Work and sadism

A friend randomly asked me yesterday night how I’m coping with work. I paused for a bit thinking that was so easy to answer. It was then that I realized that in the span of that pause that could have lasted only for seconds, I’m answering in behalf of my career, frustrations, and success, and so I owe to answer as honest as possible to whoever was asking that to me. Then I realized… it was never an easy question despite its simplicity and casualness.

Let me track myself a year ago. I was just a kid… a kid who just graduated and staring from a far the world outside the old-fashioned classroom where I stayed in for more than 1 and a half decade for old-fashioned lessons. I saw a playing field, a battlefield where I am now… a combat that requires infinite effort, a battle that just never seemed to cease.

A month after I graduated, I found myself landing to a job as a business journalist. It felt like I was transported to a different universe. Everything that I hate in most part of my adolescent years was all there—the math, the ass kissing, the cut throat competition, and the pretentious corruption. They were killing me at first until it became my source of life… they have moulded me, they feed me, they turned me into a stranger even to myself, which was initially addictive but actually saddening. But who am I to despise it? This world made me. I belong to this world just like I want to make myself believe that it belongs to me…that we jive.

Sometimes, I am tempted to get out but like a stem to a plant it is already becoming an intrinsic part of me, of my body, and of my soul.

I have gathered friends, whom I truly value and appreciate, from here. They are the consolation. They are the most valuable thing that I’d ever want to protect from this looming obsession. And in all irony, another factor that’s stopping me to make an exit is this set of people I’m talking about. It’s just taking me into a sentimental abstraction about leaving and being left behind.

But then again I thought. Who am I to despise this? This world, this job, this kind of environment already define me. They are what I am. I am made of this. And just like other people in other professions, it is fair enough to say I am into this the way they are into their line of work.

Maybe it’s really not that bad at all. Pain is actually the sweetest thing that will ever get into someone. It is making people stronger and more capable of dealing with things. This is where I chose to stay despite its evilness so I guess it’s really not that bad. Here is where I find my piece of heaven and my casual episodes of hell. This is where my story started and would probably end. I created this story and this story created me. It will always be a cycle. Through the pain this brings, a life is about to get fiercer and at the end of this thought, a question has to be answered—how I’m coping with all of these? I told my friend:

“This, maybe, wasn’t part of any places I want to be almost a year ago but I guess I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.”