Part of me always wanted to become a writer.
Which I eventually gave in to writing, as I thought, that it might work for me. Sadly, it didn't...never did. Though, if you ask me if it was a waste of time, I'll will straight away give you an N-O for an answer. I was once a writer for my school paper and I somehow managed to sneak my name into the lifestyle pages of my hometown's local daily.
The first time I saw my name on the by-line that one particular sunday was probably like how Loius Sullivan felt when the Wainright building was considered as one the first skyscrappers in the world. I read my article over and over and over and over again that night. It felt great!Little did I know, it was just the beginning of a fortunate accident. That's why I always love to look back at those little imperfect moments as it reminds me, how I got here....to moments! cheers!
The pressure is on! It has always been on.
If I may say, I consider pressure as human being's greatest stalker. From the simplest decision making as to what coffee and donuts to order while on a long queue, up to opening that piece of envelope with your billing statement on it. While you are on a plane, you are definitely under a huge pressure -- literally! and so many other negligible things that is unknowingly contributing pressure.
Where I am now (geographically), pressure has been a part of its culture. Everyone is not an exemption. Locals, expats like me, and even one who is as young as a pre-school kid, goes through it, in school and most sadly at home.
This reminds me of what I witnessed one Friday ago while I was lounging at the pool, I overheard and saw one of our neighbors whose unit was nearby the pool. He was tutoring (or should I say torturing) his kid like Hitler. He was yelling and screaming because his son couldn't give him an answer on some Arithmetic questions. Poor kid, he was in total tears while guessing the answers. Of course, how could the poor thing focus and give his "tutor" the right answer when, he is being yelled and screamed at and being embarrassed by his dad.
They where at the living room and their glass door was wide open where anyone who is nearby could hear the tormenting treatment he is getting from his dad -- HIS DAD. Most of all it was a Friday!
On one of my conversations with my boss, he mentioned, quite a few times, "the system is not very forgiving so there is no room for errors". Wow! does the system say that kids must study and must not be given some slack on a Friday night? I guess it does...I just don't get it though.
Everything here is almost perfect but ironically their imperfections are just way too obvious. No rooms for questions and clarifications otherwise you'll be reciprocated with sarcasm or worse, you'll be screamed at. No room for explaining, otherwise, you'll be cut-off mid-sentence.
No room for forgiveness as they do not know how to.
