I like chopping onions cause no one knows I'm crying

Friday, October 13, 2017

If there's anything I hate more than being "Hmm"-ed at, it's being acknowledged for kindness. Especially when there's no way out but to be kind and being a fucking human for once.

You could say, I (I being Snobster) hate humanizing myself. You could also say, "There, there. It's okay to be a human once." But let me tell you, it's not.

To be human, is to be fucking weak. Put on a show where you wear your heart and take it out and display it to everyone. Look ma, I got a heart that works just as good as anyone else's. It's brand new, shiny and definitely in mint condition.

That's where the problem begins. When you're kind and show your heart on regular basis, it's prone to wear and tear. When you're me (by that I mean, heartless slab of stone), displaying signs of being human can be a setback to oneself.

The opposite of corporate clients are NGOs. My new, favourite topic, that I'm beginning to realize is literally poles apart from working for a corporate ho. These NGOs are the new bone of contention in my life, they are responsible for my employers paying for my weekend special white bread slice slathered with salted butter. I've been working on a new project which involves me liasing with these organizations and quite literally, touching the radioactive material ie emotions, kindness, reality and grassroot level problems that people deal with, to make lives better for those who are less than #blessed.

Imagine this, you're sitting at work. Hating everyone and everyone hating you back, while you dabble sending cold email after the other.

"Please send the content."

"Please send the content." x25870

Until the moment the phone next you to rings, a man very politely requests for you. Once you claim that it's indeed you, he proceeds in the most empathetic manner to request for an extension of two hours for submission of the said content.

"We haven't had electricity in two days, our devices are not charged. It will be very kind of you if you could please give us the liberty to submit it late by a couple of hours. We would be more than grateful."

"Please take 48 hours, my kidney and liver and all the stuff I bought from Thailand."

I shouldn't cut onions when I'm at work, or infront of my Mac, or even when I'm planning to write.

The 48 hour deadline came to an end this evening, and even before I could react (and believe me, I'm on acid when it comes to chasing deadlines), the man shared three emails with content. The landline rang for the 67th time today and it was him again,

"Hello Ma'am, I wanted to thank you for giving us two extra days. It was very kind of you. You see because of Diwali, our village gets less supply of electricity than usual and we do not have ample time to charge our devices and finish our chores that require electricity. This extension helped us immensely. I wanted to thank you again for this, and also I hope you've received the content. We shared it 10 minutes back."

Drat, onion chopping again.

Here's pretending that I'm unaffected by emotions, that Twitter is dead (according to a colleague who was popular on Twitter when Twitter was popular) and that I'm spending my weekend far away from emotions at a virgin beach with a Piña Colada and a plate of curly fries.

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