Blame it on these end-of-the-year vibes but there’s something I gotta come clean about.
I hope to not sound too dramatic in this all, but it’s something I’ve been wanting off my chest. Said in no more words than necessary — I live a double life. Who I’m seen to be isn’t who I am. Truth is, I’m a cheat, a fake. Well, to some at least.
Nearly every mornings I sneak out of bed early. I get dressed up. You like it when I wear collared shirts — so I do. You say I should really do my hair when I see you — but I don’t. I figured we’re ok with that now. I do still skip breakfast. What I have say though is, whenever I’m with you…I’m not myself. It was ok at first but now it feels a little forced. I pretend to smile and laugh when you make jokes. I’m quieter around you, and around your friends it’s uncomfortable. I feel out of place. I’m not who I am yet it’s like I have to conform to who you want me to be. Moreover, every time it’s time for me to go I have to play this game of tug of war. I have to seem like I don’t want to leave when all I want to do is jet out the fucking door. It makes me anxious as hell. Ever time. The crazy part is that you don’t know any of this, or at least I pray not and never will. This is more for my own conscious after all. And it’s not that I don’t wanna be with you, it’s that I can’t. It’s difficult. I need you but…there’s just something else out there for me.
Monday through Fridays, 9 through 6, I work a day job. Some days I’ll change into the dress code both getting in and out of the office. (Though it’s my fault cause I choose to) it bothers me to be on the judging end of “wait you work here?” looks, just cause I came in wearing my favorite Nets cap and runners on. It bothers me how I have to play the model minority role; the soft-spoken, slightly awkward, and mild-mannered Asian guy in the corner that only knows his work. It gets a different treatment from others. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not simply “I hate my job”. Though it’s unfortunate, most people hate their jobs. And in fairness, I am getting paid so this ain’t no forced labor shit. The difficulty instead is having to be someone I’m not and having to hide the other cheek. Ironically clocking out isn’t much better. Everyday I have to anxiously try to dip out while simultaneously, trying not to look too eager in fear that they’ll start to catch on to me — that me rushing out is a sign that I don’t care about the job. Reason enough for them to pass my ass the pink slip. Unbeknownst to them of course, they’re hunch is part-right. I’m flying out the door at 5:58 PM sharp because I instead care about something else entirely. Fact is, I’m married to my work; what it is that I actually find fufilling and feel alive doing. Time is my only luxury I have.
I guess the real fear is in having to keep up with this disguise. Fearing that if I blow it, I’ll be in hot water. Cause right now, without the 9-6, I’m not well enough to make the other 6-9 happen. Sucks, but I need it. For however I can, for however long it takes this charade has to go on. Turns out chasing a dream isn’t as easy as they make out to be. It’s not the easy way out, only it’s the better way out. Perhaps though, it’s things like this that are what make it truly worth while in the end for people like us, you and I. Perhaps it’s things like this that’ll make our stories so much better — things like this that make the success so much sweeter.