Tag: workaholics

Hit jackpot

jackpot

I’ve never had any strong opinion about lottery and jackpot, except that I knew it was a dangerous addiction. I didn’t have any friends or relatives under the habit, and so I never had to think about it either. Until yesterday.

A close friend sent me a message. He had won about $260, and he had spent less than $3 for the ticket.

My first reaction was joy beyond belief—elation. I felt as if I had won the money myself. But the next moment, surprise took me over. It struck me as weird how easy it had been for him to win so much money. It was like pocket money for him now, and it came from working zero hours, spending almost none of his effort. It was no-sweat cash.

And that made me realise how hard I work for the money I make. I love my job, I look forward to Mondays as much as I do to Fridays, and yet, I work harder—much harder—than he does to make almost the same as he does. And to cap it, he had just won an additional jackpot that doesn’t even count as part of work.

I wasn’t jealous, I knew him too well to feel any bitterness towards his luck. And besides, when you’ve got a lot of debt to pay off, you can never have too much luck or money. And I knew he had debt, and so, good use for that money.

Despite all that, though, I still couldn’t accept the concept of a jackpot. It’s so unfair. Unfair to the hardworking, to the ones clocking eight hours a day at work and another hour or two at commute, unfair to the labourers, those working with heavy machinery, people waking up at 3 in the morning to serve hangry passengers in railway stations. If only they had the luck.

Perhaps that’s why the lottery lures us common folk. The possibility—if only. We yearn for whatever little luck a tiny piece of multi-coloured paper would sway our way because our lives hang in dire circumstances we crave to unhinge. Maybe lottery addiction stems from the desire to do more, to have more, in life.

Which leads me to believe that no one is happy with what they have. No one’s satisfied enough, seeking the bubbling reputation, even if it takes them to the canon’s mouth. We’re all reaching in the dark, hoping to grab the light that would light up our lives, free us of our debts, give us a bigger car, a faster laptop, or a smarter phone. Pity, though, that we lay so much of our life on a piece of paper that—as much luck as it brings—may as well fly right out of our reach.

The mask

Jason was, again, the star in the meeting. He made juniors feel at home and seniors reel at numbers.

It wasn’t new. Jason was the energy machine in every gathering. He’d bust awkward situations, introducing people to fun and laughter.

No one’s seen him angry or sullen. He was the funniest guy at work, the loveable friend in college, and the most helpful neighbour.

Every morning, however, before masking himself, Jason would stare at the dark liquid in his mug. As he’d drown the bitter shot, he’d also drown the bitterness of his phony life. Then get ready for work.

Knowledge

Daniel had spent days picking at circuits and nights poring over assignments. And now with a job in hand, he swelled with pride.

His engineer dad had taught him how vital an electronics degree was. He couldn’t rely on his childhood hobby of deconstructing circuits; he needed a certified document to make a good career. That way, he could make back the cash he shelled out as fees.

The first day, wanting to impress his boss, Daniel walked in crisp and clean. But he was the one impressed—welcoming him wasn’t a fancy degree holder, but his father’s old apprentice.

Part of the deal

David drudged inside. A long day had grown longer with the traffic jam.

“Honey, I’m home!” He yearned to call out, embracing his love. He was knackered, however, to even open his throat, let alone arms. He walked into the bedroom, wondering if she had slept already.

She wasn’t there. Only his laptop lay on the bed cold and uninviting. It was their date night, and a frown would’ve appeared on her face when he hadn’t.

“I’m sorry, Hon.” He sent a text.

She understood his work, but not why he lived five timezones away for a job he didn’t enjoy.

Get a life!

I had just begun to read One Hundred Years of Solitude. I had left the book on my table while I rummaged in my bag for something when my colleague (a senior) cast me a look as if I were crazy to read such big a book. (It wasn’t that big, still—)

“Why are you reading stuff like this?” He raised his eyebrows in a scorn, then shook his head continuing, “Read about marketing, about selling, business, and technology. Those are the stuff that’s going to help you in future. These are just useless.” He cast a dirty look at the book I had wrapped in a polyethylene cover to protect its beautiful art.

He wasn’t the only one. About three years later, I had a similar conversation with another senior colleague. This time, it was poetry. I had mentioned reading some new poems when he suggested I read about the latest mobile technology instead. Sure, I laughed, I’ll subscribe to all tech magazines and read them, but poetry is for my personal time. And he smiled in a crude way shrugging, “Well, read this during your personal time.”

To which I replied, “I need a life.”

He just laughed it off, but I felt proud of myself. The first time, I was new at the job and worried about being rude to an experienced person at work. The second time, I was more concerned about myself. I had grown up.

But the fact remains: a lot of my colleagues, friends—even my parents—feel that work has become such a large part of our lives that we have no time for anything else. My married colleagues complain how they can’t bond with their in-laws. Some others worry each day that they leave home for work even before their children wake up. Even the typical 9–5 corporate world now has employees clocking in from 8 to 8 or 8 to 12. And it’s not just for a day, it’s for days together.

In a flurry of product launches and a rush of marketing campaigns, we often forget that home is a place away from office. We spend so much time at work, and all of the little time at home thinking about work. The balance goes to the noose.

It’s sad but it’s reality. We’ve lost so much of our life to work that we seldom realise what we’ve lost. We spend all our days toiling to ensure someone else’s luxury while we skip lunches for meetings, put off a family reunion for an official trip, and stay a little longer than midnight to finish testing the code. And the purpose of it all—an extra shift, a higher bonus.

However, at the end of the day, lying in bed, thinking about the tasks for the following day, we fail to feel the warmth of the blankets, hear the soft—yet evident—creak of the fan or the wind tapping against the windows, and notice the curtains swaying in the breeze. Somehow, while we were busy living to work, we lost the will to live at all.

My colleagues are (un)living examples, and I’m walking on the tightrope. It’s time for a change.