For the longest time, I had never had lunch on my own on a working day. In public. On my own.
I cannot breathe after months.
I cannot hold on to the stream of tears.
Every single time when my head bow down to a bowl of noodles, there's stream of voices from the rest of them talking and talking and talking.
About work, About how bad is work. About how bad is she, he, them.
Everytime I place a spoon nearer to my mouth I get voices commenting the soup is bad (yet they consume it), the food is bland (yet they consume it), the food is not up to their taste (yet they consume it).
Every single seconds there's voices radiating, as long as I am in the company of some companies.
And everytime I just had to swallow each mouthful with a wisp of air. Because I have to oepn my mouth to acknowledge these voices.
Perhaps age is catching. I am tired. I no longer am keen to know if the girl next cubicle is not following a certain SOP. Wait. Not to say I am not keen. But I cannot have anymore of these streaming to my ear. Because it works like a catalyst. That evokes the emotion in me.
As of now, it has built up so much that I no longer have the drive to ... well.. drive on.
I yearn to learn from people who have seen the world.
But I get to work along the line of people who have been here for the past 15 years and has never been out.
I yearn to have creative inputs and outputs.
But all I got to do is to make sure the latest phone for the season (every phone for every season looked the same to me) gets up in the client's newsletter.
Not being able to visualise a crafted Australian artisan soap seated in a Mondrian inspired China made ware or conceptualising jaw-dropping story line to any marketing campaign is slowly killing my creative juice. In fact, I am all dried up.
I have nothing but tears to shed.
It's beginning to show, The littlest to almost a very tiny slimy chance that I will be able to follow the likes of the rest of these happy-ever-after clan in their comfort zone. Totally not comfortable at all.
I had no room to breathe. I feel stupid conforming to things that I cannot make sense of. I forced myself to abide. But I am building up anger so much so that the tiniest of my gesture reflects that. The room to breathe is getting lesser. The room to burn is building up.
I had to sit in the loo and cry.
I had to drive home and cry unknowingly.
I have to put up quotes while crying as I type.
I had to sit in the car and cry before I start work.
I cannot breathe.
Like cancer cells mutilating at such speed I can no longer contain.
I have never felt so burnt up ever in my entire working profession.
I no longer know what I do.
All I do now is to do up whatever everyone do.
All I do now is to do up the sedentary work.
All I do now is to take up instruction and do.
All I do now is to get nagged at other people's wrong decision.
All I do now is to stare, do, stare do whatever that comes.
I had to cry.
Because I realised I am no longer me.
All I ever think of is to slit my wrist in front of all these patriarch of menial work and hope they are satisfied that I am now a total crushed out frame of no emotion.
All I ever do now is to go home, and cry in the shower, as if I was raped.
Raped by the situation, leaving me in total loneliness and a total empty soul.
Today I was told to confine myself and my work in my 1.2 meter mobile work desk as they intend to put someone else next to my desk.
From adesk with 6 seats and none is occupied, I had to confine myself to my 1.2 meter width desk, to be accompanied with a self made cabinet that I had to construct on my own and need to make way so they can have another person seated at 1.25m onwards from the end of my 1.2m desk.
On the pretext that the shaman said its the best seats for now to ensure prosperity.
I don't know what to mutter, I guess nothing.
I guess it's a sign. That it's the time to leave. Leave it to the shaman..
And for the first time, I had my letter ready..
I guess I am awake and ready to be out of the comfort zone...
Because I really cannot breathe.............