The Windmills of My Mind....

I really cannot comprehend why there are people who are willing to do the same thing over and over again for years... decades even.

In my place of work, I have retiring staff who have worked here since they left school over three decades ago. It is the security I suppose, of an employer who will pay you diligently at the end of every month, and an assured bonus before Eidul Fitri and the end of the year, regardless of whether you actually did any work during the year.

I think I have mentioned in one of my previous posts that this place is a utopia of employment. A dream job.
But, if the nicest dream becomes tiresome when it is just a repetition, and you know how the story ends and then begin again.

It is a lovely Monday today. The morning was misty, the traffic was flowing smoothly, had breakfast and somebody paid for it. But, a Monday nonetheless. And as soon as I got into my company car, I see my future and suddenly, my spirit becomes unwilling, my flesh becomes weak. Even before I shift the gear into "D" for "P", I see the route I will be taking, the same route I have taken five days a week, for the last 6 years. Then, I see myself park the car, walk out to the nearby cafe for breakfast, and walk back to the office building, up the elevator, walk some more to my office, turn the swivel chair to accommodate my butt, switch on the computer, put in the password, wait for the Windows tune, login to my Outlook to check my mail.

The pile of cheques for me to sign, the flurry of people coming in and out of my office with documents for me to sign, the ringing of the telephone.... then the indecision of the place to have lunch. Then, it begins again, a fresh pile of cheques and documents, ringing telephone and the repeated glances at the wall clock... 3 more hours..... argghhhh!!!

Eventually, it came, the time to leave. But, there are more cheques to sign and the boss would have asked me for something, which I will have to write a paper on. By time I am done or have given up, it is already dark outside. And, I walk among the empty desks, down the elevator to the basement, start my car, and join the evening congestion.

Already, I am counting the days before the next weekend, only to be further discouraged by the thought of another inevitable Monday. Thus, and the loop begins again, caught in a cycle from which I find no escape.

This merry-go-round isn't going to stop for me.... time to jump....

Comments

Pak Mat Beca

I started school in 1971. I went to Sekolah Ismail (Dua), as far as I am concerned the only primary school in the whole universe and every kid must go there or the government will put their parents away forever. The "Dua" or Two (2), does not mean there were two Sekolah Ismails. There was only one, except that there were two sessions, morning and afternoon. When I started in standard one, I was in the morning session. Apparently, somehow, the two Ismails alternate, and I really can't recall ever having to go to school in the afternoon. Every morning, my cousin, the late Hashimah Hashim (Allah bless her soul), and I would wait for Pak Mat to pick us up in his beca, his trishaw. And, until I changed school in 1976 (that's another story to tell), Pak Mat and his beca would take me to school every school day. I know of no other way to go to school and I did not really appreciate the distance that Pak Mat had to cycle to pick us up and send us to our respective s...

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