Categories
Life outside of travel

Fear of Job Commitment

Previously, I wrote a bit about my history of work. Jobs I had, but never truly felt happy with. I finished the post with noting I found another place where I’d work until meeting my dearest in wonderful Malaysia where before departure I had found an apartment for a month long. Now, to get there, I had eight weeks worth of work in a town two stations away. Five days a week, I biked to the train, rode it for the quarter of an hour before casually walking the last thirty or so minutes. I blissfully did so and viewed the walk as me-time. Something needed, as I worked over fifty hours a week and the moment home my screen spoke draining words as I followed online courses and while jotting down important notes my mind whispered words of guilt exclaiming I should have pushed harder during my workout. So, that morning and early-evening walk was welcomed and kept me cool.

Work itself was at a warehouse manned by five when at full crew and I was to replace the ones rotatingly off on holiday. Why I always return to a warehouse? It feels comfortable. Perhaps peculiar coming from a guy used to leaving the bubble of comfort, but yes, it is sincere. The thought of retailing or facing customers on the daily or sitting at a desk seems unappealing and in ways daunting with all the social interactions. Being physically active is a pro for me and since mucking up stables pays inadequate and the work comes scarce, I once again returned to handling and picking orders. And I seemed to enjoy these weeks and even the long Saturday of hauling furniture on my tugger was made doable due to it only being a single day in the week. But, if I may speak complete honesty, with the excitement and passion I had said farewell to both, I believe my love was faked. Faked by an incentive of Malaysia and a beautiful Filipina calling for me. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow made the dreading climb an illusive walk in the park. Call it a mirage. Oft, I was irritated. When work was slow it took me seconds to glance at my phone for the time and pray for it to speed up and at the ending of it, I began to feel the same I feel all elsewhere. That I am finished.

I realise writing this will be the worst possible stamp on my resume, but after weeks, months, depending on the particular job and people, I simply can’t anymore. I can’t stand getting up at six to force an early meal, bike the exact same path I have for god knows how many times only to then start a day doing the exact same tasks I always do. I realised that feeling loomed above me and if I hadn’t left there it would have taken over again. The second I set the alarm, even when I accept the job or go to the interview, the clock starts. A countdown as to when I am done. Normal people work year in and year out, get promoted and build up a pension and are happy. In many ways, I am sad to admit that I am not normal. I have never seen myself in any position working under someone for more than a year and the thought alone frightens me and makes me unhappy.

But, normal is also boring. And boring, I do not do. Therefore, I pushed myself to work 50+ hours as I workout, follow online studies and fight myself a way through life’s dull moments in before I find myself abroad again. And one day, I promise myself, I will take grip of life’s ropes and take control in anything and then, just maybe, I can be truly happy without the fear of being stuck doing a 9-6 or 8-5 or anything that is not on my terms.

Don’t be scared to take the leap. Work for it, fight for it and make it happen. You deserve to be happy and if it is impossible to do so with your current way of living, change something. Don’t live a life that is a lie!

Categories
Life outside of travel

A tangible cloud

For those returning to my blog for the tales of my travelling endeavours, sit tight as this week’s post won’t be taking you away to another exotic, far-away country, but takes a wander around inside my head. Though most of the times I hardly know what I think, feel or want, here is an attempt to jot such down to perhaps get a grasp of it. Turning it into a near-tangible cloud and just maybe, I too can understand.

Coming back from the long travel, I had a job within the week as I rejoiced with my ex-coworkers. I initially started my short-term career in this warehouse of furniture upon ending my cycle about Europe and this made for an easy reconciliation. Some had left and others had come instead. Minor changes were applied to the interior. However, apart from that, all remained identical. I’ve never truly loved the job, though it is admittedly undemanding and at times even pleasant. A simple job I never felt at home with, but comfortable enough for time be. Workmates came in diverse; amiable ones, funny jesters, manipulative ego-heads, lazy sloths and plentiful dispiriting souls. Throughout the first year and these months I sought out those that gave me a bit of energy and made the time pass. But, I also learned to cope with the negativity spreading through the air. In all fairness, most made for great conversationalists thus it wasn’t that hard.

For a while, I did well and bore through time. Moments I even believed to be enjoying it. But, a company once pushing for planned bankruptcy as they ordered supply without intending to pay had a system fucked to begin with. Men were forced to load objects much heavier than you and I can dream of lifting on steaming summers yet the same speed as of months before during the cool spring is expected. Same loads chauffeurs will have to single-handedly manoeuvre out during their long, stressful hours. Unfair expectations and demanding bosses were the mere tip of the iceberg causing the titanic that is the personnel to sink into a sea of bitter anger and frustration. Daily I was met with complaints and irritation by the ones claiming over a year ago they’d take their leave. All of it was getting me exasperated and exhausted over a job already lacking excitement and joy for me. Then, hours became insignificant changing erratically per week which left me with measly paychecks. So, after a face-to-face with a new supervisor giving me his honest answer I gave notice to be back on the hunt for jobs.

With shoulders prompted high, I was filled with enthusiasm as the near same day of the search I had been invited to an interview for a production position. This company had two branches both situated near my house. One was fun with smells pleasing the senses even when cycling passed the building on my way to grandma and leaving a longing sensation for baked delicacies. Then as its nemesis, the villain of the town, came the second building creating seasoning for meats and fishes. An easy guess which one I got. Heavy bags of onion powder, garlic powder, cayenne powder and worse got cut open in the dozens to fill massive silos but simultaneously powder poured out and formed clouds rich of scent covering me from tip to toe and that what was bare clutched onto the stench. After my first working day I sat at a restaurant with my family and Kath as it was her final week and there was a reeking aroma of garlic and onions with fierce strength crawling from under my finger nails despite all the scrubbing and washing done during my shower.

Besides the work being hard and stinking, a downside acceptable to a degree, it hardly felt safe for long term. Pepper, both the hot ones and the table accessory, caused throats to itch and relentlessly cough, eyes to burn and at all times my nose was stuffed the way a turkey gets end of the year. Then there was a hunchback taking on easier tasks as his back was injured, most likely induced due to heavy bags being lifted on the daily with a constant movement requiring a swift rotation of the upper body. If unhealthy working habitats hadn’t been enough to scare me, the villain’s helpers did. There was no click, not even in the slightest. I couldn’t befriend these men if my life depended on it.

A job falling through within the same days my lover flew back to the Philippines and I was supposed to remain calm? I lost it. I returned home, drenched in smells and misery before crawling into an empty bed. That oncoming Tuesday, as I sat at lunch, I sent her pleading and convincing messages that expressed the inability to wait for her. That day, we chose and settled on Malaysia for a month-long home together and all I had to do was stick it out for roughly two months.

Faith be on my side when the cycle home included a call from an employment agency a town away offering a job for, you guessed it, two more months. A job far more superior in every aspect and none the downside – excluding the travel by train. Eight more weeks I would continue, as additional a 12-hour Saturday at the job of erratic hours giving enough break from the dismal folks to have the long day filled with catching up and generally good times. It had been a perfect roll on life’s dices with Malaysia as incentive. That gloomy morning had ended in an evening of joyful tears and peace at heart.

This is a quick introduction of my working history to up next bring you into my mind.

Categories
Australia (2018) Life outside of travel

A Temporary Goodbye

Tears flooded over her precious cheeks. We had spoken of our time together, our “December” frequently, holding on to the tiny thread that held us sane, yet when it was finally within our grasp, the moment had just as soon passed. Begin of December, we finally intertwined with the longest of hugs. I then met her family, we travelled together, went on ventures normal couples go and made life heaven and hell during the two glorious months spent together. All the time that we had already known each other cramped into two measly months. Two bloody months of passionate love and happiness and then life takes it all back. Kicked out of the garden of Eden, my paradise. Back at the airport, with parents and daughter in tears. The hourglass’s sand had gone and there was no way to turn it back around. We already used up that trick on my 2nd one month’s visa. Time’s up, money’s up, get out of the Philippines. We both wished it to be easier, but we knew then and we know now that not all passports have equal privileges. So, morosely, I swung my bag over my shoulder and trudged my way to the security while she remained. Gloomily, but nonetheless a little excited for the land they call Down-Under I boarded my flight.

It won’t be the last time this gets mentioned, but the toughest part always lays in the first and the later stage of a long distance relationship. Upon the onset of being companion-less, it is the change that crashes upon you. Alone, there is now a constant silence. For many years, I had embraced that silence and been happier within that space. After finding my true love, that changed a fair bit. Because she is the only one with whom I don’t filter my personality. Then, getting used to being on your own again, you begin with accepting the temporary forsaken feeling. Not being able to communicate the random, silly thoughts that pop up or discuss the topical events of the day. It’s what makes the first days or weeks hard.

For every person it works different, but once you get there, to the accepting the distance and working with it, life is good for awhile. You do your thing, whilst often in contact with each other. Loving messages, late night calls. All the good stuff. But, slowly yet steadily, the later stage encroaches, when it has been months since you have been within miles reach of your lover. This, is when you go down the slope of insanity. At the brink of, you crave the touch and sight of your partner. The need to breathe the same air, share the same space. Honest to god, it doesn’t even matter what you do, all you want is to be in the same room, because where you are now is a lonesome pit that craves the feeling of being filled with love. Love that is at a distance had oft been worse than the life of a lone wolf I lead previously, as the latter would not feel the lacking of it. In lieu of, I knew what I could have and yearned for more. Friends and family could be all they are, but being months, a year, or more for some, away from the one you love so dearly, it would drive almost anyone mad. This, we experienced every time we had to say goodbye – and also explains some of the future decisions I made, but more on that later.

Luckily, still deeply embedding the happiness this trip had brought me after ages of waiting and bearing the excitement of a little kid in a candy-shop as I was headed for a work opportunity in Australia, it could have been worse. I felt more grateful for the life I had than the solemness of who I lacked. I am young, healthy, got an amazing girlfriend and have the opportunity to travel in this manner, so stop bitching, amirite? Australia would be exciting and could help with the funds for a return. Some weeks ago, I had contacted the owner of a backpacker’s motel and there was a promise of farming jobs. Eager as ever, I flew to Mildura with a stopover in Sydney and Melbourne. Forced to linger a night in Melbourne, as a flock of birds had flown into the engine, Qantas Air had provided me with the nearby upscale hotel. I paraded in my fancy room upon having graced my body with the bathrobe and ordered myself some late night costly dining on Qantas’s credit. Australia had welcomed me with a grin from ear to ear and delirious from lack of sleep I fell onto the soft mattress for a long due rest. The following day, full with good spirits and believing nothing could bring me down, I would arrive in the insignificant town 500 km North of Melbourne. There, the lady from the web would bring me to the wee village Wentworth and soon that smile turned to a frown.

What are similar unexpected surprises you got from an airline?