talk and not just speak
the first time i saw him i thought he was just another.
the same kind of unshaved look, unkempt hair, worn out clothings.
worn out due to the long hours of work,
worn out due to the lack of, choice.
he is just another of them.
every morning they'd come together, he is the only one i'd recognise.
i'd think that we need him to do the low menial work,
those we wouldn't do.
i'd think that it's his job, just tolerate him, that's the end of the story, period.
after all, he is just another.
today i'm ashamed of such prejudices,
as much as i hate them, i do practise them at times.
i see him everyday i'm at work, i follow him around the place.
his experience commands a much higher pay than the $18 dollars he gets a day.
he does his work beyond the call of duty, he goes the extra mile.
i see the fatigue in his eyes, i see his lack of motivation on days,
but he still gets the job done, well, exceptionally well.
he'd rather work over time everyday, than to go back home to rest.
he'd rather work over time everyday, than to go back home to have fun with his only friends.
he'd work over time everyday, to ensure some additional income, to provide for his parents, his wife and his kids.
he'd rather not rest.
there was this one time, he sprained his finger playing ball with his friends.
i could see through his eyes that it wasn't the pain from the sprain that was worrisome.
it was the fear of being unable to work he was worried about.
he thrudged on.
once the initial awkardness was over, it was a different story altogether.
it didn't take long, though his accent proved quite a communication barrier between us.
we talk and laugh, within the constrains of a office building.
we had our times of silence too, when either of us were tired.
with him around, i started appreciate where i come from.
the fatigue i feel, the lonliness, the anger, all of these,
without a doubt, uncomparable to what he is going through.
i try my best to be his friend, to see his smile, to see him happy whenever i get to escort him around.
i give him sweets, sweets i'd not buy if i didn't know he likes them.
i help him with his job, even when staff look at him, and me, with contempt.
deep inside i smile too when he does.
his fear of leaving his friends, his fear of how his prospective new employers will be like,
keeps him at his job, drawing the meagre pay.
he works over time whenever possible so that he can send home that extra cash, so that they'll be happy.
however tired he is, he comes to work the next day.
he planned to go home at the end of the year, for the first time since 2006.
tragedy struck yesterday, and news got to him that his dad passed away.
it was weird, not seeing him around.
i don't get to shout for him across the road, i don't get to give him a sweet.
a sweet, out of a box of 50, matters to him greatly, but to me...
if only i can contact him and talk to him now, tell him that shit happens.
i don't expect him to stop working, i expect him to come back stronger.
but, i still can't find the words to say to him when he's back.
hey Murugan, i'm sorry to hear what happened...
he's just one of them, one of many amongst us, who needs some loving.
the same kind of unshaved look, unkempt hair, worn out clothings.
worn out due to the long hours of work,
worn out due to the lack of, choice.
he is just another of them.
every morning they'd come together, he is the only one i'd recognise.
i'd think that we need him to do the low menial work,
those we wouldn't do.
i'd think that it's his job, just tolerate him, that's the end of the story, period.
after all, he is just another.
today i'm ashamed of such prejudices,
as much as i hate them, i do practise them at times.
i see him everyday i'm at work, i follow him around the place.
his experience commands a much higher pay than the $18 dollars he gets a day.
he does his work beyond the call of duty, he goes the extra mile.
i see the fatigue in his eyes, i see his lack of motivation on days,
but he still gets the job done, well, exceptionally well.
he'd rather work over time everyday, than to go back home to rest.
he'd rather work over time everyday, than to go back home to have fun with his only friends.
he'd work over time everyday, to ensure some additional income, to provide for his parents, his wife and his kids.
he'd rather not rest.
there was this one time, he sprained his finger playing ball with his friends.
i could see through his eyes that it wasn't the pain from the sprain that was worrisome.
it was the fear of being unable to work he was worried about.
he thrudged on.
once the initial awkardness was over, it was a different story altogether.
it didn't take long, though his accent proved quite a communication barrier between us.
we talk and laugh, within the constrains of a office building.
we had our times of silence too, when either of us were tired.
with him around, i started appreciate where i come from.
the fatigue i feel, the lonliness, the anger, all of these,
without a doubt, uncomparable to what he is going through.
i try my best to be his friend, to see his smile, to see him happy whenever i get to escort him around.
i give him sweets, sweets i'd not buy if i didn't know he likes them.
i help him with his job, even when staff look at him, and me, with contempt.
deep inside i smile too when he does.
his fear of leaving his friends, his fear of how his prospective new employers will be like,
keeps him at his job, drawing the meagre pay.
he works over time whenever possible so that he can send home that extra cash, so that they'll be happy.
however tired he is, he comes to work the next day.
he planned to go home at the end of the year, for the first time since 2006.
tragedy struck yesterday, and news got to him that his dad passed away.
it was weird, not seeing him around.
i don't get to shout for him across the road, i don't get to give him a sweet.
a sweet, out of a box of 50, matters to him greatly, but to me...
if only i can contact him and talk to him now, tell him that shit happens.
i don't expect him to stop working, i expect him to come back stronger.
but, i still can't find the words to say to him when he's back.
hey Murugan, i'm sorry to hear what happened...
he's just one of them, one of many amongst us, who needs some loving.
posted by emoss at 9:19 PM
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