Frustration.

Last night I had such the scariest nightmare. I dreamt that I was 42 years old and still working a 9 to 5. I had the eyes of a man under so much stress. My nose had festered with white heads like I had not washed my face in weeks. My eyes. My eyes were red with tears. But these were tears that I only saw. It seemed that everyone around me could not tell the extreme pain I was in. When I woke up, the dream still lingered with me. But unlike in the dreamland, I curled up in the blankets and cried.

They were not tears of pain. They were not tears of sadness. They were tears of pure frustration. They were tears of pure anger. The anger reverberated at the tips of my fingers. Anger at my life. Anger at my friends. Anger at my parents. Anger at my brother. Anger at my sister. Anger towards myself. Anger that I allowed myself to be in the workplace again. Anger that I allowed myself to get into debt. Anger that I allowed the world to swallow my dreams. Anger that adulting is slowly suffocating the child in me. Anger that life is hard. Anger that I fear expressing my pain cause of what people will say. Anger that as a man in this world I have to be strong when I’m crumbling. Anger that I had to go to work. Pure anger that this is not what life is meant to be.

I got angry with rich people. While I must go to work, they can go for a jog and probably spend the rest of the day with the family. While I must spend my last cents on bread and milk, they will probably go to Cape Town or Paris for a vacation this weekend. I was mad at the CEO of an investment firm that said that he is retiring to do nothing. To do nothing! Doesn’t he have bills to pay? Doesn’t he have dreams to pursue? How can he do nothing? When I have nothing but must do everything to get something?

The anger continued to travel in my system, making me dizzy. I tried to stand up, but more anger engulfed my body. Anger that I live in a basement. Anger that I’m fortunate that I bought a car, but it stays outside. Anger that some beaten up Opel Monza drove by in the cul-de-sac that morning. Why was he there? I got angry that he could be doing his homework and maybe he was targeting my car. I became angry that someone would steal your car for a quick buck. The stress of that possibility raptured a nerve in my brain that caused the strongest headache that I have ever experienced. And I still had to get ready for work.

Work. Work. Work. A job. Why was I going to work? Mr. Entrepreneur, why am I building someone else dream and not my own? Oh, that’s right, we have to start somewhere. But how when corporations pay you the bare minimum? How can one pursue their dreams if you have to work 8 hours a day and get paid enough to make ends meet? It is near impossible to save your 10% when bread is nearing R20 a loaf. It is near impossible to save your 10% when a 6-pack box of milk is reaching the R100 mark. How can a job be a starting point when a job is designed to maximise production? It’s not like top executives sit around a table and discuss how they can build a work environment that will inspire workers to pursue their dreams. No. Top executives sit around the table and decide how they can minimise costs and maximise revenue. And the pandemic proved to companies that this is possible. And one of the major costs that organisations realised that they cut down on is their employees. If it wasn’t for labour laws, I strongly believe organisations would pay way less than they are now to their entry-level employees.

I was angry at the world. I was angry at everything around me. Life sucks. I am fortunate that I understand that escaping life through death isn’t the answer. Taking your life only transfers your pain to those around you. Taking your life merely imprints your hell on those who love you and care for you. But this thing called life is not easy. It is not easy because of the lies that are pulled over our eyes.

I went to school. When my friends were discovering their masculinity with alcohol and women, I stayed behind in math extra classes because books are important right? When my cousins were finding expression with pen and paint, I stayed behind in English extra classes because hey, books are important right? Yet those books right now are giving me the same paycheck as someone without them.

My creative side that gave me freedom and an escape when I was a teenager was muffled by teachers “who knew better”. Now I am an adult and I realise those teachers were merely trying to live their own dead dreams through me. They saw me as a vessel to live the life they could not live. Now that I am an adult, the lies that structured my senses to what life is are beginning to crack. And the smell that’s oozing through those cracks is suffocating. I fear finding out what’s on the other side.

The anger continues to travel in my system as I try to smile through the day. I know that this is not what life is meant to be. There are people who are in bed while I sit in this tiny cubicle. There are people who are planning a family vacation while I sit and count the cents in my pockets. My brother’s kids are home but I can’t visit them because toll gate and petrol prices are so ridiculously expensive. There are people who are doing nothing while I am doing everything to keep my mind sane in trying to get something from a fraction of the tiniest of anything.

Life is hard and anyone who says is easy is lying.