Reason To Write

***

Sprawled on the bed, he looked forlornly at the ceiling as though it could finally bring some semblances of hope into his life. However, like everything else he had experienced recently, nothing happened. He still felt like the day before, and the day before that, and that day before that. Nothing changed, except for, perhaps, the weekend flew past quickly and it was time now to drag his body out of bed so that he could start the week.

This was a far cry from how he felt on Friday, when the prospect of the weekend grew bigger and bigger by the passing minute. It was then that he could think of the many things he could do with his free time on the weekend. For example, he could sleep in (technically at best because the vacuum cleaner which his father would use every morning was loud enough to rouse him from slumber), he could pay to visit the hairdresser’s (technically also, since cropping his hair short would enhance the state of his psoriasis-ridden scalp to the prying eyes of the public), he could go to that geeky place called Sim Lim Square, he could beg for dates, or he could just catch a lovey-dovey movie on his own (just so that no one would see how sissy he was because he sobbed while watching a sad love film). Of course, he did none of that during those precious two gulag-free days. Instead, he spent hours plonking himself in front of the computer trying to conquer the whole of China. However, it was the 30 minutes he spent on Saturday which was the most unforgettable event of his boring weekend…

***

He was fiddling with his grey tie. In a dark blue U2-shirt and his navy blue U2-pants, he stood in front of the mirror to make sure that the grey tie was wrapped nicely around his neck. It was perhaps the first time he was going for an interview on the weekend, and because he had some reservations over this particular vocation, there were bits of anxiety fluttering in his stomach. The lady whom he was to meet was running a small start-up, and because her business was on the verge of moving into some form of stability, it meant that the basic wage would be a pittance. Still, it was the challenge of being involved in a small start-up (where there would definitely be loads of exposure in terms of his career development), that tipped the scales enough for him to agree to meet this lady.

His dad gave him a bewildered look when he emerged from his room dressed in shirt and tie, but said nothing. He sat down on the sofa and started wearing his socks while informing dad that he was going out. His old man nodded in acknowledgement. Clutching his black bag which contained the ready set of documents if any prospective employer wanted copies of them, he bolted out of the house.

As he was running a little late for the appointment, he took a five-minute cab ride to the office, which was situated on an old building. Adjusting his tie once more, he pressed the button for the floor where the lady’s office was situated and thought about how she might look like in real person, hitherto having only heard her voice. He strode along the corridor, looking for unit seven, and along the way, he passed some warehouses and a smattering of printing houses. Without thinking about whether his hair was messy from all the traveling, he walked into unit seven when he located it.

There was a musty smell in there, which was not uncommon for old office buildings found in those light industrial parks. The first thing which greeted him was the stack of mountaineering equipment stashed near the front door. The first thing he heard was the sound of a lady singing. It was weird but not unpleasant.

He was about to approach a young bloke sitting in a cubicle nearest to the front entrance when the singing stopped and out popped the head of a young lady. A pretty, but petite head belonging to the young lady, he noticed. Just about when she introduced herself, he guessed that the lady whom he was supposed to meet was her.

They sat down in a small meeting room and the lady began to talk about her fledgling business. It was interesting to say the least and the vocation he was interviewing for was something vastly differently (or better) as compared to what he was grinding in the gulag. Despite the low wage, pulling it off in this job by hitting the sales target would definitely enhance his unimpressive resume. It was as an informal interview session as it got, and by the minute, he was heartened by the vision this young lady (whom he suspected was not that much older than him in terms of age but already an entrepreneur).

He could have said a lot more which would put him in better stead in securing the heart of this young lady in getting this job, but as usual, he never had the knack of thinking quickly on his feet when meeting people (especially dashing, young, pretty and petite ladies) for the first time. So, the session ended within half-an-hour with her prompting him on many occasions if he had anything to add.

She offered him an egg tart which he did not touch because the nervousness got the better of him and he believed that he would do better than to pig out on the tart in front of his pretty prospective employer. She walked him out of her office and they parted their ways there. Later that day, in the comfort of a T-shirt and shorts, he would send a “thank you” email to this lady for the session. What would linger in his mind for the entire weekend from there was whether this lady would call because she indicated she would contact the person she wanted to fill this position by Sunday (which was the next day).

From the time he woke up on Sunday morning till the time when he went to sleep forlornly in the early hours of Monday morning, his mobile phone was never really out of his sight. At times, he would peer at it, willing for it to simply ring, which could represent the way out of the depression-inducing gulag. At times, he would put his hand in his pocket just in case the phone vibrated and he missed the all-important call. At times, he would try to convince himself that the basic wage was only temporary, for once the business attained stability, things would improve. At times, he would think about how he could help her bring the business to the next level, i.e., developing the currently under-construction website, polishing up the company brochures and helping with the various Office Applications. At times, he could feel it so strongly the relief when his resignation letter was placed in front of the gulag headmaster, or when he walked out from the gulag, as a freeman, for the last time.

Sadly, the phone stayed silent all day. With every passing minute, the hope started to fade…

***

He dragged his feet into the gulag cell on Monday morning with the all-familiar despair hanging like an albatross around his neck. The disappointment from the day before prodded him enough to question if he was even not good enough for a less-than-$1,000-a-month job in a small start-up.

As he switched on the laptop and watched the little light of the hard disk flickering, he wondered if what had happened was just a dream.