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!

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.