The photons have to pry my eyelids apart every morning these days. Every morning, I wake up to a frustration tantamount to panic, as I realize that I am going to be a quarter of a century old next month, and I haven't achieved any of the goals that I've set for myself after I'd fled from the complete disaster of schooling 7 years ago.

It's been 7 years since I've come back to live in this country. 7 years. If I'd broken a mirror in 2003, I'm sure I'm thoroughly cleansed of the horrible sin of breaking my soul then. Or whatever it is, I'm absolved. Surely.

All of my friends and colleagues were a little stunned with the seemingly impulsive decision that I made, by quitting a great job, stepping away from a great career, and leaving the country to stay with my mother. I always wanted to do this though, because I've never liked a desk job. Unfortunately, out of the 7 years, I'd spent only 7 months, having the time of my life with the British Red Cross in the Maldives.

And so, I've given my notice and I'm leaving to India for a while, to sum up where and what I've been and where and what I want to be, and to decide on how hard I need to push myself to get there.