>…all in a week’s time. And since the last few days I’ve been trying to sort it all out in my head and make sense of it in words that can be blogged.
The last week has been something of a roller coaster at the workplace. After oscillating between a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’ and finally putting an end to the confusion with a crisp, cool lie that troubled me a great deal the whole of last week, by Monday, I thought I’d put the worst behind me. That was till Thursday dawned and brought with it the painful sensation that usually accompanies the act of being stabbed in the back. It hurt to first feel the dagger slice through your skin and flesh and then have it turned around inside you till you writhed in helpless agony. Okay, so I exaggerate and may have taken the analogy too far but there isn’t anything like a small or a big betrayal. If you’ve been cheated, you have been. The truth however is that though I brushed aside the whole issue as being all part of a day’s work, it lingered on, that feeling of being cheated.
And just when I thought I could now let bygones be bygones, the not-so-pretty past decided it was time to play catch up with me. I’m not amused at how the past never does remain that and always casts long shadows on the present. And so there I was, struggling with another sense of helplessness as I saw my life being remote controlled by something/someone that should’ve been history but wasn’t. There’s a strong urge to take revenge now though I have no idea how it’s going to be done.
That was just bad enough.
The ugly part last week involved one of my employees: a young girl whom I’ve grown very fond of and who finds herself trapped in a very, very unhappy marriage that she insisted on, blinded by love as she was one year ago.
In the middle of nowhere, I hear her voice in my head, crying in misery as she watches her dream of a beautiful home come to nought. Two days ago, a relative of hers – a smart, young girl like her – was brutally killed by her in-laws; now she fears, she’s doomed to the same fate. She doesn’t know if she should worry for herself or for her parents who will not be able see their daughter wronged like this. I can tell her to be strong and stand up for herself, I can share her sorrow, but I cannot be her.
Her tears make my smile seem forced. And I realise that the last week, troublesome as it has been for me, has been better than her’s. I’ve fought at work but gone back to a home where I know I would be taken care of. Despite everything, I’ve been able to forget my worries and sleep well.
That alone could be the good bit that happened last week.