Indelible Marks (redundancy?)
Saturday, 2 August 2014 @ 6:05 am
---because "indelible" already means making a mark.
Yang ngaku TOEFLnya jago, pasti lebih tau dari gue
It's still the holidays here in Indonesia, when everything stops and goes unusual for a week; e.g. no veggie carts, no meaningful traffic, no hassle, no fuss, no shipping services. Quite unusual when you're dealing with the capital city. But tomorrow everything is going to end, everything is going to be as usual again. I do have several shipping I have to do on Monday. But that's Monday. Today is Saturday.
When the yarn shop is quiet, when there are no customers orders to handle, everything went quiet. Quiet means that I am giving the opportunity for my brain to think and re-think about my decision to get my butt off of the science world, the world I loved the most. Imagine: since elementary I have nothing else in my mind, I have set my eyes and brain on one goal only. And now my world crumbles and I have to make a turn with skid mark on it.
I am not made for governmental jobs. I hate them. I hate the bureaucracy, I hate the un-inventive schedules, I hate the social circles, I hate the monotonic and slick ways of thinking. I am just not made for it. I began to accept that. My inability to hang out or stick with that circle is nobody's fault, it's mine. I keep telling me THAT
. It is indeed my fault that I cannot bear the challenge, it is my fault that I am easily disgusted with how dishonest people behave, it is also my fault that I said I had enough of them. I am abnormal, because most people would just go with the flow and sometimes ---sink with it instead of swimming to the shore. I sank before, but then I decided to swim. There are so many sins in this world I would rather do than staying in that state of mind. So, to clear the buzz out there: it's nobody's fault but me. I made the decision not to be included.
I made the decision not to be buoyed with the sweet candy talks about how good I am or how I was supposed to end up or how bright my future career would be. Because in fact, there is no
career path for free-spirited person like me. Because in fact, there's no sincerity on telling me how good I am. They were all there just to make me feel better and accepted and not whining anymore. But I kept on whining and asking people to put their end of the sweet talk.
All that happened, and I am tired, and so I boss myself now. I made everything from scratch, the concept, the design, the system, the ability to stay true to customers, the transparency of how much money spent to my capital fund supporters.
I even give the actual and unchanged invoice to them upon order to prove my transparency policy. No hidden fees. No blank invoices to be signed.
Some people are proud that they mastered the latter skill and I congratulate
NO LIES. NO MORE LIES. NO EFFIN MORE EFFIN LIES.
No more hidden agenda, no hidden goals to boast myself on top of the shelf.
(Yawn if you know someone who is like this) This yarn shop is my 'baby', and it's just me - and yarns. Nothing else. When I cannot or would not get the shipping done on the same day, I will tell them. When I did miscalculated the total amount they have to pay, I said so to them. When I ran out of stocks on yarns, I told them so without promising
them anything. Promise is something that I cannot keep and I have had a lot of people promising me things, polishing their words that they cannot keep. I don't like it, so I won't do it to other people. I am not going to lie and hide the fact that the most essential thing is appreciation, in acknowledgment and in monetary form. I do have a stomach that goes hungry, you know.
As much as I love yarns and crafts and crochet, it's the quiet times like these that make me stop and reminisce the love of my life: the life I had before
. The spongy bones, the itchy bone dust, the wet soil, the smelly fungi, the rotten mold that once occupied my life had been replaced with colourful yarns, shiny buttons and beads. Not that one is better than another. I like both to exist in me, now I have lost one. Again, 'tis my fault that it had happened: because I cannot deal with the two paragraphs above.
All in all, I do not know if I would ever come back to that moldy, wet, sticky, spongy situation where I have to assess human remains' age, sex, and hundreds of thousands ways to interpret their burial condition. And when I returned to that position, I hope I can still remember how to assess those things. I do know that this pile on the right side are Caucasians, though. And there are two females, aged possibly teen to early 20s.
And I still can tell that there are at least FIVE hypothetical approach that can be applied to that burial on the left, regarding to it's location, position, burial goods, social status, sex, age, and health. See, it's seven already! I miss it, I know. I miss what all those human remains ever did to me and my brain for over than 5 years dealing with them. But it hurts so much to be reminded, even watching NatGeo Body Farm
gets me in tears! Of sadness! For myself! I remembered how much I wanted to be on that body farm and study them, but then I remembered all the cash I have spent over the years that goes nowhere. I refuse to spend more to get somewhere without assurance that I will get there. I am old. I am done doing short-term thinking. I should have earn money, instead of spending more of them to get somewhere uncertain.
BUT, I MISS HUMAN REMAINS!!!
Yeah, they have other and more respectable
and capable people who can handle them. Human remains don't miss me. They do not need to be represented well in reports, they are only entitled to be catalogued and documented and measured and photographed. No stories can be told about them. They're all dead.
Although I feel and think the opposite ways, I have no markings, no authority to allow myself and do that. The indelible mark of being overqualified and underpaid is stamped on my forehead, and I am wearing it with pride like a tattoo.
New president, new hope?
Bah humbug! I am not going to discuss that here. I would hurt so many people's feelings and endanger their proud positions
if I keep on ranting about this, although they got to that position by stepping on pyramids of other people's backs. Cough once if you know at least one person who's like this and shut up.
I have accepted that there is a great chance my degree and qualification is going to be dusty and forgotten on my document holder. Well, a little-- I still get teared up when I remember this fact
. But, unlike some people whom are effinly too proud of one piece of paper printed in the foreign land, I humbly put mine on the shelf. Cough twice if you know a person or two who's like this
. And then shut up.
I decided boss myself to be exactly qualified and exactly paid for what I
can do. I give myself the acknowledgment that I don't get from anyone
else in my past. I give myself the proper
payroll that I don't get from anyone (oh, other than my freelance translation boss. LOL).
All in all (again), I am grateful for what human remains had done to me. They give me perspective, they once gave me hope and goals. They made me learn of how tiny I am in all of this spiderweb of lies, how replaceable I am, how disposable. Most of all they made me learn that no matter how I wish I have a bone saw to crack open their thick skulls and give electrical shock to their brains, I don't have that bone saw. Right? Now YOU should be grateful.
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