Tough girl not to be

If only there is such a thing as password protected post for Blogger. But then again, maybe I just want to rant it out because I really cannot stand the incoming pressure when every editor out there wants me to demand why do I have to do these stuffs.

Because, in my office, it is almost like being in American Idol. I have to report to Randy, Paula and Simon. If I get Paula, "she" will willingly listen and allow me some freedom to do my own things without feeling pressured.

Randy and Simon on the other hand, are kind of the stricter people but they are also willing to teach. Unfortunately, I don't know what has happened recently. Maybe the whole system changed, because all of a sudden I have to report to them separately instead. My colleagues have been telling me that that is their way of doing things but I didn't believe them until I see it myself.

Frankly, I hate it.

Moreover, they don't read my blog so I can never tell them the more they tried to help and criticised me, the more I placed disappointment and anxiety onto myself. That is why I never liked being criticised. It's not really scolded because they weren't being loud to me. Being unreasonable, maybe. Being rude, maybe.

Several of my friends wondered why don't I ever defend myself if they ever think I was in the wrong. I don't know. I just don't. Probably because I was thinking "I'm intern, I should say sorry, thank you." If it concerns about the news story, I can and will defend my story.

But sometimes it was as if my character was attacked. Sometimes it feels that way, but it was also consoling because when they listened to me and then start teaching me on how to write the news. But frankly it's a little too much for me especially since I was already in the mindset of "Yay, I'm switching desks soon!".....But it is due to that mindset that probably brought me to jeopardy, back to ground zero, back to square one, back to being the amateur when she first came in.

For the first time in many years, I broke down due to excessive emotional stress piled upon me. Crying for hurt and crying due to stress is totally different. But worst still, my colleagues realised I couldn't laugh at jokes anymore. I find that serious. Very serious. The last time that happened, I was under depression. I sincerely hoped that wasn't the reason why I couldn't laugh. I sincerely hoped that.

My friends have been very encouraging and even some of my colleagues realised I wasn't being myself. True, I haven't. But that's how I was when in duress and stress. I have been being an ear to other people's problems, I've forgotten to deal with my own stress if I ever face one.

Ever notice that even I write until here I've never blame the editors? You have? Well that's because I'm not supposed to unless they are really real assholes, in which I'm thankful I haven't receive the full blow yet. What is this wei? Final countdown? When all hell breaks loose at the last few days ?

My friends have said that I could go through it. True, maybe I can. But have you heard of the word "Muka Tembok"? It literally mean "Wall face". A journalist's face have to be that THICK to withstand all the blows, slams and injustices thrown to them by the editors, outsiders, public?

My "muka" was a "muka tembok" for the past few weeks, but all of a sudden, that "tembok" went crumbling at the last week. I thought and prayed that I will get a smooth "transition" from this desk to another desk because I was already feeling my "tembok" crushing down. My worst horrors were confirmed when one sentence uttered by my editor could just hurt me to the core. "Poor reporting skills." "What a boring intro." That was what he said.

By right it was my fault and I should accept defeat and admit I was wrong. I did, but at the same time I felt so hurt I cannot explain why I couldn't be as bubbly as before. I used to still go back to my desk laughing, smiling and joking with my admin clerk and colleagues.

This tough girl has her moments of fragility. Ephyon tried his very best to make me feel better but it is just hard because I cannot find the reason to smile anymore. It's not like my assignments are fun, outgoing, exciting. It used to be. But certain changes took place and then, those smiles, laughter are all wiped off.

I felt pathetic to cry alone drinking hot Milo in a lonely cafeteria. I believed maybe they saw the red eyes to know what I was doing. I think. I don't know. Even as a sad girl I never forget my courtesy and say "thank you" to those who've tried to teach me. So maybe they didn't realised I was feeling down or something.

For once, I wished I'd never have a toughened look, to feel that I was the weaker sex, to wish that I had more sympathy instead, to not wish so soon that I actually declared I loved working there.

For once, I wished I could just stomp off, drove my car, and escape from my current surroundings. Even my home feels distant, no longer warm.....

For once....I wished I was allowed to crumble, cry and scream......

My tough image, I don't want it this time.