Resignation: An Episode In-Between Jobs
I am drafting two articles right now: the first is the resignation letter that I plan to submit on Monday; and this article for my future managing editor.
I am resigning from my current job as a flight steward, mainly because I have nothing more to gain from there. There is only a new roster of flights to come and more hours to stack, but beyond these and the money, nothing more. Maybe more enemies and more stress, but nothing that would enrich, only things that would continue to slowly kill me. Ultimately, we all want death but I believe this year isn’t the best time for me to die. I have dreams.
Enter the reason for this sample article: I have always wanted to write, so I have decided to apply for a writing position or an internship or anything that involves creative writing, or just writing. Nothing clicks better than an eventual resignation and a new job application. Well, maybe a job offer would be better, but there is nothing like that coming in and I do not want to wait around and rot from the inside doing what I do not extremely love. I used to want to get a job so badly that I shaped myself to be the best flight steward trainee I could be, and I turned out okay, with little room for improvement ONLY. And because of my ass-kissing nature, I carved a smile onto my face for two years.
Now, I am tired but still young – too young to quit, actually. And too early: just two years and I have so much more money to earn from flying, which would afford me more trips to Uniqlo.
If in my heart there is a passion to sell things and make money or just straight-up passion for money, I think my parents would be happier. I would be happier, rich from doing what I really love. Unfortunately, my passion has a bodycount: countless writers have starved to death. Literature is continuously thriving, no doubt, and no one thinks it is a waste of fortune to buy books (I spend my salary usually on books and this might just be me), but the proverbial road to literary superstardom isn’t exactly smooth. In a few months, my friends will be able to tell me if my writing career is taking off judging by the shadows on my face.
Unemployment does this thing to us: crave. Crave for tomorrow, and therefore crave for money: an easy equation we never fail to think of. This is why I took a job that I wasn’t in-love with in the first place, because I was desperate and I had no reasons left to support my refusal to go to the US and be with my family and say goodbye to the life I want to build for myself. I became a flight attendant and finally my parents shut up about me going abroad. It bought me an incredible amount of time to continue living a little rebelliously because I have a source of income to amend my immediate need of money and social validation. Found a job, lost myself. Have money, still nowhere near what I want myself to be. Sucks.
There is another thing that drives us, and it now is driving me to pen whatever this is I am trying to write. It sounds corny and it makes me queasy to say ‘passion’, but it is that. It is what is making this whole piece corny and until I have found some form of validation, it will sound corny to me. Honestly, I want this to not just be satisfying, but also to be able to pay the bills.
Here is the challenge: money versus passion; Want vs. Need; An animal urge to survive versus a humane drive to pursue the passion; To be cliché or to be corny; Being sexy because rich vs. being just passionate.
My suggestion is to wait. I waited until I had any work experience. Waited until I had the courage to persevere, which is backed-up by a little amount of money I had saved and a contingency plan I still have to smoothen out, but the point is to just follow the heart. Mentally, I am preparing for days of hunger, thirst, disappointment and even a zombie apocalypse taking place in the middle of my search for literary relevance. But the key is to keep trying. Until the last of my pride and peso.