Purpose pending

Today was difficult, but I stood strong. Well, sat strong.

I’ve been interviewing at least 20 people every day since Monday. For someone who could go days without seeing another soul and not feel lonely, being surrounded by this many faces daily has drained every last drop of my social battery.

This morning, I woke up completely empty. No energy, no spark, not even enough willpower for a light workout. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. But I had to get up and get ready. So I did.

I took a cold shower to jolt my mind awake, trying to look at least somewhat presentable, knowing I'd be doing another marathon of conversations today.

On the way to the office, my supervisor casually brought up a few things I hadn’t done, plus how I should conduct my interviews differently. Apparently, I need to steer them a certain way to get better outcomes. He wasn’t wrong. But man, how timing can make even the most well-meaning feedback taste bitter. 

I tried to lift myself up by remembering how much I have done (and at least me, it’s a lot). But he’s just another human, wired to see what’s missing rather than what’s been done. I get it. Deadlines are tight. But I’m not feeling great, and that’s bleeding into everything else. I held back tears. Thank God one of my teammates noticed the change in me and quickly switched the subject.

At the office, I opened my laptop.

My husband had sent me a video, just him, pouring hot water over fresh coffee grounds.

Simple.

But it hit me like a train.

Suddenly I was back in the quiet cold days at home. No deadlines. No forms. Just slow mornings and the smell of coffee. That ache in my chest was real.

The rest of the day passed. People came in. People left. On the outside, everything looked normal. But I was lightheaded the whole time, like a ghost floating through it all.

Tomorrow’s a national holiday. I was hoping to use it to finally tidy the data I haven’t had time to clean properly. But nope. Out of the blue, my supervisor dropped the bomb: I’m being sent to the audit field tomorrow. And the messy data? Still needs to be cleaned before I go.

So…what now? Pull an all-nighter and pretend I’m not dying? Great plan. Love it for me.

And then tonight, after dinner, my daughter called me crying. She said she missed me.

That was it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I cried. Really cried. The kind that cracks your ribs open from the inside.

The tears I’ve been bottling up for five days finally came flooding out. I had to stop before my eyes got too puffy to face tomorrow.

Now, two hours later, maybe that was exactly what I needed. I still don’t feel okay. But I’ll keep pretending. I’ll do the job even as I slowly lose my mind in silence. I don’t complain to anyone. So here I am, writing.

And if I’m honest, lately, the purpose feels like it's slipping through my fingers. Every time I’m sent to the field, I’m pulled farther away from the people who keep me whole.

From my husband. From my daughter.

And with this kind of exhaustion, both in body and spirit, the reason I started doing this no longer feels clear. Maybe it’s still out there, somewhere buried under deadlines and baggy eyes.

I just hope I find it again. Before I forget what it ever felt like.

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Panyabungan, Mandailing Natal