Back to my Roots
“Hmmmm…”
That was me breathing through a deep long sigh, letting lung-fuls of stress out.
Yes, that pretty much sums up this week’s adventures and my attempts to deal with them. But I'm feeling a little eloquent at the moment, so I'll write it all out in a page-long entry anyway.
Sent packing from office by my former lover - oops, boss - I was on the lookout for a source of funding to sustain my world of coffees and cyberspace.
So, I began circling classifieds and bookmarking adverts for jobs as and when I found any that grabbed my interest. The weeks that followed were a grueling test for both, my feet and my forbearance as I climbed floor upon floor, knocked on door after door.
What a disaster THAT turned out to be!
Either the staff were creepy, the setting peculiar, or the salary on offer so minuscule that I would hardly be left with spare change for my end-of-month treat jar.
Refusing to work at dodgy offices and for dicey bosses meant it was not long before my days were running on the last drops of savings I had left. Eventually, I had to vacate the apartment, abandoning my balcony sojourns, blissful sunsets, birdfeeder and all. I walked (read: dragged myself) out - my bags hanging by my sides, and an unwanted cloud hanging over my head. With nowhere else to go, I was forced to shack up in aunt’s storeroom-turned-bedroom, and as expected, the chapters of nightmares began.
My stuff was raided into and ransacked by my bratty cousins any frickin minute that I nipped out of the room. The privacy setting on my laptop was rendered pointless by my uncle, who made it a point to peep into my screen anytime he passed by. Worse still, at all odd hours of the night, I was subjected to a spate of lengthy monologues from aunt about how “unholy” and “unfeminine” my ways were.
I was subjected to a spate of lengthy monologues from aunt about how “unholy” and “unfeminine” my ways were.
By the end of a week, I glanced up and noticed that the cloud drifting around my head had turn greyer. Incidentally, on a literature blog, I came across the Welsh word ‘Hiraeth’, or nostalgia for a home one cannot return to. I instantly knew what that grey cloud was – I was pining away for my apartment that I’d parted ways with, like one would for a bygone lover.
Regardless, I knew I had to get myself out of the madhouse I was currently housed in, and I did! My only recourse was mommy dearest. A quick call later, I was buying a ticket for that evening’s ferry, off to my real home in the Raajethere.
The 17:30 ferry was packed from bow to stern. So, when I spotted an unoccupied spot - a mattress that'd been laid out for the travelers to catch 40 winks on - I lay claim to it by hurling my belongings onto it.
Yes, I know. I know, Ms Pen. I can sense you furrowing your inky brows through the papers. "How could she? That's a mattress for public use… been laying there for God knows how long! Imagine the smorgasbord of sins and soil it hides!"
I hear you! But I must confess that after all that running around, I couldn’t care less about the state of the mattress, as long as I had an hour to put my legs up, and lose myself in snooze-land for a bit. So, I hugged my belongings and did just that, undisturbed by the drone of banter, chatter and engine sounds around me. Until I WAS disturbed, by the feel of something riding up my skirt - skin that wasn’t my own.
“Ugh!”
My eyes flew wide open and I sat up. The horndog who was lounging on the mattress beside mine didn’t even try to act cool to cover it up, like most other hounds of his ilk commonly did. If anything, he owned his actions with pride, flashing me a grin that sent my blood into a rolling boil. I remember gritting my teeth. I remember a few choice swear words tumbling off my lips. I remember his grin staying stubbornly plastered to his lips. I remember onlookers staring on in silence, playing willing audience for the sake of a few minutes of entertainment that’d mitigate their boredom.
And it was not until another woman stepped in, to voice her support that I was to feel the slightest hint of vindication. The whip of her voice cracked faster than mine, her swear words choicer than most I’d heard. And the unseemly grin that the horndog was holding onto quickly dissolved into a grimace.
I introduced myself to my knightess in shining attire. And just as she began making small talk about the island we were travelling to, guess who strutted in to join us from the other end of the steamer. Her brother! An even bigger surprise - I knew this chap. He was an old classmate of mine from when I’d schooled on the island. We’d shared much laughter and many-a-banter then. Of course, the only parts of our past he could recall were the many fights we’d had over soccer scores and their sporting stars - how very typically boylike!
Soon, we were all on a nostalgic high, heaping a bagful of praise on our native island, fawning upon the virginal beauty of its shores and the untouched innocence in the lives of its residents. On that same breath though, we did realize the irony of our statements - in our pursuit for better schooling, better jobs and a possibly better future, we’d chosen to abandon all of that for the big city, wasting our savings on rent and the requisites of urban life.
Regardless, the three of us hit it off. And before I knew it, we were parting with an unsaid pact that we’d try and meet up for reruns of the riotous fun during our stay at the island. As I stepped off the ferry with a smile and cast a short glance upwards, I noticed that the skies were a shade of the clearest cornflower blue – the grey cloud was nowhere to be seen.
As I stepped off the ferry with a smile and cast a short glance upwards, I noticed that the skies were a shade of the clearest cornflower blue – the grey cloud was nowhere to be seen.