Burdens: Draft 1
Thursday, November 24, 2005
I'd better post this up before I become like the woman in this story.
Burdens of life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she can muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. Ms Davelle tried to pay attention but it became boring and rather sickening the more she listened to this “amateur” consultant. She surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events suddenly began replaying in her mind.
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. Still, no matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotion and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he still sounded as if he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It's just... argh, just try to spend more time with us...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth is she supposed to show concern to this life that has suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she has no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
But Mrs Shanter just left the room, her head heavy with thoughts of rejection. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her work ended up as these days. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. To herself, Ms Davelle seemed as if she had failed the manager’s expectations. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
Forgive me for the wierd spacings. It seems that the blogger format for posts is rather diff from the word format and I copied everything from a word doc. Nearly added a page turner at the end of the story. I dunno whether i'm missing anything, or if the story doesn't flow. Tell me if this ought to be chucked aside like Charms.
Burdens of life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she can muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. Ms Davelle tried to pay attention but it became boring and rather sickening the more she listened to this “amateur” consultant. She surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events suddenly began replaying in her mind.
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. Still, no matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotion and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he still sounded as if he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It's just... argh, just try to spend more time with us...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth is she supposed to show concern to this life that has suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she has no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
But Mrs Shanter just left the room, her head heavy with thoughts of rejection. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her work ended up as these days. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. To herself, Ms Davelle seemed as if she had failed the manager’s expectations. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
Forgive me for the wierd spacings. It seems that the blogger format for posts is rather diff from the word format and I copied everything from a word doc. Nearly added a page turner at the end of the story. I dunno whether i'm missing anything, or if the story doesn't flow. Tell me if this ought to be chucked aside like Charms.
