This Earth of Mankind

“What’s this? You’re looking at a Friendster profile of someone you met for the first time yesterday, someone you hardly know?”

“Well, technically, I’ve acquainted myself with her for quite some time now. I called her up the other day, we’ve met yesterday, and today, I’m knowing stuff about her that’s making me realize that we have a lot more in common than I originally thought we had.”

“Sure. Keeping her resume, contacting her for an interview, peeping on her Friendster account and seeing that you have the same favorite book count as such.”

“If you like to put it that way.”

“I thought you hated your job?”

“Yes, before.

Imagine this, you resent having to wake up at an ungodly hour, and you go to work at least thirty minutes late everyday. You have that heavy feeling inside you, as if there was a looming cloud over you, everywhere you go.

And then, one day, you got to interview someone out of the ordinary, someone who made the pitch of your voice higher than usual; An obvious sign of anxiety.

You tell her that your interview with her will be good for fifteen to twenty minutes. And yet, it took over an hour. She got to talk about the things that she liked, and you listened intently.

She enjoyed the interview, so did you.

She asked for your contact details, and left you with a good feeling inside. A feeling like there was something in what you’re doing that gave meaning, that gave you a sense of appreciation for your crap-ass job.

And, at that moment, you smiled.”

“I see. I know that feeling exactly.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Go on.”

“As I was returning to the office a while ago, I got a call, saying that I should place her for a position that’s not fit for her. I naturally asserted my principle. I disagreed.

Disagreeing proved futile. Suddenly, she became a victim of injustice; she was stripped of an opportunity that she fought for, fair and square.

I was crushed, literally.

My eyes watered up. My tone got throaty. My nose got itchy.

I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t tell her straight faced, bluntly, that she won’t get the position.”

“What a terrible situation for her.”

“I sympathize with her.”

“Because?”

“Because I shared the exact same experience as with her before, three months earlier, that I was deprived of the exact same position, and was considered for the exact other position, a position that’s also not fit for me.

She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve not entertaining her other pending applications for the position, only to know that she got screwed. She doesn’t deserve the frustration.

Of all the feelings and exact similar situations that I had to share with someone else in this earth of mankind, why does it have to be this?

I really feel bad for her. I really do.”

“You had to share the same despair.”

“..Go away, conscience.”