He tries to find footing on the ledge as the tip of his shoes move a bit beyond the edge; his tie flailing wildly in the wind. The cars zooming by down below feel distant and strange to him. When he looks up, he can see the entire city. For once in his life, he feels free. How did he end up here? The morning had started no differently. The same routine, the same red “RENT OVERDUE” notice on his front door, the same crowded LRT route to work and the same depressing headlines. By the time he clocked in for work, he was already on autopilot.
When did this specific life begin? He could not remember. Once he was in the office, time seemed to be vague, especially when his nose would always be buried deep in piles of paperwork due today, tomorrow and the day after. Sometimes by the time he looked up from his cubicle, the white dot of the moon in the distance far beyond his office windows would greet him like an old friend. Meanwhile, his boss would treat him and the others as mere numbers. Employee #23, Employee #15, Employee #8... Nameless and faceless cogs in a capitalistic system, where the only sounds they’d hear were keyboard taps and the printing of papers. Sometimes when he had stopped to listen long enough, he’d hear Employee #19 cry in their cubicle muttering something about a sick child and medical bills. He figured it was not his business. He had his own life to worry about after all. After spending over a decade in a dead-end job, however, he started to question everything. One day, he went to get coffee in the office pantry. A new sign with the motto “WORK HARD, BE RICH!” that his boss had put up to motivate the employees caught his eyes. He questioned whether working hard until he loses his sense of identity just for the distant hope that one day he’ll be able to live comfortably, is worth it. He questioned whether working hard to earn the Employee of The Month for the sake of having food to eat every night just for his boss to get all the credit and cut his bonus, is worth it.
If anyone sees him on the rooftop railing now, they would think he’s a maniac; almost doubling precariously over the ledge as he laughs his head off. Taking off his lanyard, he holds it out in front of him as it flutters in the wind; a constant reminder of the day he had sold his soul to the system, sacrificed his youth. He wonders who he had been and what happiness had meant to him before it all.
He stares at his own face in the yellowing lanyard for one last time and finally, he lets go.
Edited by: Nurin Farzana
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