Leap of Faith

Chapter 5 - For Myself

I heard intentional whispers drifting in and out. I opened my eyes from what seemed like a year's worth of shut-eye. This time, it was my grandmother who was sitting by my bedside. This time, I was dressed in the same patient clothings as her. My parents were standing to the other side of my bed. "Feeling okay?" Dad asked. It had been a long time since I heard him showing concern over my well-being. My mum was always concerned over how little rest I got but she somehow got used to this unbalanced sleep cycle of mine. I lost all control of my circadian rhythm.

Still lost and confused over the state that I was in, "What happened to me? Who sent me here, did the doctor said anything?" I questioned frantically. "What do you think, my dear daughter? You did not even came home last night. How long do you think your body can hold on to such long hours of push without giving it some well-deserved rest? The doctor said you need exactly what you are lacking. A good break, or else it would not just be a short scare the next time." Mum replied.

My granny was silent, all the while her skinny and wrinkled hands holding onto mine. Her complexion looked more radiant than the last time I saw her, yet I couldn't say the same for mine.

The following day, my time was spent on inhaling tasteless porridge with a side of bland vegetables and protein while really reflecting on the choices I made – why did I ended up here and how could I have prevented it. I shared a ward with three other patients, all who looked around my age group.

The neighbour nearest to the door was admitted due to a bicycle accident and a girl next to him was just diagnosed with hereditary diabetes. My adjacent ward mate was suffering from food poisoning after a recent trip to a music festival. Yet my case, to me, seemed like an entirely self-inflicted situation. I chose to take responsibility when the work just kept coming, I chose to remain quiet when the pile stacked up, I chose to hustle when I should be resting and I chose to believe voicing out that you could not handle what was on your plate to be a form of weakness rather than being strong enough to show that you fully understand your own capacity.

A commotion broke out in the hallway. A family of four was shouting hysterically with tears in their eyes. It was hard to see. Especially when a doctor was whispering something to them and you knew it must be news that would be difficult for anyone to swallow. They were tugging onto the doctor's sleeve and pleading, the parents almost on their knees. I shuffled my body and turned away to face the windows. It was unbearable to hear what was going on, as though I felt their pain through their desperate pleas. The thought of their loved one leaving them for good, without bidding a proper farewell, with many more memories they expected to make all forgone. The laughter they had with this special family member, the experiences they shared and the connection that was deep rooted into each and every one of the four kins, had to be left as a memory that they could only reminisced on. My eyes swelled and started to water.

I recalled the many texts that my mum sent over when I was still in the office at midnight. She must have been worried. She missed me. She wanted her only daughter to be home to create more memories with the family. Was this an example of life without living? Going through the motions without any substance? When was the last time I spent quality time at home? What was the last recollection of me doing something for myself?

I feel so disconnected from the manager whom I have been working under, the career that I have embarked on two years ago. The only impression of my job at this moment had just been me, trying to talk myself out of the adversities that I have been facing, convincing myself time and again that this too shall pass, before collapsing back into a pool of tears. I had enough. I reached out for my work laptop that I had requested to be brought to me, although I had not touched it since yesterday morning when I left the office. This time, I will be using it solely for my personal intention. I opened the folder "Resignation Letter – Draft". Every single time I break down from work, I would resume from where I left off the previous time, filling in bit by bit – my own address, my company's name and location, purpose of resignation – yet I never got to finish drafting it. I always felt that this decision encompasses the welfare of not just myself: how would I be able to contribute to the household expenses if I did not manage to find a job after I leave? How would my co-workers think of me if I just left without securing another role? Will my relatives judge me for lending myself into unemployment just because I could not handle the current workload?

My cellphone lit up when a text came in. Steve: Hi are you feeling better? Just wondering when you will be back at work. Somehow all that I registered from the message was simply my manager trying to get me back at the office to rush more deliverables for the company, for himself. There was no hint of concern. My intuition signalled that this is the time. I slotted in the date of my last day of service, before sending it to my manager. I am officially jobless.