End of a road

Chapter 1: Ode to life

 Christine

That was it. I pack the remainder of my items, counting them with baited breath. A notebook, marred with indistinguishable scribbles, only discernable through my eye. My old laptop, a piece of incredible machinery that has been running since 20 years ago, is something I never found the will to replace. Even if I did, I probably would have my work cut out for me. Modern technology has yet to really resonate with me. The new generations have weaved the impossible into computers today, creating screens that can detect faces, change backgrounds and much more. They created magic, something I would think was impossible in my younger days. I would like to say I'm quite knowledgeable about computers but that was also 20 years back, nowadays I haven't quite caught up with new technology. These days employers also don't want me. I'm older, less nimble, and less dedicated, compared to newer people.

So after this rejection, I'm leaving the workforce. This would be the last time I step into the office again. I would probably never see these stained-yellow walls again or mouldy moist carpet again. Maybe it's something I'm relieved about. Not having my ego-too-big-for-his-own-good boss not holding his third cup of coffee visiting my office space to shout in my ear for ten minutes seems pretty great. Not having to communicate with my 20-something-year-old colleague who chews the same gum for a week also seems to be a positive change. 

In my youth, I wanted the freedom of retirement. Experiencing life with the freedom of living, for real this time. No more chasing deadlines and rushing work. No need to think about pleasing any boss or getting close to colleagues. I would have a peaceful life, maybe visit the places I have always wanted to go to and maybe I can go to the little cafe down the street more often, basking in the warm morning sun and having a cup of coffee.

Retirement is different, now that I think about it, it signals the end. There is really nothing to do at all. I'm still single, I have no children or close family members, I can't have a pet in my rented apartment, and I'm alone. 

The white walls of my rental are still blank and empty. I've always wanted to have my children's drawings and achievements on the walls. Carefully pinned with blue tack to avoid any residue stuck. I would hang reminders on the fridge and add cute magnets from the Flea market. I would make them lunches every day, leaving little notes of love for them and carefully cutting sandwiches into shapes of animals. 

The bookshelves are empty. I'm not much of a reader but I would have liked to collect books from the second-hand bookstore. Marvelling at the beautiful cloth cover and the silver words shining from the lamp. I would cosy up with my partner, reading books with thick wool blankets and rich hot chocolate.

The fridge is empty, with only a leftover Chinese takeout container covered with grease from yesterday's dinner. I would have liked for my sister to come occasionally, leaving pasta for me to heat up after. Then we would go to make tiramisu together, gossiping about the neighbours upstairs or our aunt's constant plastic surgeries.

I would have liked a lot of things. I'm too old to do things now. I have no family, no friends, nobody. Any house without people is nothing more than walls containing the remaining emptiness in my heart. I don't think about these things now, perhaps it's resignation or maybe it's because I'm ashamed. I look at my social media, and at those people who are doing so well for my age. They have daughters who visit them, they have a family to go on vacation with. It's embarrassing, an old lady visiting the Maldives, a place where so many couples spend their honeymoon. Young love, with fiery passion strong enough to withstand storms. So after retiring, there really is nothing left. Life just passes like the cyclists down the road.

I spend my days, sometimes, in that coffee shop. Most of the time I'm at home sleeping, not many things to do usually. I don't watch television, oftentimes because all those shows I've seen have just seemed to be repeating the same stories over and over again. Probably because I spent my childhood spending hours watching television programmes when my parents were arguing. 

This is the end. I've finished life, accomplishing nothing but to fuel my unsatiated desires. Making no change except for continuing to fuel the corporate ladder. Perhaps my boss will think of me one day, but I'll be lost in the ever-changing scenery of people.

I'm afraid to leave. To move on to somewhere above without a single person remembering my name. My house will be sold away, to some other desperate person, or maybe a young couple. They would fill the apartment with tiny trinkets collected over the years, filling the blank walls with memories, laughter and love. Wiped away while the world still moves its continuous gears. Though while here, I'm also doing nothing, just going through the perpetual motion of living, or maybe it's surviving. A thread is all I'm left with, hanging between life and the end. I don't want to leave, yet what will I do here?