On being treated fairly…

 

Hello my love, I’m currently in the ferry, the shaking and quaking is nasty, seas are rough and the estimated time of travel is 36 hours. For now my prayers are solely selfish, as I hope to survive this ordeal intact, with my love for the sea untainted.

 

Back to the subject at hand then, on being treated with equity… the story begins as the convoy rolls into the ferry, and discovering that lunch is not a reality. We’ve been on the road since early dawn, almost 7 hours ago. Its now noon, and I’m hungry.

 

Going into sea voyages on an empty stomach is pretty foolhardy. So we decide that we should ‘tapau’ some lunch – only there isn’t anything to tapau. OK then, we cook, I guess… I overhear on the radio that some fresh fish is on its way, for us to cook lunch.

 

Suddenly, the ferry sets sail. No fish! What to makan??

 

On one side of the ferry, the ‘upper echelons’ of power have begun preparing lunch. I saunter by their clean and spotless cars, lo and behold, there’s a huge tuna getting butchered. So is this the fish? Talk of fishhead curry and fried fillets are in the air, but there’s only one fish!! True enough, they eat the fish all by themselves.

 

It suddenly hits me, they consider me so-called ‘management’, but conveniently forget about me when the time comes for camping or cooking. Baby, you might say its all an innocent mistake, but its happened more than once. Heck, I think its more than half a dozen times 😛

 

So where do I stand? On matters of work, I am expected to do much more than average ‘management’ fellas – I drive, write, do the rooming for hotels, look for internet in the wee hours of the morning, clean the car, drag my own luggage up and down and God alone knows what else, and not necessarily in that order. So what of my equity? Since I’m treated like I’m an untouchable, should I now give that kind of work quality? Like a common coolie…

 

I feel a pang of loneliness and sadness, when I have to masak and makan with other people, when my own flesh and blood feeds the parasites that latch on like lampreys. It doesn’t help when its not noticed.

 

Perhaps I must learn to be a parasite, if only to ensure my mental wellbeing. Or perhaps I must endeavor to turn into a ‘pasu bunga’ which are well taken care of by the men in this ragtag bunch of opportunists… of course that might entail using powders and potions, and maybe later a lobotomy… but sometimes we must make sacrifices, no?

 

For now, I will settle into my hammock, and wish for an uneventful journey. Will write more later…

 

Wishing I was in your arms, safe and sound and sage on dry land – Jasmine.

 

 

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