The Body in the Landfill (Trash Trio #1)



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“Chen Roo-ee…”

“It’s Ru, Mrs. Jones,” she said as she raised her hand, not having more people butcher her name anymore on the first day at school as a sixth grader. Mrs. Jones, the Math teacher, took notice of her and nodded with a rather nervous, “Okay,” and a slightly scarlet face. Ru thought she might also feel overwhelmed with all the sixth graders she needed to roll-call on her first day as well. But she really doesn’t want her classmates to get free ideas in case they eventually decide to pick on her. It got pretty bad for Barney Jones (everyone erupted to the I Love You song in the hallway) in fourth grade, and Sunny Le (they just laughed every time she was on roll-call until a teacher noticed this halfway through the semester) last year. Their names were not even exactly taken from another language as hers.

From her peripheral vision, she can see one of her classmates mindlessly looking at the clock, another playing with his pen, and another one, whom she never saw around before, has been dunking his head on the table since second period. It is understandable though, Ru reckoned. It has been a whole day of nothing but roll calls and pep talk.

Just as her stomach is about to grumble, the school bell rings. Ru hoped she would make it in time for the lone seat near the window at the cafeteria, also that the remaining two periods wouldn’t be too long.

Ru hopped on her bicycle and dashed out of the school gates. Like any other day, she went past the stores in Gran’s Avenue, all the way through the one bookstore in town, Wan’s, took a right and cycled away from the residential areas of Linford. She headed to the shortcut through the urban forest and crossed the shallow creek, which her mother is never really pleased about because she still reckons it too slippery and dangerous. But it got her down the hill by at least 10 minutes faster, so her Mom relented to her stubbornness on the condition that Ru does not use that path when it’s the rainy season.

She can already see the tiny security cabin with its signature blue roof she always frequented after school. She was excited to visit again after the last two weeks of summer she spent with her Dad who lived in another town following her parents’ divorce. But as she turned towards it, she heard sirens screaming, and saw that they came from two police cars and an ambulance, parked in front of the security cabin. She quietly stopped and placed her bike nearby a tree, and saw a familiar face, handcuffed and escorted by two huge policemen out of the cabin. A brown-and-white Akita, which was primarily the reason why Ru visited the place, barks and follows the officers along as if trying to ask the officers to let his owner go. In a blind panic, she hastily makes her way through the crowd.

“Terry!” she called out, which alerted the officers and Terry himself, “what happened?” The dog, named Milo, barked and went down the stairs and made to Ru’s side. It let out a sad whining sound.

“Ru,” Terry began, “please go home. The guy on the next shift will watch over Milo.”

“Is this kid related to you, Sir?” the officer asked.

“No, no,” Terry quickly replied. “she just usually comes here after school to play with the dog. I’ve told you my sister’s contact.”

“In that case, you should go home, kid. This is a crime scene. Your Mom won’t like you playing around here. Not to mention it’s too close to a dumpster,” the officer warned Ru, who was perplexed and still trying to put the pieces together.

“Wait, what do you mean a crime scene?” she asked, fidgeting, “and Terry has something to do with it? No way!” Another office was trying to coax her to leave saying that the police will handle it and she’d best stay out of the place when they heard something dropped on the floor and a tentative, “Uncle Terry?”

The boy with the sleeveless yellow down jacket over a red hoodie looked even more in shock, and this is the most alert Ru has seen him while he was basically sleeping through the whole first day. He dropped what looked like to be a lunchbox, which was probably Terry’s had he not been arrested. The other policeman, who looks slightly younger but meaner than the other one, was just about to open the door and shove Terry inside the car as he got frustrated with the interruptions.

“Please, officer, that’s my nephew,” Terry called out, “Max, go home and tell your Mom I’m at the police station. It’s just for some questioning, I’ll be fine, okay?”

“Alright, you two, stay out of the landfill. Someone was found dead,” the older officer said as he nodded to the crew who just lifted a bag inside the ambulance. He pointed to Max, “And you, kid, tell your Mom we’ll call from the station about your uncle.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong, did he? Why was he in handcuffs?” Max frightfully asked.

“We’re going to find out since your uncle may notice something when he started his shift early this morning.” And with that, he left with the police car and the ambulance.

“I-I’ll bring Milo with me,” Ru broke the silence as she also tried to get a grip on herself, “I don’t think anyone is going to come soon to feed him. W-will you…”

As Ru was just about to ask if he’s going to be okay and offered him some help, Max grabbed the lunchbox he dropped earlier, rushed to his bike and went off the other side of the road. Ru was startled but then hurried herself to get Milo in the pet basket Terry had, detached it from his bike into hers. She cycled home as she hoped nothing bad will happen to Terry.

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If Life is a Choice

What would life be like if I had a choice?

For starters, I would probably need not grovel much about the financial aspect of a job when seeking employment. I also would be able to start thinking about savings and pension plans early on.

On another note, I would likely be able to move out somewhere nearby the workplace–I do need the distance and the comfort of sleeping a couple more hours before getting ready to work. I would have more time to write and read, and do both more comfortably.  Need I say more?

I may have more chances to hang out and get to know my new friends as well as catch up with the old ones. I may be able to see them on lunch breaks just because. Just listening to them talk about their demanding bosses or horrible co-workers, laugh out about old times and let them cool down before coming back to each of our own hellhole; it seems nice. It is nice.

I would be able to provide a bit of a break for my brothers, probably spend some quality time with them in a place where they can just dream of anything, be strangers, experience new surroundings and come back as new individuals.

Maybe I can also have a break myself, somewhere I can dream of anything, be a stranger once more, experience new surroundings, learn and come back a new person.

If life gave me a choice, I would have time to think, more before I need to keep on moving forward and make ends meet. Perhaps I would have more time to think and feel, have more empathy for the world and its people. I would have more time to act upon that empathy, create and build something worthwhile.

Maybe having a legacy will not be meaningless at all. Maybe I would be able to see that I can do something different for the world; if life gave me a choice.

I would have more time to think and regret less. I may regret less, and I may even be tempted to give more.

For I have many, and more in store, and nothing at stake, so why should I hesitate?

But life offers none of those. Life offers no time, no means, just circumstances. Even worse, life throws a dice on them, so from the very first moment it started, it started with nothing but luck. Even for the bravest or stupidest of all, would anyone be as daring or idiotic to take it on?

So allow me to change the question: What would it be like if life is a choice in itself?

I no longer have any hint of shame for saying this out loud. For me, the answer is as clear as it can be.

If life is a choice, I won’t have any of it.

Traversing the Vortex

Throw some confetti in the air, pat me on the back and extend your congratulations because I officially fulfilled my one-year contract last Feb 5. Yay!

Or maybe not, considering unemployment is just right around the corner.

Looking back to the past few weeks and some drama (colour my surprise) which entails the good ol’ office life, I get reminded constantly that this may be a good decision after all. But of course, I can’t help but worry about the prospect of not being able to secure another job as immediately as I hoped it would be. It was quite a progress of my own to account for the interviews I have had the past month–compared to basically nothing in return for the applications I submitted for about 4 months last 2016–yet as there has been zero good news so far, I think it’s fair to be a bit anxious if this is going to be another long wait. Dear Lord, I sure hope not; it will make me a huge asshole for the family, and it will only make this financial family drama a lot worse.

Man, I was just preemptively laying it out and I’m already beat.

It also doesn’t help that it’s Chinese New Year soon, which means prep money for them red pockets. It’s good for me in a sense that I’m still accounted as the receiving end, but not so much for my old folks since us kids would be getting them prosperity packages from them. I also hated the whole tradition of having to buy new clothes and all, because they’re fucking expensive, and I’m about to be penniless due to the resignation, but my folks would insist on having new sets of clothing anyways. Come to think of it, I just had a little row with my Ma this morning because I refuse to get new shoes for work because it’s damn pricey. Nobody notices, except for her, and I still have another good pair I can wear on the visit to my relative’s house anyway, so I really cannot fathom the rush and the need of it while we’re still trying to pay off other more important stuff.

Having arguments about similar matters like these sound completely dumb, which was why I usually try not to mind it so much, sometimes by trying to just brush it off or compromise. Unfortunately, there are times when these things rub me off the wrong way and I was just frustrated about why it is even a problem. Having accumulated all the stress and exhaustion because of work, the handover, and the lack of assurance on the next job just burst the emotional bubble for me.

This is one of the things why I bode too well living alone and far away from all these strings attached and this miserable city I flunked into on the day of my birth lottery.

Nevertheless, I had three days remaining in this position and quite obviously cannot wait to sign up for another job soon–not because I just like working, but because life gave me absolutely no fucking option nor enough means to enjoy some down time. It’s the basics of survival; you know, money and experience. “Whatever for”, you ask? To get you to a better place before you die… or just to make sure someone can settle your bills for you when you die, because apparently nothing in this world is free, even when you’re leaving it for good.

Wish me luck for the upcoming interviews. Three cheers for the pseudo-life we’re all doomed in!

A Disappearing Act

Tallied it up to eleven months, and I cannot wait for next month to come as much as I don’t want it to. Yes, you heard me right. Let me explain.

On my last post, I mentioned that I needed to make a huge decision in the first week of the new year, and so I did. My term in this job will end next February.

It should make me feel relieved, shouldn’t it? It should make me feel less burdened since it meant I have to only spend six more weeks and then I will no longer be involved with unnecessary drama anymore. But it also means that it is exactly six more weeks before I (hopefully not) am a miserable jobless bum yet again, half-regretting my choice to leave before I secure another job. Yeah, way to go with helping out the family and all.

On the other hand, I reckon what makes me worry a lot is the fact that I am going to have a new boss in three days and will need to answer to him for at least one whole month. Also, his temporary replacement is not someone whose working style matches mine. First of all, I want the next three days to pass quickly, but then I am also super anxious for the rest of January up to the day I leave because I had no idea about how things will turn out while working with this boss. I found myself taking a deep, long breath as I finished writing this part.

Then again, I cannot do anything else but roll with it, can I? I’m also applying for any vacancies I laid my eyes on, so keeping my fingers crossed tight for that.

Another thing that has been bothering with me was my last conversations with my two previous bosses before they left. With the first boss, I find it harder communicating with compared with the second one. I had my share of mistakes as well, which I am not proud of, so I thought it was better for us to have a handshake, bid farewell, and leave it at that. But on their last day, they both are nice enough to say, “You have done well.” This triggered so many thoughts, mostly originated from this impostor syndrome I am forever doomed to be struggling with.

See, the working culture in my current office is that words like, “You have done a good job”, and, “You have worked hard”, are thrown away casually whenever any of the staff finishes their work or their shift for the day. Of course, it is nice to have people acknowledge that every end of the day, but then again, when the same words are being used a little too much–almost like a greeting–don’t they lose meaning in the process? The moment I heard them being said, I immediately brushed it off as nothing I should not take seriously. But left to my own devices, I suddenly felt sixteen-year-old me took over; a time when I wasn’t too fond of people when they are “just saying words”, because I could not really understand the point of it. It made me feel so self-conscious about other people’s perception, and the realization that I actually care annoyed me immensely. I hate it because it seemed like I haven’t learnt much after ten years of supposed self-development and reinvention. Pfft.

Life is getting too tiring, and I really don’t have anything to look forward to, be it within this year, next year or the next five years. I have already felt defeated by this year when it has barely started.

I don’t know, maybe I should stop trying at all. I have stopped hoping for the best years ago, because somehow the world doesn’t think I deserve it. I am close to call bullshit on preparing for the worst, because life is always waiting in the corner to mess everything up and I am left with nothing to expect. I should just accept the fact that I will slowly go numb, then selfish, and finally conceited since, so far, that is the only thing that work and adulthood demanded me to be to survive. But I can’t.

Now that I found one escape path for the former, I should probably be more grateful. If only I was the only one at stake.

One month to go, and afterwards, I can’t think of anything else but an opportunity for me to start anew.

Who Would’ve Thunk It’s 2018?

Another year, another gratuitous early year blog post.
Without further ado, allow me to begin with this snazzy infographic on how the past year has been for me.

2017 year in review

On the achievement side of things, I did manage to go from jobless to employed af. By that, I mean, at least for the first 7 months, the word “weekends” and “relaxation” have never been more unrelated. Having been at the job for 11 months, at a glance, this surely is something worth a pat on my back, or so I thought. There’s too much office drama going on that somehow made its way to entangle everyone, including me, and I honestly can’t stand it anymore. Yet I am also constantly worried about the prospect of having to be penniless in the upcoming months before I can find a new job.

But, truly, I don’t think I should doom myself to this for another year. I don’t think my irregular counseling sessions will suffice to get me through.

It’s funny because, in hindsight, the whole thesis-writing agony in 2016 does not seem so bad.

I read in between my commutes, which is hard because it usually takes 2.5 to 3 hours for me to reach home, and the bus is overwhelmingly crowded. At times, my brain simply refused to grasp more information after work that picking up my ebook reader seems too much. I was devastated for a while because reading used to cheer me up a lot, but now because of the routine, I am reduced to functioning as a numb robot that craves only for food and sleep, which will never be enough.

Not only that I read fewer books, I also write less this past year. This blog has contained nothing but my monthly evaluation of how work has been and whether I am staying or leaving. So far, it’s 10:0, with all votes against staying. But this financial concern has been eating me as much as my internal rejection of remaining in the job, which drives me nuts.

Still, I am thankful for some of my colleagues who have been so helpful that somehow I felt like I have gained new friends at work. The family is still struggling with dysfunctionality, but well, I can’t do anything about it but brood about it on my bad days and stay patient about it on my good days. Anyways, everyone is trying to keep it together, so I guess that’s quite enough. I just need some space, and distance, if possible. I can never be more grateful for the support of my closest friends who have made the dreadful weekdays endurable, as much as they have made the weekends and holidays worth anticipating. Oh, and the little surprise by the end of the year; I am glad to make it my first reunion ever.

Now, what to expect in 2018?

To begin with, I needed to make a huge decision within these 4 days. For my own sake, it would be too easy, but unfortunately, there are other factors which come into the equation. My only hope right now is that my panic alarm will not betray me with indecision on the due date.

Only then I would probably be able to think straight and plan out the year. I am starting a bullet journal, a bit worried about whether it will be helpful for me to sort things out and start healthier habits and keep being productive in reading and writing. But, what the hell, at least I’m giving it a go.

All in all, I just hope 2018 will suck less, and that came with the least amount of expectation I can gather with how dispiriting 2017 has been. Cheers for more regular therapy sessions and a new job opportunity!

Anticipating Escape Avenue

One rainy December morning on my commute to work, half-awake and all, I found myself thinking, “I guess being an adult mostly involves me showing up to work every day while donning the most exhausted version of me.”

Eleven days ago marked my tenth month on the job, and I can tell you folks that I am dreading for February to come faster.

November, without a doubt, has been the shittiest month due to the fact of the office drama that unveiled, and most significantly how it tried to entangle me into its mess. To cut the story short, I just found out how these people rather play this stupid faction game instead of solving the real problem that caused it (bad communication, unclear job descriptions, you know the drill), and how some of them used this situation to their own advantage when necessary. The latter was when I somehow was dragged onto this whole hodgepodge of hierarchic, hypocritical hogwash, and that was when I rest my case on getting out of this job as fast as I can.

To be fair, the last three months have probably been the best in terms of working and communicating with the boss, who is by far more collaborative and levelheaded than my previous one. But then again, there seems to be another problem lurking on the management system that is in dire need to be settled before he leaves. Yes, in less than a week, I will have a new superior, who knows nothing of the stupid drama at work, and maybe more hesitant to set things straight in order to save face. I am already scared to death on how I will be able to adjust and communicate accordingly to this new guy’s personality, and now there is this nonsense going on. See how this is simply bigger than me?

I mean, gimme a break. I just wanted to be done with my job and get paid every month. Can I just please stay away from your infuriatingly irrelevant theatrics?

It is nearing the end of the year, and I still cannot fathom how odd (and at times insulting) adulthood can be. At least in this experience, I found myself surrounded by a bunch of people in power who dresses professionally, talks about being responsible and has a lot of pride about how serious their jobs are; but truly, what they do is act as if they are responsible while they simply take pleasure in delegating tasks to others, pressure their employees to do their biding to look good in front of the boss, and bask in the glory of appearing “professional”.

This feels, to put it plainly, very repulsive to me, and also very dispiriting. Like, maybe no matter the company or institution, they all have the same culture that is disrespectful, ferocious and ignorant, and that we all just need to succumb to it. Seeing that it’s at least going to be how I am spending 30% of my day, 24% of my week, and 20% of my month for the rest of my life, I’d rather not. I cannot.

But now I am at that point where I need to get myself out of this place, just so that I can distance myself from the toxicity that has disrupted my daily responsibilities. How the next job will be is another problem to worry about later.

I can sense the storm coming and how it will rain cats and dogs in January. I understand I’ll get soaked pretty badly, but my best hope is that I’ll make it home in one piece.

Pre-Productive Panic Precinct

Rounded it all up to ten months on the job, and I am getting restless because there seem to be not many vacancies around for the next two. Oh, bother.

It’s almost halfway through November and I don’t know how to tell you what has been happening back in October other than my job being reduced to apartment maintenance service. I am not saying being in maintenance is bad; I am trying to say that I think the organization needs to make finer lines of job descriptions of each of their employees. Unfortunately, that is something no one in their extent of capabilities is willing to deal with.

With how the traffic is getting worse, and commuters are basically adopting survival mode every rush hour, which has gotten more and more ridiculous in fashion, ideally, I wish not only for a new job but also a chance to get myself out of this country. I have been over this countless of times, and I am afraid that is the only way I can still stay on track in fulfilling my responsibility for the family while keeping myself sane. Yet because the world is so inclined to make things hard for all of us, it is frustratingly blatant how arduous that path may be. Having these running through my head too many a times a day is really not good for me since they trigger that feeling of hopelessness and being stuck to my circumstances, and increases the intervals of me falling into the pit of depression.

On the bad days, I am mostly upset with everything and will rant it out to my Mum with a little coaxing. As much as I am grateful for her being there for me, I also feel bad that she needs to see me agonizing while she constantly feels like she can do more for the family despite her best efforts. It breaks me to hold my tongue as much as it does if I speak up.

I hate to admit that I cannot explain this, but on the good days, I would have this mechanism in which I just go on with my day and try out whatever opportunities are thrown my way. It doesn’t bother me much anymore when I get rejected, mostly because I expected it, but I was weirdly satisfied enough that I gave my best, and I’d move on to the next one without beating myself up too much like I used to. Once in a while, I panicked when the probability of staying in this job for another year strikes me, but I was still able to bounce back rather quickly. I am guessing I haven’t hit the real freak-out time frame yet. That made me worry about the fact that I may be slowly accepting the prospect of working here for another year because the current boss is chill enough while my brain is temporarily oblivious of how the new boss is going to be at work. And he’s coming next month.

My numbness has effectively infected my nervous alarm system, which is bad because that means my defense mechanism is faulty. Now I am freaking out a little because I am supposed to be borderline anxious at this point, but I’m not.

This is uncharted territory for me, but have you guys ever felt stuck, but at the same time also numbed by that feeling? And on top of that, also feeling like you should know that it’s bad, but you’re just not there yet that you slowly start building up anxiety? That’s how October has been for me.

It’s two weeks until the end of November, and I wish I will be in full-but-functional frenzy mode real soon to get me out of this place.


Correction: November is my ninth month on the job. Apparently, I have not only lost my ability to feel but also to count. Bummer.

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.

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!