Incessant Fretting

It’s October and boy, oh, boy, am I thrilled that the end of the year is coming in less than three months. Afterwards, I simply need to survive January while rigorously applying for jobs. Come February, and I will finally end my misery, or add another one by being yet another jobless bum. Oh, joy… if everything works out as planned.

That being said, let’s start bitching about the mumbo-jumbo that is September. Let’s just say, I barely had time to breathe. Not to mention the shitty incidents which successfully mummed these blistering, endless questions I have in mind about life and myself.

I’m just kidding. For the latter part, obviously.

If anything, those questions blared even louder. This wrath is becoming even more unhinged than ever that I felt like I’m wearing it like a second skin.

September was crazy busy when it comes to work, what with all the sudden demands and huge events being held too close to each other. As I have previously wished for, it passed like in a blink of an eye. Imagine my surprise that I got into my ninth-month of work, feeling like I was running ahead of time. Quite a reversal from the months before, wasn’t it?

There are crises in which I pulled through unscathed. And there is certainly one where I felt like I have never been luckier to have my best friends looking out for me, and that they are being dead serious about it, too. I didn’t expect what they did for me not because I underestimated their qualities or the value of our friendship, but because I didn’t know how to react when people actually did something nice for me, especially when it comes in form of a physical gift. I remember distinctly that I recoiled from accepting that it happened already, but I also wanted them to know how I was grateful for what they did to me that maybe I sound less sincere than I wanted to be when I thanked them. But, truly, I was happy. I just wasn’t used to it.

And then there was the car accident to close the month. I was fortunate enough not to need any stitches nor suffer any head trauma for it, but I certainly abhorred the experience. The recovery process was painful as much as it disturbed my plans for the new month. I was also left with a noticeable scar that people seem to have more problem with because “girls shouldn’t have any blemish on their faces”; while I was thankful I didn’t need to stitch up my skull.

Funnily enough, I also had this inkling that I probably was being taught a lesson or two about something, as if this is supposed to be life-changing or anything pivotal. The one thing I can come up with is: Wear your frickin’ seatbelts even though you’re in the backseat, girls, especially if you don’t like being the center of attention, like me. People pity you more because it may leave a mark on your face rather than the fact that the emotional and other physical trauma you have to go through and recuperate from.

It would be a lie if I said that it hadn’t occured to me why all this shit happened, thus my mind-buzzing despite the much needed rest. The only answer I can come up with is that maybe that’s just how life goes, one shitty thing over another. I was just starting to think I will get the hang out of my job; that time began to run seemingly faster, and that I have responded more and more nonchalantly and automatically to stuff at work, get things done in a jiffy. But then the universe surprises you with more shitty things, just to test you out. It doesn’t listen to your plea that you don’t want be part in any of this, that you didn’t ask for that so-called “gift of life” on the first place. Now I am just terrified to jinx it–if I said, “I’m okay now. I’ve gotten through it. I feel good and glad that that terrible thing is over”, was that not an invitation to call for more calamity to come at my way?

Or maybe, no matter how I felt or what I said, it will just come any way; multiple stages of Murphy’s Law until the day I breathed my last.

So, why bother?

But humans do, or at least they will try to find reasons to do so.

I don’t think I have enough energy to bother finding one. But I certainly hope that at least that my job hunt will be fruitful by the end of this year. That way, maybe I’ll be able to move to another place where I can be bothered to think of hiking up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Pfft.

Yeah, September doesn’t do much but highlight how I am still too angsty to be in my mid-twenties.

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Spiteful Lethargy

It does start to feel like the days passed faster.

Last Wednesday marked my seventh month on this job, and I’m not sure if anything has changed for the better or for worse. Despite being more at ease with the daily things I need to do for the main task, August has taken a toll on my patience–I truly had no idea I am capable of such intense emotions. To cut the story short, I was, in a way, structurally forced to take up a task that was not mine to begin with, and even though I have tried to argue back in the most civil and rational way possible, nobody cares. On top of it, since it suddenly became my responsibility, that meant I do not have any choice but make sure everything went well. Since it turned out unexpectedly well, that also implied that the bosses may “entrust” the work to me again because I “did a good job” before. That is where I draw the line–I am not staying for another year.

There already are two main challenges these coming weeks, and I can’t wait to get them over with. I am somehow enjoying this newfound numbness with my daily workload, which makes Friday to come seemingly faster than it used to. Unfortunately, somehow it also makes weekends pass quicker than I’d like them to be, and so the cycle goes. In hindsight, I may feel stupid for worrying over stuff too much, but now that any twists of the Murphy’s law can happen, I can’t help but be anxious.

As I am writing this, I realize my life has gotten even more dull each day I have started this job. Then I guess I am adulting right.

Not that I am happy about it.

Stupefied by the Second

Crossed another sixth on the date, and I officially passed my sixth month on the job. I’m finally halfway through! Woohoo!

Despite last month’s holiday high lasted only for the first ten-or-so days and the fact that it ended because of a stupid “cupless” incident, I can’t be bothered by it because I felt like I have finally reached the turning point of constant numbness. You know, when work suddenly feels automatic and you turn to this corporate robot who answers and acts according to the “manuals” you have spent your first three months getting used to? Yeah, I’m on top of the curve now, more a machine and less than a human with legit brains and feelings, sliding my way down towards the all stupid drama of corporate life… or at least, I hope so.

Other than that, I still feel pretty sure that I am going to look for new opportunities come next November.

All in all, I am still grateful that my colleagues are very nice with me that I feel like I have somehow made friends at work now. I am glad that one person–or maybe two–within the higher ranks is someone I can talk to get help from and confide with; restrictively work stuff, of course. But then there will be pretty huge changes come the end of this month, and for that, my worrywart ass can’t help but sweat over to the point where my imaginary pit stains are showing.

Compared to the previous months, I felt more “okay” with random demands and texts which sometimes go with the job, if that makes sense. I still don’t condone it, especially if I were in the position that allows me to do so later in the future, but I guess I respond to it less outwardly grumpy. I am convinced that’s partly because of time. I do have this weird knack for slipping into new routines relatively easily despite it not necessarily a good habit to keep up to, which scares me most of the time. From the counseling session early this month, it brings me utter relief that it’s not because I have compliance issues anymore, and I’m quite sure of it. I am pretty certain it’s not because I was holding any discontent either, so I suppose this lethargic-like feeling is acquired through time, but also maybe because I am in a somewhat-better place.

By that, I meant I felt less stuck than I was before. Maybe it is because of the change I am yet able to disclose even though it entails a portion of uncertainty, or that I do finally got used to things that time, for me, now began to seemingly pass a lot quicker because I still feel elated that I actually managed to reach midpoint.

It feels good, and I don’t think anybody would understand how difficult it is for me to come to acknowledge it. Whilst this whole job thing is a bit more manageable than it was, I reckon there is a whole other issue with myself that I need to deal with. Other than the shitty family drama that lurks behind every end of the month, or every corner of the holidays, my proneness of being washed over by guilt every time I feel good or expect anything positive is something I need to eventually address. That’s right; I get the heebie-jeebies for feeling or hoping that things will get better or work out. I don’t know why or how, because previously I thought I was just being cautious, and it’s okay, but now I’m not so sure.

On that note, I’d like to think it is not any exaggeration that I vehemently pray for my own time and space again as much as I had before I settle back home; also that this hard-earned, functional constant numbness will keep me afloat for the next six months.

Here’s to another 24 weeks of drifting along the murky waters of adulthood!

Holiday High Hazard

Lo and behold, another month passed and marked my fifth month on the job.

It seems like I learn more about my psyche all the way through June as my counselor asked me to keep track of positive things I learn at work–I know, took me barely three days to fail the daily task, but I guess you can’t really push what’s not there. I still attempt to note them, if any. I wish I do not miss the point of appreciating the experience while I am in it.

Another thing was, as much as June crushed my already torn spirit like no other, right now I can’t seem to recall how stressful it was because of the six-day holiday on the last week I had. Despite not being able to fully take my mind off of work (bloody last-minute requests; typical, yet still unjustifiable), I reckon not having to sit behind my desk sort of helps. Furthermore, I finally got a chance to meet up with my mates. Some of them I haven’t seen in months, some weeks, another in years. And I have never been more delighted to just spend time with them catching up and just chatting away about anything. I felt that not only that having company you wanted to be with somehow may increase your endorphin levels, but also that it makes you feel grateful that they are exactly where and when you need them to be. I am glad that I am still allowed having good friendship in my life.

The holiday also allowed me to take my family on a lunch out, which has not happened in almost a year. In that ridiculously petty moment, I was a tad happy for the advance extra I got that month. Funny because I never had much of a thrill in spending a huge amount of money for myself (hard to believe, eh?), especially in full knowledge of the situation we are in, but I was quite content with how my brothers seem to enjoy the day.

Most of all, I truly appreciate the time alone I got to spend just lounging around at home, sleeping in, reading and thinking. I was so thrilled that I could spend my day re-reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (my favorite) as a tiny tribute for the twenty-year anniversary since the book was published.

Other than that, June was fun because I got to do a bit of editing on the side. It has been so long, but I was quite elated to find I wasn’t as rusty as I expected I would be. I wholeheartedly wish that an opportunity will rise in this line of work by late November this year.

Either it really was the fun times outweighing the whimsical workdays, or I basically have a blasted memory of a chicken considering the memory of the holidays was still fresh in my mind, I guess I learned two things: (1) holidays are so important I should never overwork myself even though I manage to find a job I dislike less in the future, (2) maybe it is true that humans have the ability to replace the bad memories with the good, no matter how short or seldom it happens. After the holidays are over, I still dread timing in for work the next morning, but at the same time, I did not feel it was as burdensome as it used to be. I still realize how it was always hard to be constantly told you’re not good enough for five days a week, and people expect you to get over it in two days and start again. I still think adulthood sucks you to the bone and I still can’t get used to this pretentious, fake-it-’til-you-make-it shit that is required of you to survive adulthood. And yes, I still would rather be taken in my sleep to stop everything that’s happening in my life because I am just selfish that way. But the holiday high makes my mood better than it has ever been, much like, “Yeah, shit’s gonna happen, it always does. But hey, whatever. I’m feelin’ good and ain’t nothin’ can bring me down. Life, stop being a bitch ’cause I ain’t give a damn thing ’bout you.” I had no idea I have that much audacity in me, but it was great.

That being said, July has only started for a week, and suddenly I have to worry about August. More about this on next month’s recap.

For the time being, I wish this holiday high will last at least for another ten days.

A Lick and a Promise

Before I say anything that will crush my soul, let me open by one positive remark: I am glad that I was capable enough to make it through the fourth month on the job.

That is to say, the rest of this post is just going to be me whining about how I am still set on not staying after the initially agreed period of employment.

May was pretty rough compared to the previous months because somehow I think I have reached the point when the universe be like, “Alright, you passed the basic bullshit, now is the time for you to be drowned on a shitstorm of daily Murphy’s law.” Days when I was just extremely mad or sad just increased in frequency. Also, there was one incident that just pulverized my spirit in a matter of minutes on a supposedly fine start of the weekend.

So, came June, I decided to see a professional help, despite all the skepticism because the institute that I found was associated with a theology school and fear of a lack of solution. I just needed a space where I can just spit all my anguish out in the open without worrying or annoying people around me, whom I have already been indebted to by just accommodating my blues. Quite as expected, I wasn’t really offered any solution despite the obvious one (i.e. “I guess it will be advisable for you not to revisit this line of work again in the future”), but I know that’s not why I was there, so that’s absolutely fine. But at least I managed to bring myself to let out all of the pent-up frustration I have had for months, and the disappointment I saw or heard from people around me when I gave them the benefit of the doubt and was honest with them about how I have been.

The counselor suggested that it might help when I try to come up with two things that I gain from this part of “learning process” I am in, and so I tried, only to fail miserably to keep it up after three days. But I guess this effort I am exerting to survive the remaining months by “shifting my mindset” should not be treated like a chore, lest I will think that there really isn’t anything good from it and then sink deeper in depression. Hopefully, I will notice more of them in the coming weeks. Although in all honestly, I just really wish December will come sooner.

One thing that helps me–kind of–to get through this week and pull me up whenever I was down, was this saying the counselor shared with me, that I think was from the Bible. At the end of our session she told me, “Just remember, each day has enough trouble of its own. Don’t let it drag you on for too long.” There’s this little voice inside me that goes, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to bring any religious references to this conversation, not to mention that I highly doubt it will sort out the nitty-gritty of me feeling stuck.” Yet, weirdly enough, in every end of the day, I’d find myself whispering in my head, “Each day has enough trouble of its own”, then I took a deep breath, exhaled a release and the anxiety of going down the to-do list for tomorrow, as well as the worries inside my brain self-anticipating for shit that will go down the next day, somehow subsided a little.

Not sure if this mantra will last the next eight months, nor whether the universe has reached the limit of any-shit-that-can-and-will-go-wrong in the life of me by then, but I sure do hope that I’ll make it to the fifth month in one shape. Or half. I’ll even settle for a quarter.

Or else, just take me in my sleep or whatever. At this point, I truly don’t see there’s still anything that is worth striving for if everything stays the same.

The Meek

Source: The meek.

Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone can just inherently be brave?

Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone can be raised where bravery is encouraged? At least so that the society would show less tolerance on ignorance and injustice.

Oh, you think that’s how it goes in the world we live in? Well, think again.
It’s probably only something that is part of the school motto. Not so much in their curriculum. Not to mention that we all should scrape off whatever we learn at school to fit in the real world, even only for survival.

In fact, my mother did warn me once of how the acceptance and support to bravery in this world is a big, fat farce.

I remembered her frantic face when she saw my black eye at the teacher’s office. The kid who gave it to me–Bruce was his name, quite befittingly–and his mother was seated to my left. The principal went through what happened, and Bruce’s mother scolded him as she apologized to my mother and offered to pay for the medical expenses and all. My mother responded modestly while she kept her attention on my stoic demeanor.

We walked home hand-in-hand with each other, not saying a word. As we passed a nearby park, my mother broke the silence and decided it’s been a while since we watch the sun set. So she bought us an ice cream each and we sat on the bench across the duck pond, right at the direction of the almost setting sun.

“Your father would probably be proud that you chose not to punch him back, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” she suddenly remarked, “he’d quote the Bible for it, too. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth.”

I looked up at her and finally found my voice, “Do they really, Momma?”

She went silent briefly and said, “The meek don’t inherit the Earth, son. That’s just what the bold tell them, so they’ll get out of the way.”

She deliberately continued, “By somehow convincing the meek that they will have the world without having to work hard for it, the bold is doing half its part to maintain their position as the rulers of the world. By telling the meek to wait in complacency, the bold proves themselves superior.”

“So, you think I should fight Bruce back?” I inquired.

“Oh no,” my mother quickly answered, “I was just telling you your father will pick the wrong verse from the Scripture, take it out of context just to put a smile back on your face.”

She turned from her seat to put her hands over my shoulders and said, “I will say to you that not punching Bruce back does not mean you’re meek. Actually, you being punched simply because he doesn’t like being told off by you after he said girls are weak, I’d say that’s quite a brave thing to do. And I’m proud of you for that.”

I smiled back at her when I saw the beam on her face. The pain on my eye reminded me, “But it seemed like some people don’t like it when we are brave, Momma.”

She saw me cupping my blackeye with my hand, and said we’ll go to the clinic to have the doctor see to it, “but you’re right. People don’t like it when anyone stand up to them. Sometimes it leaves a bruise right here,” she pointed at my eye, then she hovered her finger to my chest, “sometimes, it leaves a bruise in here.”

“And sometimes,” she quietly added, “it’s hard to get away from constantly feeling the pain that maybe it’s easier to keep our heads down.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together trying to make sense what she just said, but then she brushed it off as she ran her hand through my hair saying, “Oh, what am I thinking? Maybe you’ll understand later when you’re older. But I really hope you wouldn’t have to go through it.”

We stopped by the clinic to get my eye fixed and went home for dinner. Little did I know that my mother was threatened to lose her job for 10 years at a nearby hotel because she was defending her coworker over a false theft report from a high-level guest. The coworker ended up resigning to prevent my mother for losing her job and herself from further embarrassment. In the end, she even told my mother, “At least I beat them up from firing me. And now I get to spend more time with the kids, so it’s okay, Jane. Don’t worry about me.”

If it weren’t for me and my sick grandmother, my mother would probably resign in a heartbeat, but she held on for another six months until she found another line of work and quit the hotel job. It took her a while because in a small town the word flew in no time to spread the news that my mother is a “ballsy” employee, and no employers would make such a person as first choice on their team.

Years after, I had never forgotten how grateful I am for her, and the conversation we had that day on the park. Not because it reminded me to stand up for what is right, but that it kept replaying on my mind whenever I need to settle with silence and submission. I tried to convince myself that whenever I don’t disagree with my superior’s terrible idea, I did the logical thing to keep my job and pay my rent on time; that I am in no place to deny the comfort that my salary has sustained me with. Still, I felt guilty whenever I remembered I don’t argue back because I don’t want to be the “ballsy” one–because the they sooner or later will lose their job and be forced to be content with something with far too little prospect. It is not just “easier to keep our heads down” sometimes, but most of the time–I understand it now, and more.

Dad was probably right. I am the meek one, aren’t I, Momma?

Seething

It’s the month of May, and that means I have finally come to the end of my probation period. Except for the salary, I had no idea if things are gonna be any different. For worse, undoubtedly.

My take after the whole three months, should you ask, is that I am an ungrateful, typical piece of shit of a millennial. At least that’s the impression I get after being truly honest when people ask me, “So how’s the job so far?”

Otherwise, they would just dismiss me with something along the lines of, “All jobs suck, kid, what do you expect?”, while in case it’s not obvious yet from my post on passing the second month: That’s. Not. The. Problem.

On a conversation a week ago, a friend of mine quoted a character from this movie Berlin File, “It’s work. There’s no reason for it. You just do it.” I do relate with the latter part about how “a job’s a job”, though I should say I am well-aware of the reason why I take this job: someone’s gotta pay off the bills (and more, in my case). But the remaining nine months to fulfill the contract seems like a stretch, and I can’t wait to call it quits. Quite frankly, I’d be the happiest person to receive, say, a bad news after the probation, so then I could move on with doing something else even if it requires me to take another jobless phase as a rite of passage. But no, I gotta do the whole one year, and even though it means I don’t have to worry about helping the family, I need to compromise with the niceties “madness” and disruption on weekends for the next thirty-six weeks.

When I open up and say that I don’t want to stay, it doesn’t mean I simply dismiss it as something not worth having and I’d rather be stuck unemployed. I have made it clear by saying it gives some financial security to a certain extent. But is it worth my sanity in the long run? No. Logically, does that mean it is just natural for me to try seeking alternatives on work that suck less–even if it’s just a little–than the one I have now? I guess so.

I cannot have the people at home take the ire of my frustration because of these panic work texts on weekends I simply can ignore because there is this excruciatingly, thin line that separates it from my formal job description. Most likely, I will eventually lose my friends if I vent to them about the same thing every single damn time. I need professional help, but where I live, there isn’t any institution credible enough for a visit.

But does that mean I should just zip it and lie to myself that I’m not alright? Can I not be at least true to myself and say, “This could be better. I can see my life be better if I make another choice.”? Because really, I can no longer hear those “there-are-many-other-people-who-would-like-the-position-you’re-in-so-you-should-feel-bad-for-not-appreciating-it-as-much-as-you-should”.

With hindsight, I suppose I shouldn’t have taken questions like, “How are you?” or “How’s the job” too seriously. Because nobody cares, so why should I? Or maybe everybody’s selfish, so why shouldn’t I be?

If this is what adulthood teaches us, then I won’t have any of it. Not even if I should.

 

Offbeat

via Daily Prompt: Heal

She fixed her gaze on the tattered drum sticks she has been holding on her hands. She snickered sardonically, followed by tears, streaming down her eyes.

It was rather impulsive, how it all started. On her way back to her shoe box of an apartment, she discovered the building next to the printing service was no longer vacant. Three men were moving in some musical instruments to the three-storey building, and she suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. It was the owner-slash-teacher, being friendly as he handed her a brochure to ask if she’d be interested to try out any musical instrument on the next 4 weeks for free. Thinking it’s a good chance to find a new hobby to get her mind out of work, she agreed.

After the second week, she was pretty convinced she wanted to learn how to play the drum. Other than having puddings for dessert after every meal, playing the drum also was as much as a childhood dream she wanted to fulfill. For the first time in her life, she enrolled to a class voluntarily–even spent some money from her own pocket for it.

She had no idea when in the timeline that it became more serious and less a hobby than she initially planned it to be. But it probably started on her fourth month, where she felt she has invested quite enough for her to be decent on playing simple, slow beats.

Never had she felt such competitiveness and ambition coming from her own self; but maybe that was residue of a family-imposed habit that for decades had unconsciously shaped her: to excel at everything you are responsible of.

It doesn’t help that she hasn’t eased in well with the new job she took just a couple of months before she took the drum lessons. Many a days, she looked to the mirror every morning, only to feel like she was just playing dress-up, just to look professionally acceptable enough. Many a times, she was unable to get proper sleep as she mulled over the things she “should” sweat over: Did I offend the coworker by being outspoken? Did I threw off the boss by pointing out where the project currently lacks? Did he take it too personally? Did I email the counterparts as properly as expected? 

Surely, having this determination to do the best was definitely a value one would think is appropriate to teach the kids. But not so much when it was oriented mainly towards the result, and not the process. Not to mention that it builds this perception that she could do anything as long as she tried hard enough.

Eight months in and she still cannot get a hang out of a basic 4/4 rock beat.

It strikes her that she was probably just not good at this particularly; she could just learn a lot of other stuff quicker than this. It shouldn’t bruise her ego or anything. But every time she missed a beat, it hurt her. It left her as frigid as much as every time she saw the disappointed look in her supervisor’s eyes, telling that her thoughts and actions didn’t reflect the best interest of the company.

No one could be any more dismissive to someone past their mid-twenties and them being a klutz. It’s just, how do they call it, “too much”.

As her tears dried, she stood up, grabbed her jacket and walked across the street to see if she can still catch her tutor before he closed the place for the day. Since she cannot just terminate her contract with the company, she decided to spare herself from the growing sense of self-inflicted inadequacy that might just push her to the brink of despair. Thank God refusing to give up out of the fear of “losing” to oneself has begun to sound ridiculous in her head.

He was just locking the doors to leave when she called out to him and say she’d like a break. She was waiting for a barrage of “Why?” or “Oh, don’t give up just yet!” coming from him, only to be welcome by a simple, “Sure. That’s okay.” She felt foolish for thinking a teacher would keep a student without talent or any form of progress, but then he beat that thought off of her head by saying, “Drop by again sometimes, though. There are only guitar classes on Thursdays, so if you miss having a bit of practice, you can just go to the classroom and try out some beats yourself.” She welcomed the gesture and muttered him a small thanks as he shrugged it off and waved her good night.

She was quite glad that she could let go of one burden and possibly revisit it as a hobby in the near future. But mostly, she was glad that she tried.

If only the same can be said for the job. But of course, that’s exactly why it would never cease being a little– how should one call it?–“too much”.

Not For Long

Two months in the job, and I’m back. I am utterly disappointed with myself with the lack of stories I have posted in the past month, but I am so ready to rant out. How bloody typical of a millennial, I know.

Let me begin by saying this: I don’t exactly know what to feel anymore about this whole job and adulting that follows. But not in any way that it makes things more acceptable.

Surely, I am slightly more familiar with the dynamics at work, which somehow makes me feel more at ease and efficient with my tasks. This is all due to the kindness and laughter gladly shared by some of the fellows I met at the office, and the support of my loving parents for the food, the ride and the ears after every rough day; I can’t thank you enough for bearing with my cluelessness and, more often than not, my rambling spree.

And a huge shout-out to my friends for their comfort, humor and energy. Those video and voice calls certainly have made each of my weekends merrier.

Despite such immense support and the somewhat considerable adaptability with work, I am even more convinced that I may not stick to this in the long run.

There’s no progress with any kind of happy feeling when I receive the paycheck, which has been a tell-tale sign since last month. What makes it even worse is the fact that it doesn’t give me the most feeble amount of joy nor relief when I get to contribute to the family this month, to the extent that it doesn’t waver my consideration not to stay in the job. Not even for a teeny bit longer than previously agreed.

I reckon this is just a process of me knowing myself better; not by specifically defining things that I like, but by realizing things I don’t. And part of that realization is that I caught myself thinking, “Damn, maybe I really just don’t have the eye for whatever the society thinks is the finer things in life. Shit, I do put more importance in the sense of fulfillment in something I need to do repetitively to survive.”

No, it’s not that I took this job, wide-eyed, with hands on my hips, looking to the distance, saying,”Yes, I am finally entering society like the responsible adult that I am, and I am so going to do well at the job because dammit I am significant in preserving the well-being of this institution.” No. Just, really? Is there anyone in their right mind who shares that thought? Especially with the position I took, anyone who dare say it’s a fancy ass job must be out of their minds.

What I’m trying to say is, it’s not that I have high expectations coming to the line of work, thus the disappointment and the whining. It’s that I approach it with the lowest of all expectations–close to none, if you will–yet it still feel a little too much, and that eats my soul every fucking day. I mean, heck, even when shit happened in my daily life, I used to be able to create something out of it. Now I can’t, which is precisely what I fear most even before I start the job; not being able to do stuff I enjoy, even merely as a hobby. And I am not willing to simply hang in there and made it through ’til it consumes me whole.

Undoubtedly, I will be all hot and cold nearing the end of the contract, but to hell with it, I’m calling it now: complacency is out of the question. Why wouldn’t it be when my sanity is at stake?

So I’ll grit my teeth to the bruise in the meantime, but not until the pain spreads that I can no longer move my legs.

God, that was cheesy as fuck. Sorry. But you get the point.

On that note, I am happy to say that I can cross that concern off the list. Now, onto the hastening of the initial plan and being more decisive in the next 10 months. Welp, won’t that be an exciting mess.

Breathing Space

It’s March 2017 and I’m still alive. Great.

I think it’s a rule that when you want something so badly in life, you will never be able to get it, even if it is something that will not make any exponential changes in the world. Sorry if that crushes your childhood dreams and hopes right then and there.

Four weeks into the job and my first salary, I should be excited; emphasis on the word “should”. Again, I should reiterate, it’s not the people I work with. It’s me. I am just myself a grumpy, sad person, and I don’t know how to be anything but.

See, the thought of money usually makes one’s day a lot brighter, but not me. I’ll tell you why. Despite the fact that the things I like or enjoy doing in life is rather simple and comparatively not as pricey, I won’t be able to use it personally because I am not in a place to be “selfish”. Also, there is this fear that is built up on top of all the series of unfortunate events that just runs in the family like water, which somehow conditions my inability to spend a lot of money at once. Actually, that would only make me feel worse.

I truly despise the fact that I need to put it this way, but at times, I often wonder if it’s all worth it: the money for the family, and whether I will be able to keep doing it for the rest of my life. A life that I never even ask for on the first place.

People take the life they’re given for granted, at least as far as how they acquire it initially. The lucky ones, so they say, are born to a family that takes care of them up until a certain age when they are demanded to do the same to the people who raise them. Some do that willingly without any questions asked. On the other hand, I still cannot quite grasp the fact that it is them who wants me in their life on the first place, not me. So, why the “responsibility”?

I can already feel the surge of “You insolent little brat!” coming my way. But if I don’t say it now, I feel like I might lose the teensy amount of sanity hardly left in my disposal.

Then comes the question, “So, do you love the family? Because if you do, you’ll endure the job or simply keeping up with their antics. You will because they are worth it.” I mean, I can definitely say I love my brothers to the bone. But frankly, when it is put that way, especially on the context of my caretakers, I don’t know what to say, and I have never felt so horrible in my life.

Ideally, I will appreciate some form of distance because, contrary to most views, it creates this sort of illusion that lets you think more affectionately of those you left behind, at least to my own experience. If that lets me balance out all the grouch and depression, then it’s all I ask as of now. And so I guess it’s all I am going to strive for in the meantime.

But if the world never lets you get what you desperately want, no matter how insignificant it is, should I even expect anything to prevail?