I've been very happy these past couple months--until all hell broke loose in my job yesterday. Most of my readers here have heard all the funny stories and complaints about my office, so I'd spare you the details. It was a good enough job in the last three years: flexible (i.e. slack) schedule, freedom in choosing my topics, mostly nice co-workers. The old-fashioned commie anecdotes are straight out of a Kafka novel--I've stayed away from most of it; a feature writer doesn't clock in everyday.
True to the nightmarish commie fashion, the position of feature writer officially ceased to exist in my office. It was wiped out like chalk on a blackboard: the marks were fading fast and they're covered by new commands, until I, along with this lady who shares my fate, got herded into the daily news yard where a new team leader now growls daily, at all of us: "I'm a tough and seasoned man." Or that was what happened in the commie universe when the reality eluded me for a while--I took some time off after a tango workshop and only returned to work this week.
Yesterday my fate was sealed. The words of a commander-in-charge cast an iron net over my desk. I was pushed into an abyss from which I screamed, No! and the only light of salvation was to sit down to write my farewell note. In the Castle, a note often means confession, repentance and ultimately, oblivion in a world of organized glory. But I was diving into a different current that would take me out of the Castle and straight into joblessness. Still the threat of poverty and stress seemed golden compared to the daily growling.
Today I did the ritual of handing in my letter and explaining my grief. "My dear Leader," I said in broken Mandarin, "you know my Mandarin is bad and if I'm here to talk about it with you, this must be important." Dear Leader was soft-spoken and receptive, but the situation couldn't be helped for the time being. Not until an upheaval happens--a complaint from an external Force of Motherland about political incorrectness in our work--can the hierarchy be shaken again. Before then, I must leave and wish everyone luck.
It struck me that despite having fervently desired to leave for a while, I'd never played out the resignation in my head. After I walked out of Leader's office and got back to my co-workers, I felt the same as I did on any other day. No sense of liberation or joy; nothing at all. Not even an impending sense of doom that I should feel at the prospect of frantic job search or going broke. I expect to go broke--it takes time and luck to sort out one's work situation, and I don't feel luck is on my side. Clearly, I just don't care anymore.
Still, one has to hope for the best. In the mean time, I have one month to collect ideas and make notes for my short story collection about life in The Castle.
True to the nightmarish commie fashion, the position of feature writer officially ceased to exist in my office. It was wiped out like chalk on a blackboard: the marks were fading fast and they're covered by new commands, until I, along with this lady who shares my fate, got herded into the daily news yard where a new team leader now growls daily, at all of us: "I'm a tough and seasoned man." Or that was what happened in the commie universe when the reality eluded me for a while--I took some time off after a tango workshop and only returned to work this week.
Yesterday my fate was sealed. The words of a commander-in-charge cast an iron net over my desk. I was pushed into an abyss from which I screamed, No! and the only light of salvation was to sit down to write my farewell note. In the Castle, a note often means confession, repentance and ultimately, oblivion in a world of organized glory. But I was diving into a different current that would take me out of the Castle and straight into joblessness. Still the threat of poverty and stress seemed golden compared to the daily growling.
Today I did the ritual of handing in my letter and explaining my grief. "My dear Leader," I said in broken Mandarin, "you know my Mandarin is bad and if I'm here to talk about it with you, this must be important." Dear Leader was soft-spoken and receptive, but the situation couldn't be helped for the time being. Not until an upheaval happens--a complaint from an external Force of Motherland about political incorrectness in our work--can the hierarchy be shaken again. Before then, I must leave and wish everyone luck.
It struck me that despite having fervently desired to leave for a while, I'd never played out the resignation in my head. After I walked out of Leader's office and got back to my co-workers, I felt the same as I did on any other day. No sense of liberation or joy; nothing at all. Not even an impending sense of doom that I should feel at the prospect of frantic job search or going broke. I expect to go broke--it takes time and luck to sort out one's work situation, and I don't feel luck is on my side. Clearly, I just don't care anymore.
Still, one has to hope for the best. In the mean time, I have one month to collect ideas and make notes for my short story collection about life in The Castle.
Glad that you have found your necessary way-out for the moment. I know what it feels like.
ReplyDeleteOnce you've rendered your resignation, you're open to the wide choices in front of you, the various possibilities in life. Going broke is just one of them, or a brief moment, but it may not happen actually.
Please have all my best wishes. I still want to congratulate you for saying "bye bye" to this "hell", let dear leader face their reasonable share of problems.
Tori
It seems this "leaving the job" is catching, as I'm out on stress leave for being pushed a bit too hard and cracking.
ReplyDeleteSo, like you, I'll be looking for different work and am unsure of the outcome.
There is a certain freedom to it, no?
I'm reminded of an old cartoon I lost long ago and cannot now provide a source. It shows a man seated at a table before a typewriter and a stack of paper. At the open door are two women looking in at the man. One woman says to the other: "Being a writer is just another word for unemployed."
ReplyDeleteWelcome to the official world of the writer.
Looks like there's some upheaval going around. I agree with the comments above, embrace the freedom (you may as well, since it's a done deal)! Good for you for being brave enough (or indifferent enough?) to take the plunge.
ReplyDeleteBest of luck with the stories - they sound compelling.
you will find out how precious and correct your decision is when the rotten creates nuisance again
ReplyDeleteSo if people ask what I do, and I say "I'm an unemployed writer," will they accuse me of redundancy?
ReplyDelete