Transitioning from being employed to being unemployed is quite the hard one. I did not expect it to take so much energy to complete. But in the same breath, it is a necessary transition. It has been met with disappointments and sometimes challenges that I did not foresee.
Like for instance, the nostalgia of work. One wakes up at times missing work. One wakes up thinking about the classroom and wondering what and where your promising students are. Indeed, one remembers the interactions one had with students, both those who showed promise and those who were plain lazy. But then, while lost in the nostalgia, like admiring a rose, a thorn pricks you back to reality. You remember how at the end of the day, you were merely a tool in the great scheme of things. You are merely a tool to generate millions for those on the very top. Your soul is quantified and given a value. A value that’s easily replaceable.
That reminder shocks the system back to reality. And then you look at your reality. You realise the reality you live in is one that you were blind to. You realise the subtle poverty that lurks in the corners. You know when you smell something, and you know it’s off but not yet. Like that smell of that pot of rice you forgot to put in the fridge. You can tell that something is off but the smell is not so overbearing that you are willing to risk it. That’s the poverty I am talking about. It’s so subtle, that it is totally masked by the façade of the middle-class syndrome making you forget it. Yet it is there. Stalking you patiently like you are a gazelle in the savanna.
You see, in the transition, one is learning to be comfortable to lose everything, in order to gain everything. One is comfortable to be left with nothing to their name in order to rebuild it from scratch. But that is easier to say than to do. Because in doing so, you are met with the slight judgement of those around you. People begin to write you off. I understand how people can suffer and live their lives for their jobs. Because their jobs give them a sense of purpose. A sense of purpose you do not have when you are unemployed.
When you are unemployed, you are nothing. You are as useless to society as the speck of dust on your table. And no matter how hard you try to fight against the feeling, its omnipresence saturates your very being. It consumes every part of your life.
Well yes, another person might argue and say that if you have a loving home, surely the feeling won’t be strong. But, over the years I have met with people who just do not have that. I have met people who do not want to ever set foot in their homes again. And I understand.
At first, I thought it was a black parent thing but after spending time with other races, one has learnt that it is a backward parent thing. Most parents claim to love their children. They claim to love them unconditionally. But the condition of this unconditional love is to be the version of the child that they know of you.
Like many children, of all races, the moment I stopped going to church, was I not given a cold harsh treatment? At first, it was emotional bullying on how they did not know me or even recognise me anymore. In the latter stages, I was hit with the “either you go to church or move out” speech. And one asks themselves how can I possibly then serve that god you claim to serve? Such a cunning and bullying god?
Like the love of a pet, parents tend to only love you if you dance to their tune. And yes, one has heard the stories of how they grew up and somewhat understand why they are the way they are. But in the same breath, the toxicity of this backward parenting is what leads so many individuals to resent being home. And that, for me, is the biggest challenge I am facing as well.
I grew up under this beautifully crafted lie only to grow up to see beyond the lie. I promise to talk about it another day as it is something that I am still trying to understand and fully comprehend. But this single feeling is the one that is making one reconsider going back into the labour market. Not going back because I want to. Not because of the guaranteed paycheck. But just to leave home and never come back.
The eyes of the adult allow you to see life for what it is. Inasmuch as you can look yourself in the mirror, see your true self and be inspired by him, you can also see your true self and be pained by him. With these eyes, you see everything in a birdseye view. You get to see your soul in its entirety. You see that which is good and that which is bad. You see that which affects your soul, both the good and the bad.
When seeing the good and bad, the trick is to not alter what you see. Most of us when we see something good about ourselves, we amplify the feeling. This amplification sets a false pretence that works against us. It will overestimate our capacities in situations where we need to accept defeat. In the same breath, when we see the bad we need to accept it as it is. Most of us when we see the bad, we want to twist it and make it a good. The bad can only be the good through the lesson it is trying to teach you.
For instance, I’ve been told many times that I am insensitive. I can point it out exactly when I forced myself to be insensitive and indifferent to other’s feelings. It is a typical case of, “no girl will ever hurt me again”. That was the seed. Other events in my life have watered and fertilised this seed into this fully-grown tree of indifference. I am fully aware that it is a sign of low emotional intelligence. Not being able to read other’s emotions and responding accordingly is regarded as low emotional intelligence. But I don’t care. My insensitivity taught me that it is my life I am living. Someone not finding compatibility with my life is their problem, not mine. That is my biggest red flag I know.
And I’ve accepted it. Most of us do not. Someone can look at themselves in the mirror. See a massive spot on their soul. Instead of being honest with themselves about it, they try to avoid it or find ways around it. I see this a lot with church girls. Most of them will judge a Cyan Boujee. Most of them will make remarks about the baddies who are in G-Wagons and M3s with nothing significant to their name other than their beauty. You learn that it is out of jealousy. Most of the time, these church girls judge these girls because of it. There are quite a number of reality shows (and real-life examples) I’ve seen this type of female. And the same can be said about men.
I have heard some old men complain about their peers having girls as young as 20 as concubines. But I’ve seen the very same men pursue 20-year-olds in secret corners. But I’m going off course now.
I felt like writing about this transition and what it means for me. Look, I don’t mind being unemployed. Because I’ve yet to meet a lecturer who drives a G-Wagon. Indeed this was a conscious and deliberate decision that I have no regret over. However, I did not expect the sheer mental challenges I would face. I too made the error of looking in the mirror and overestimating my abilities, like the typical ADHD person I am.
But I have no regret. My purpose was never in my job. And knowing this is what gives me the freedom to pursue it. And that feeling, no paychek can ever afford.
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