. 

On the MBA life (Michaelmas edition)

So… Time happened, and it basically made the past 3 months completely disappear. I am (unbelievably, already) 3 months into the MBA program at Cambridge. How did this happen?! How did everything go by so fast?! What have I even learned so far?!

I can’t answer the first two (more philosophical) questions, but I can take a stab at the third. 

Lessons from a 3-months-in MBA student:

1. Time is an illusion; MBA time doubly-so (to paraphrase my favourite author and *ahem* fellow Cantabrigian alumnus, Mr Douglas Adams). An hour in Management Science seems to last FOR-E-VER, but an hour at a formal hall or in exam just fly by. The first week of the term felt overwhelming and strangely unbearably lonely (because you’re actually the loneliest when you’re surrounded by strangers), but the last few vanished in a blink, because, cheesy as it sounds, those strangers had become friends.
2. Turns out that remembering how to ride a bike is like remembering how to ride a bike. I haven’t gotten on a bicycle since I was a kid, so was relieved to discover that it’s as easy as the saying says it’s supposed to be. (I was especially thankful not to have to re-learn riding a bicycle because my bike education was brief but very painful: I accumulated an assortment of bruises of various sizes and colours all the way from my ankles to my knees during the week that I decided I would master a two-wheeled bicycle. I must have been one resilient 7 year old, because if I kept falling off bicycles now at age 30, I’d just give up and call it a day.)
3. I’m in a diverse, international class of more than 150 students and this term took core classes in business analytics, accounting, corporate finance, organisational behaviour and management praxis, but the biggest learnings that I’ve had have been internal. Whether they’ve been validations of things I’ve sort of always known about myself or completely new realizations: I’ve learned a lot about myself as a team member, manager, leader and follower, and it’s all come from my classmates. I have the ability to be more creative, assertive, diplomatic, hard-working, laid-back, structured, tactful and strategic than I gave myself credit for. Not all of these learnings are new or shocking, but I’ve had the unique opportunity to test myself in unchartered waters with a completely new set of people, and it was interesting to see the results.
4. Studying is easier than work. This observation is definitely a function of where I worked before the MBA, because the MBA course is unequivocally intense, but 9-5 classes? Project work after classes? Study group meetings? Late night revision? I was able to take it all in stride because it was still less time and effort than what the peak periods at my current job were like.
5. Everyone is braver, smarter and kinder than they realise. My classmates and I made the journey here for different reasons and from different backgrounds, but we made that huge and critical choice to be here. We all left well-paying jobs, loving partners and/or children, the security and comfort of our homes and cities and countries and what we knew and loved, in the pursuit of the MBA. Everyone has interesting things to say, and different perspectives and experiences - you’re basically never at risk of your ego growing too large. If you ever feel like you’re starting to become big-headed and need a dose of humble pie, just talk to the person next to you – anyone, at random – and wait to come to the realization that everyone here is exceedingly intelligent, and most of the time, in different ways than you are. Everyone has something different to bring to the table, and that something is usually pretty darned impressive. And as an MBA class, we’re kind, which is perhaps the class trait that I value the most. No one is out to make sure their grades are better than everyone else’s; everyone collaborates. Different students ran study tutorials for the entire class to get everyone up to speed in the various classes, people posted their class notes online; any information that one person got from a professor was immediately shared with the larger group. It’s humbling to consider which classmate missed the birth of his child to be in this MBA program; which classmate is a bona fide rocket scientist; which classmate had never done finance a day in his life but still shared his corporate finance notes with the entire class because he had taken diligent notes throughout the term and knew that not everyone made it to every class.
6. And finally, an on-going lesson. I’m not sure what to title it: Long Distance is Hard? Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder But is Not Pleasant to Go Through? Patience is the Most Under-rated Virtue? To say it’s been difficult is an understatement, but it’s an understatement that will have to suffice given the lack of any word that captures the magnitude of how hard it's been. The unpolished, unvarnished truth? It’s difficult when you’re apart from your partner in life. It’s difficult feeling lonely. It's difficult  – it's heartbreaking – knowing that on the other side of the world, the person you miss is feeling even lonelier than you are, and that it's because of a decision that you made, that you wanted to be here, that you wanted to do this. It’s difficult not being able to reassure that person, in person, that the more people you meet without him, the more you realise he is your favourite human being in the world. It’s difficult living your life, making new friends, and having new experiences when all the photos and emails and instant messages in the world can’t make your new experiences come to life, can’t make your new friends more than faces in a photograph. It’s so difficult that I haven’t even let myself feel the full extent of it, because I wouldn’t be able to keep moving if I stop and feel the sadness, the guilt. I have no solid learning for this one; everything I do in this realm is trial and error. Some things work, and some definitely don’t. But if I had to pick a lesson: it would be, ironically, to do this with someone you cannot live without. Do long-distance only with someone that you love with every fiber of your being. It’s what makes it difficult, but it’s also what ensures that you will come back together no matter what: because you can’t not.

Will soon be saying goodbye to Cambridge for a few weeks. Michaelmas term, it's been a crazy ride, but I’m out!

On my Kindle

I have been a voracious reader for as long as I can remember.

As a child, I fulfilled all the stereotypical characteristics of a bookworm: I was an introverted kid who was more comfortable hiding behind a book than interacting with people; I was severely short-sighted and started wearing (extremely unstylish – thanks Umi) thick glasses at the age of 8 years old (an affliction that was somewhat alleviated when I started wearing contact lenses at 11 years old but only recently rectified by life-changing implantable collamer lens eye surgery at 28). One of my earliest childhood memories is “reading” Ladybird picture books out loud to a coterie of stuffed animals (in all likelihood, was less “reading” than “making shit up”). I still remember how jubilant I was on the day I raced through a Famous Five omnibus of four books in one day, setting a new personal record for myself. (This seemed like a big deal at the time because it had never before occurred to me to set reading records for myself. Having tasted how good it felt to set and break meaningless records, I promptly broke my own record the very next day and finished a Secret Seven omnibus of five books in one day, proving that I am completely capable of being unnecessarily competitive with myself.)

Actually found the exact versions of the two omnibuses online, in case anyone was wondering how serious I am when I say this is one of my clearest childhood memories.

I used to read EVERYWHERE: on the toilet (TMI?), while brushing my teeth, in the shower (is possible but inconvenient: have made all kinds of shower contraptions to try to prop my books up), while walking (also possible… if you don’t mind wiping out spectacularly now and then), in various positions in bed (on stomach, on back, on side, pillow under book, pillow under chin: the possibilities are endless), and while eating (large hardcover books are ideal for if you must eat with cutlery; if you’re reading a soft cover book, just eat with one hand and use the other to hold up your book). I have read books in the garden, under the bed, while upside down on couches (for reasons inexplicable to my adult self, I actually remember reading a lot of books in this position while I was a child – legs on the couch back or armrest and head on the floor), sprawled on the carpet in front of the TV, in the car. Pretty much any place that it’s possible to read, I have read.

Now that I’m an adult, not only do I still read in all the above places, but I’ve also added more locations: in the cab on the way to work, in the LRT on the way back from work, in my walk-in wardrobe when I’m getting dressed and putting on my make-up. I select what handbag to carry based on the thickness of whatever book I’m reading at that point in time, because I try to never be without a book to read (so for a good few months, while I was reading George R.R. Martin’s insanely thick A Song of Ice and Fire novels, I was limited to choosing from my largest and lightest handbags).

Given my propensity to read and need to constantly carry around a book like a security blanket, it is actually pretty shameful that I took so long to get on board with the Kindle. I resisted for the longest time because I really do love the tactile sensation of reading physical books: I like turning pages, I like the rustle of paper, I like inscribing my name into a book (which I do religiously every time I finish one, along with the month I finished reading it and the cities or countries I read it in). I like buying books and adding to my library, and I like colour-coding my library, even though Alman says it is ridiculously inefficient. But then… I got the Kindle for my 30^th birthday, AND I HAVE BEEN CONVERTED.

Every single book I’m reading has instantly become tiny and light – literally a page large and weighing less than 500 grams. I can buy any book I want! Instantly! Without having to go to Kinokuniya and putting my name down on a waiting list if the book isn’t in stock! I can read in the dark, because I can adjust the light settings! I can (and do!)  have a whole library of books in my Kindle so I’m not limited to only reading whatever book I’m carrying with me that day! (I’m currently veering between reading The Emperor of All Maladies, a surprisingly interesting non-fiction history of cancer, and re-reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when I want something a little lighter.) The battery life lasts for weeks (can confirm this – I read from my Kindle every day). I can highlight the words I don’t know, and have the dictionary look up definitions for me! I can highlight particularly beautiful or relevant passages for future reference! I don’t have to deal with pesky bookmarks (which I always end up losing) or doggy-ear-ing my pages, because my Kindle automatically remembers where I stopped reading! And best of all – I can fit my Kindle into almost ALL my favourite handbags! I almost fainted when I found out my Kindle fits into my small Chanel flap. SMALL FLAP. KINDLE. Even typing out those words makes me feel giddy.

One of the first books I read when I got my Kindle was the 900+ page Middlemarch, which I have been trying and failing to read, for the past 14 years, since I was 16 years old. I’m not even exaggerating – I’ve been trying to read this ever since my favourite teacher, who taught IGCSE English Literature, recommended it to me. But no matter what edition you try to buy, the Middlemarch book is like a brick. I couldn’t carry it around with me constantly, and so I never made it past the first few chapters. And then I got my Kindle and finished it in 3 weeks. It’s been on my To Read list for the past FOURTEEN YEARS…. And I finished it in 3 weeks on my Kindle. TECHNOLOGY. AMAZING. The only thing I’m really missing now is having a real, physical book added to my library every time I finish a book on my Kindle, but even this is surmountable – I will be purchasing the physical copies of the books that I like and want to keep after I read it on my Kindle.

Reading while eating has become a total breeze – I’m now free to use cutlery with all my meals, like a civilized person. And I have finally, FINALLY achieved my life-long dream of being able to read while in the shower (may or may not be achievable for you as well depending on your bathroom configuration: I can do this with my Kindle propped up on the sink, having glass shower panels, and sufficient distance to reach out and touch the screen when I want to turn the pages). (I feel that Kindle is missing out by not advertising this more as a key selling point.)

TECHNOLOGY 1 PAPER 0.

On Terry Pratchett

Intensely, profoundly and immensely saddened by the death of Sir Terry Pratchett. I have written about him before in this blog, and have even lamented the impending void in my life that would (inevitably) come when I finished the Discworld books and Sir Terry passed away.

That day was yesterday, and my world feels a little dimmer today.

I am intensely, profoundly and immensely grateful for Pratchett’s 40 Discworld books. I am grateful for some of my favourite characters in literature (Death, the Librarian, Sam Vimes, Lord Vetinari, Susan Sto Helit, Carrot Ironfoundersson). I am intensely, profoundly and immensely grateful for the humor and warmth and humanity that is infused in all of Pratchett’s work, because Pratchett knew situations can be silly, people can be foolish and humour can be hilarious, but that doesn’t mean that the story can't also be sharp, intelligent, nuanced and moving. 

I started reading the Discworld books because they were funny, but I kept reading them because they touched me.

My favourite Discworld quotes:

 “I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “What is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?" 
Death thought about it. 
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.

- Sourcery (1988)

Give a man a fire and he's warm for a day, but set fire to him and he's warm for the rest of his life.

- Jingo (1997)

“And what would humans be without love?”

RARE, said Death.

- Sourcery (1988)

Just erotic. Nothing kinky. It's the difference between using a feather and using a chicken.

- Eric (1990)

Five exclamation marks, the sure sign of an insane mind.

- Reaper Man (1991)

Time is like a drug. Too much of it kills you.

- Small Gods (1992)

 It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it's called Life.

- The Last Continent (1998)

“No it's not!” said Constable Visit. “Atheism is a denial of a god.”

“Therefore It Is A Religious Position,' said Dorfl. 'Indeed, A True Atheist Thinks Of The Gods Constantly, Albeit In Terms of Denial. Therefore, Atheism Is A Form Of Belief. If The Atheist Truly Did Not Believe, He Or She Would Not Bother To Deny.'

- Feet of Clay (1996)

WORDS IN THE HEART CANNOT BE TAKEN

- Feet of Clay (1996)

Getting an education was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs and then you had the urge to pass it on.

- Hogfather (1996)

Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes.

– Nightwatch (2000)

If you trust in yourself ... and believe in your dreams... and follow your star... you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy.

– The Wee Free Men (2003)

“Mistress Weatherwax is the head witch, then, is she?”

“Oh no!” said Miss Level, looking shocked. “Witches are all equal. We don't have head witches. That's quite against the spirit of witchcraft.”

“Oh, I see,” said Tiffany.

“Besides,” Miss Level added, “Mistress Weatherwax would never allow that sort of thing.”

– A Hat Full of Sky (2004)

He was determined to discover the underlying logic behind the universe... which was going to be hard, because there wasn't one.

- Mort (1987)

Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.

– A Hat Full of Sky (2004)

"All right," said Susan, "I'm not stupid. You're saying humans need ... fantasies to make life bearable."

REALLY? AS IF IT WAS SOME KIND OF PINK PILL? NO. HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN. TO BE THE PLACE WHERE THE FALLING ANGEL MEETS THE RISING APE.

"Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little-"

YES. AS PRACTICE. YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES.

"So we can believe the big ones?"

YES. JUSTICE. DUTY. MERCY. THAT SORT OF THING.

"They're not the same at all!"

YOU THINK SO? THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET—Death waved a hand. AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME...SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.

"Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—"

MY POINT EXACTLY.

- Hogfather (1996)

You will be very missed.

On MBA applications

So after months of preparing, researching and obsessing like only a truly Type A Person With An Obsessive Personality is able to, I am happy to report that (a) I’m officially done with my MBA applications, and (b) I’m going to Cambridge.

I feel the need to make some record of this process since it took up such a large chunk of my life over the past few months. From researching different MBA programs to preparing for the GMAT to actually taking the GMAT to writing, ripping up and re-writing essays to shooting video essays to refining CVs to preparing for interviews: the application is a real marathon, and the sheer amount of effort involved in the process itself weeds out anyone who isn’t serious about doing an MBA. After much blood (figurative), sweat (metaphorical) and tears (very occasional – I blame PMS and stress), I can narrow the key milestones down to:

1. Research

As someone who naturally relies on data (and lots of it) to make decisions, I researched the shit of the programs I was applying to: school websites, YouTube channels, GMAT forums (beattheGMAT and GMATclub in particular), official business school blogs, unofficial MBA student blogs (from current students to fellow applicants documenting their journey), business school rankings (there are many, and each uses different metrics to calculate rankings) to advisor blogs and talking to alumni. I may have totally gotten away carried away with this, and more information is not necessarily better (after a certain point). But essentially, what you need to know is what deadlines to adhere to, what GMAT scores are required, and how the program is structured. 

Also, I am totally weird and at this point gave my project a name (Cronos: leader of the titans… cause you know, because an MBA is supposed to create future leaders – cheese alert) and created excel sheets setting out the timeline and deadlines for each application. 

2. The GMAT

This was, for me, the most nerve-wracking aspect of their entire application process. Not an aptitude test like the SAT (which I didn’t study for anyway because I was too busy with my A-Levels); not completely dependent on knowledge - requires much more strategy because you’re penalized for missing questions; and sneakily computer adaptive, so it adjusts the difficulty of questions depending on what kinds of questions you’re getting right, which means it really doesn't matter how many questions you answer correctly - it matters how difficult those questions are. The GMAT tests your quantitative skills (oh hey again integers, powers and roots, linear and quadratic equations, geometry, algebra, statistics, triangle and circle formulae, speed/distance/time problems and the bane of my existence, probabilities), without a calculator (!!), as well as verbal skills (sentence correction, reading comprehension and critical reasoning). Throw in an essay, analytical interpretation of graphs and data, add strict time limits. Result? A lot of stress. 

For Quant, I followed a strict schedule, systematically revising all the GMAT's math topics (some of which I hadn’t thought about since high school) using video lessons from Magoosh. (Different online prep programs teach the same GMAT topics in different ways, and it really depends on your personal preference. I signed up with Magoosh after trying out The Economist’s GMAT Tutor on a trial basis. The Economist's Tutor wasn’t video-based and I realized I really needed to have someone talk me through math problems in video forms to visualize what the hell was going on.) I mapped out my entire study schedule on my calendar, going through a few topics a day, and set aside the last month for straight-up live-and-breathe-quant problem solving (from Kaplan pdf study guides with problem sets that I downloaded) and practice test taking (a GMAT session is 4 hours, so the test is also an exercise in mental stamina; there are tons of free tests online though the most accurate are the official mba.com tests). I revised a set number of quant topics every evening for a few months, and pretty much all my spare time was used for quant problems (I carried around a notebook and questions, and solved questions on the way to work, in the plane on business trips, before going to bed).

In contrast, the Verbal section came very easily to me, and I actually enjoyed preparing for it. I didn’t have to revise anything, which made sense - unlike Quant’s high school math topics, people actually use their verbal skills on a daily basis. My focus was just to familiarize myself with the questions and the GMAT's way of thinking - the test definitely has a preference for a certain kind of language. I solved Magoosh’s practice problems during all the spare time I had when I wasn’t able to whip out a pen and paper to do quant problems, and solved problems on my phone (Magoosh’s questions are accessible on phones which was one of the main reasons I chose to study with them).

I did practice tests every week for the last month, paid attention to what I got wrong and why, took a day off work to take the test and came close enough to 700 to satisfy myself. I emailed my score to each school and asked if I should still apply, and got the green light from all.

3. The Application

I submitted 3 applications to 3 different schools, all of which asked differently-slanted essay questions, all of which used different CV templates, one of which asked for a 3 minute elevator pitch video essay, and all of which required application fees (very ouch - the application process is not cheap).

CV: brush up, refine, send to colleagues for their opinion, and proof-read a bajillion times, because there will be typos in there.

Essays: were different for each school, even when the questions were similar. Each school has an angle and a type of culture/candidate they’re gunning for – having done the research (see #1), you should at this point know what that is. All my essays were specifically tailored for each school – it’s really not just a matter of changing the school name. I used an LBS alumna admissions counsellor to help give me a perspective on my strengths and weaknesses, and to advise me on the essays. We went through about 5 very extensive edits of each essay (and in total, there were more than 10 essays), and I think it was totally worth it. She’s not paid to be nice, and sometimes she ripped my sentences to shreds, but with less than 500 words to sell yourself, you can’t afford to be sensitive about it. I shot a video essay in front of the Petronas Twin Towers (looking back, was not the wisest decision to spend lunch hour in a suit jacket in the blistering hot sun) and was extremely fortunate to have my very patient husband shoot and edit it for me.

Referees: were given the heads up months beforehand, and references were submitted well ahead of deadlines without any problems. I don’t think people generally have a problem being referees, but I do think they have a problem with last minute deadlines. All applications are now submitted online, so if you know your referee isn’t the most tech-savvy person in the world (one of mine really isn’t), encourage them to submit early. I also don't think it matters how important/high-ranking your referee is. I didn't see my reference letters, but I'd imagine there's more sincerity and enthusiasm that will come through when your referee has worked closely with you and is really rooting for you to be successful. I'd take that over a reference from a Group CEO or MD anyday.   

Also, online applications in general are extremely annoying, because they count characters, not words, and because Murphy’s Law says the internet will fuck up just when you pray it that it doesn’t. I submitted one application using extremely sketchy internet in Cappadocia in Turkey; and another while sitting in a car outside Sid’s on a Friday night. I do not recommend either of these methods, unless you enjoy near-heart attacks.

The remaining questions on the application: are not insignificant. I treated all the other random questions with as much care as the essay questions, because your CV, essays and question responses are going to be read together, and you can’t sound inconsistent.

4. The Interview(s)

There are online resources for the different kinds of questions and interviews each business school has (one of the best databases is at Clearadmit). All my interviews were similar, but one was on Skype, one was on the phone, and one was in person and on campus. I prepared responses to every conceivable question I could be asked, had different stories on hand around different central strengths and weaknesses that I wanted to highlight, and tailored each answer to each specific school’s ethos. I didn’t have time to practice with other people or in front of a mirror because work (the thing I was doing in addition to all this!) was piling up, but if I had to do it again, I’d factor in more time for that.

And after all that... I put it out of my mind, and stopped worrying about it. The waiting was made easier because I’m naturally discreet and don’t count my chickens before they hatch, so no one (other than my bosses, a few select colleagues, close friends and family) really knew I was applying. I got my offer from Imperial early on, in December, so was lucky to have that as a back-up. I got my offer email from Cambridge when I was half-asleep, and read it in a haze of grogginess. I got a congratulatory call from Oxford a day later, on a weekday evening. I'm not an overly emotionally expressive person, so each offer just made me feel a very quiet sense of happiness that all my work had paid off. I think I'm still at that stage where it's all still sinking in, because it is definitely surreal to have spent close to a year working towards a goal, and finally achieving it.

So Cambridge: see you in September! In the meantime, I’ll be chilling out and not doing any sort of GMAT or any business school application-related work ever.

On the Proust Questionnaire

Have decided to re-take this again when I'm 40 years old and see how my answers have changed (if at all).

 

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Basking in the sun with a good book on a beautiful beach; having a swig of an ice cold drink and going for a dip in the sea to cool off when it gets too hot, and then repeating the process until sunset. I could honestly die happy while napping on the beach in between chapters and swims.

2. What is your greatest fear?

Inadequacy, failure and geckos (ugh, geckos).

3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

My thin skin (metaphorically speaking).

4. What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Lack of consideration towards others and rudeness. I am a huge believer in the rule that you can gauge a person’s character based on how they interact with waiters, servants and cashiers.

5. Which living person do you most admire?

My mother, because the older I get the more I begin to realize what a gargantuan responsibility and life undertaking it was to give birth to, raise, educate and civilize five children.

6. What is your greatest extravagance?

Chanel bags, and scented candles. I have a small but carefully curated and impressive collection of both.

7. What is your current state of mind?

Caffeinated.

8. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Preaching righteousness, especially when it’s related to religion. Just be good, and do good. There is absolutely no need to preach your apparent virtuousness and piety to the unrighteous in an attempt to get them to be your version of “good”. You look like an asshole when you do it, and I’m pretty sure the higher being you worship wouldn’t want you to be an asshole.

9. On what occasion do you lie?

Sometimes (and only sometimes)… when it avoids hurting other people’s feelings and is about a trivial issue.

10. What do you most dislike about your appearance?

I have very wide feet for my (lack of) height, which I inherited from my maternal grandfather. Ironically, having wide feet has not made me less clumsy (which you’d think it would since I have more surface area on the ground when I walk).

11. Which living person do you most despise?

Ibrahim Ali, President of Perkasa, who embodies everything I despise in the world: far right politics, racism, extremism, wanton and deliberate stupidity and lack of reason, and misogyny.

12. What is the quality you most like in a man?

Wit and humour.

13. What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Wit and humour – I am an equal opportunity liker.

14. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

As large as I like to think my vocabulary is… I’m afraid the answer to this is “like”. As in the Valley Girl usage, not the adverb.

15. What or who is the greatest love of your life?

My husband.

16. When and where were you happiest?

I don’t really think about happiness in superlatives, because that’s depressing. But a consistently happy part of my day is getting into bed and the few moments before sleep when I am suffocating my husband like a sloth on the last tree branch in the world, because I love sleep and am the world’s clingiest sleeper.

17. Which talent would you most like to have?

Any scrap of effortless, natural musical talent would be great to have, if someone could inject that into me now, please. Unfortunately I am pretty tone deaf and although I studied classical guitar for years I promptly forgot how to read musical notes when I lost my guitar.

18. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Umm… to swap my hobbit feet in for dainty feet?

19. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Living life every day is an achievement – I don’t think of my achievements in terms of rank. They’re all cumulative, and they’re all an ongoing process for what will be the sum total of my life (and that, I hope, will be a great achievement). It is totally corny and slightly embarrassing to admit, but I really do try to remember to “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle” when I think about achievements: how could you ever measure someone else’s battle against yours? They’re all equally significant and personal.

20. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

A fat, pampered, coddled family cat.

21. Where would you most like to live?

Hawaii. Based almost solely on what I saw of it in The Descendants.

22. What is your most treasured possession?

My stuffed toy Mickey Mouse, who I have had since I was 1 year old. He is (literally) irreplaceable and so old that he is falling apart at his seams.

23. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Being responsible for something that has caused irreparable, irreversible heartache to someone you care about.

24. What is your favorite occupation?

Reading. Preferably while eating, but will also settle for on a couch with a blanket.

25. What is your most marked characteristic?

My totally sarcastic and deprecating sense of humour. (Not really, but I have no idea how to answer this.)

26. What do you most value in your friends?

Kindness and fun-loving-ness.

27. Who are your favorite writers?

Douglas Adams, Charles Bukowski and Virginia Woolf.

28. Who is your hero of fiction?

Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird and Sam Vimes from the Discworld series.

29. Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Cleopatra, because she was a badass feminist.

30. Who are your heroes in real life?

People who dedicate their lives to a meaningful cause and make sacrifices to do it. I have the utmost respect for people who run charities, work in the Peace Corps, work for Teach for America/Malaysia etc: I’d love to do that, but I have grown too accustomed to leading the not inexpensive lifestyle that I lead.

31. What are your favorite names?

Pandora, Isadora, Inara, Lorelei, Raphael. If I decide that these names are inappropriate for my future children, I plan to use them on cats.

32. What is it that you most dislike?

Geckos. Haven’t we already covered this?

33. What is your greatest regret?

“I do not regret the things I did, but those I did not do”, said Lucas from Empire Records.

34. How would you like to die?

While sleeping, in my bed. Though this would be quite terrifying for Alman to wake up to a dead me, at least I’ll have passed away doing one of my favourite things (sleeping) and without being aware that I’ve passed away.

35. What is your motto?

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.