one-year notice.

on the contrary that a polished cubicle will promise routine, and a swivelling office chair shall swivel when need it be swivelled, and a screen that constantly burns your eyes from sunrise til sunset, the contentment deemed suffice by others found lacking in return.

while a losing fight against capitalism in an 'air-conditioned sweatshop' said a true friend, sounds absurd and ridiculous, a poor man there is a richer man here.

maybe it will be soon. next year or the next. but it is as sure as heaven and hell, that i will become a janitor/butcher/cherry-picker/waitress/gas attendant in the opposite side of the world to get paid more than a project manager over here. when i come back, or maybe i wont in a long time, i'll buy mama the kitchen she wants and the country house for abah before finding my own happiness.


p.s: thanks amy.