The Blue Room

The Dark Pit

By BubbleGum99 feamdee@yahoo.com

 

"Just what exactly IS your problem?"

A friend of mine shouted back in my face after I mumbled about everything and nothing in particular for almost an hour. I was only telling her how I seem to have lost control of my life. She thinks Iím cute. So, what is my problem?

Thereís my work. After several months of trying to wake up early enough to beat the office clock (which is 15 minutes late) at 7 AM sharp, Iíve come to a decision itís hopeless trying to go against natureís way. With a million cells shouting you gotta sleep, and the migraine that comes with not giving in to this biological need, what can I, a mere mortal, do but slip back to oblivion? Donít you think this is telling me something about my job? Is it me, or just my job?

Hah! Wait till I tell you how I go about my work zombie-like (read: staring blankly at the computer screen for hours, calling the wrong person to the phone, forgetting why I was there at all). Basket case, you say?

I donít know. Itís just that nothing seems to interest me these past few days. My only consolation with my present job is that I get to surf the ĎNet during lunch breaks. Chatting makes me feel alive, and more dead afterwards. You connect with people alright, but then it becomes just an exercise of futility, a shallow attempt at making friends with people who turn out to be jerks. Well, not everyone I guess. But I, unfortunately, call it destiny or whatever, almost always end up meeting sleazy creatures online. But still, I persist. I still have hope in humanity after all.

Coming home to my rented room amidst the noise of disco pubs and beer houses (this is what I could afford with my meager, whatchamacallit, salary?) I wonder what happened to the sheltered little girl with dreams of a bright future, beaming with trust and confidence in her idea of the world.

I equated having a job with the realization of my dreams Ė having a life, and helping my family. But I was proved wrong. I am confused as to which matters most Ė having a high salary without a clear career path, or a career without money?

Having a job that doesnít allow me to help my impoverished family in the province is as exciting as walking barefoot on coals of fire. And yet, it is difficult to find another one. The only consolation is that I have a job. Itís depressing to think that I have nowhere else to go, that I would spend the rest of my life in this miserable situation. With the options I have now, staying is the best thing I could do.

But staying in this job is killing me slowly. On the other hand, leaving would kill me outright. Where would I get my food, my shelter, my basic needs?

My inner self tells me, though, it is yet night. Tomorrow may be brighter. And I think I could live for that.

So, what exactly is my problem?

This column is reserved for the exhibition of every Gen-Xer's angsts, views, opinions, and such, on things, stuff or issues worth writing about, whether they be experienced in real life or here on cyberspace. Views and opinions on this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the editors of WIRED! Philippines (although we might find ourselves nodding occasionally).

 


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