about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

So this is what it feels like.

The feeling of independence, of not having parents or anyone else to help. The experience of boarding with colleagues---not on some summer outing, but because we're all teammates doomed to committing overtime hours for an extended period. The shock of missing objects or things instead of family members. The quirks of having to iron your clothes without an iron. The irritation of being awake at 4 a.m. while everyone else is snoring away. The power of a caffeine overdose---and its crippling, mind-burning consequences.

For these I have to thank Joel, Candice and Sara. We still have a long road ahead and it is fraught with disappointment, frustration and bewilderment. I am glad I had to share it with you three.

The feeling of helplessness and being lied to. The disappointment of seeing you being hailed as our representative for our concerns, when you've done nothing to stand up for all our sacrifices and grievances. The abandonment from other teams that are supposed to be doing their jobs; instead, all the blame, pressure and effort is piled on our shoulders yet again. The weariness from being asked to play superhero all the time when we so obviously are not, nor did we deserve to be treated as such. The empty promise heaped on us for our effort and sacrifice when it is obviously not enough compensation. The growing urge to give up and refuse flat-out.

How long will this go on? When will it all end? I refuse to believe you any longer. Your words are as empty as your ass-kissing soul. Let's see how good a leader you are when not one among your subordinates believes you.

The feeling of having a confidant friend in the craziness of the Internet. The reassurance that there is someone willing to listen to whatever screwed-up idea pops up in my head. The appreciation one can only get from having an audience---one very willing at that.

Thank you, Grace. I have much to learn from you and I will keep on asking you questions. And yes, I really do want to sing for you one of these days.

The will to make something else out of my time, but not the resources nor the freedom to do so. The vanishing of whatever little social life I used to have. The desire to be somewhere else.

Is this what being burnt out feels like?

The unpleasant feeling that rears its green head when you see the women you used to cherish being happy with men who aren't you. The lingering question that stabs you in the head and heart with a glass dagger: "Why not me?" The onset of doubt: "Am I destined to be alone forever? Have I met my quota of learning experiences of what true love is like?" The self-loathing. The broken self-esteem.

So this is what it feels like.

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