Selling Out

A year from now I will be leaving my job. My soul-sucking, mind-numbing, endlessly monotonous job of forcing my lips into a smile, answering insanely insipid inquiries, counting money, getting money from the vault, counting money, returning money to the vault, approving big amount transactions, over-riding big amount transcations on and on and on and on. Needless to say I work as an officer in a bank, which is still quite a mystery to people who know me as I graduated with a degree in Mass Communications.

So how did I get here? Call it greed, ambition, or maybe just plain practicality. Since I could remember I've always been idealistic, always saying I will never ever work just for the sake of working, for the sake of acquiring money. But the time's warrant it, it was either a choice of becoming evil yuppie scum or starving.

And so I became evil yuppie scum. I sold-out. I swallowed my pride, placed my personal beliefs and values aside, and opted for a comfortable life with money.

And yet, almost three years after, I am yet to feel truly comfortable. Sure, I may be able to sleep at night secure that with my big pay I can settle all the bills and buy whatever brand-spanking new stuff I deem to be must-have, but I awaken to nightmares of growing old and not having done anything truly meaningful with my life. I have now come to realize that money doesn't mean anything if you are miserable with your self. Since I started this job, the gnawing feeling of being trapped increases exponentially everyday. I am now at the point where it is just plain difficult to go through another workday. With the pressure, the stress, and the agony, I would have already resigned if there wasn't a P200,000 bond I have to pay if I quit before April 1, 2008.

I am not saying that my current job is frivolous. On the contrary, it is important especially to the people who rely on our services. But it is definitely not fit for me. I want to be a writer, a graphic designer, someone involved in the arts. I thought that I could have this job and do the things I love on the side, but this situation has only made me increasingly frustrated. I want my "hobbies" to be my job, my source of being, my definition. I want to be introduced to new acquantainces as "journalist" or "artist" not as "banker."