Was it any good?
Was it any good?
For a while I wanted to be Ian, or Chloe. Nary a worry in the world. All they ever do is sleep serenely, bawl when there is a need to, blink innocently, emit an adorable gurgle or two. The adults would then produce some oohs and ahhhs in response, doting over them as much as possible.
It feels a bit peculiar that you work diligently with the inevitable knowledge that whatever stuff you churn out belongs to the company, and not you. The strings of unintelligible words that make up the essential codes for a software. The millions of pixelated shapes and lines in a computer graphic. The meticulously informal arrangement of the interior of a hotel lounge. The jaw-dropping visual effects produced for a sci-fi thriller. The inspirational lyrics penned out, accompanied with sweet and infectious melodies.
All the long hours put in, frying your eyeballs, enduring the daily traffic jams. Your efforts, your ideas, your time. All that, when you can choose to be elsewhere: basking under the sun in the sandy white beaches, braving a horde of mosquitos while on an African safari, or just plain idling around at home.
Do we have to work solely for money? For the sake of working?
I hope most of my work do not end up going down the drain, though. It will then be a total waste of time. But hey – I am supposed to be doing it for the next three decades. Not a very encouraging thought.
Why do you have to wait until 6pm when you can leave at 5.30pm?
What do you say when you do not have anything to say?
Where do you go to when you have nowhere to go?
Why fix it when it is not broken?
Why change when you do not need to?