I need a class or two on managing expectations. Often, I count my chicks before eggs hatch and nothing is more depressing than hoping for something and not getting it. A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t contain my excitement at the prospect of Liverpool bagging the League Title after a two-decade drought. After that 11 match unbeaten run, nearly every pundit said we would win it. I started practicing my victory dance. I could see the headlines, ‘The Kops are Champions’. I could see the red confetti at Anfield and Steven Gerrard lifting the trophy. Of course it didn’t happen and on Sunday night, I cried myself to sleep. I’ve been depressed all week. The funny thing is that at the start of the season, when the best we were hoping for making top four, I wanted Manchester City to win it rather than Chelsea, Arsenal or Manchester United for obvious reasons. I’ll be more careful what I wish for next season. This is not the first time I’ve been let down though. I remember many years ago in primary school, word went round that I was going to be appointed health prefect. It was kind of out of the blue and no one was more surprised than me, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. I thought of all the privileges that came with the position: No lining for meals, no punishment for speaking vernacular, going to class late or missing prep. On a visitation Sunday, I asked my mother to buy me a new uniform and pair of shoes. I wanted to look my best when new prefects were presented to the entire school on Assembly. The anticipated day came and my name wasn’t called. I turned to my friends, many of whom had only befriended me in the hopes that I would favour them once my status changed. All I saw were blank stares. It took me two terms to get over the disappointment and just so you know, I never got to be prefect throughout my school years. Another let down was the Primary Leaving Exams. Don’t mean to brag but once upon a time, I was a bright student and I was confident I would be admitted to my first choice secondary school on merit. When the results came out, I had a D2 in Math and was rejected. My Second choice was happy to take me on but it wasn’t the same. Then there’s Peter, a guy I dated some years ago and thought I had a future with. It wasn’t like I wanted to drag him to the altar. If anything, he’s the one who started all the talk about projects he wanted me to help with. The man was asking my advice on where to invest his money. I even met his parents and so I started to believe that there was something there, only for him to turn around and drop the ‘it’s over’ bomb. Six years later, I’m still not over him.
