I’ve had enough.
My patience is almost non-existence to begin with. Once it wears thin, people are in for one hell of a ride.
I’m not perfect- heck, I’m not even close to it. I could try my hardest and still manage to screw things up at the end. I’d be lying if I say I don’t feel down at times. Especially when others seem to fare better than me.
But if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s self-pity.
When things don’t seem to work the way I planned them to be, I know I just have to buck up. Be less foolish, work harder. At the very least, I know I’d tried. And that, to me, amounts to something.
What I can’t tolerate, is when people somehow managed to screw things up for me.
I can’t tolerate it if people bunking classes meant I couldn’t learn. Nor am I able to tolerate cleaning up their shits when they decided to show up and came waltzing in at 10.30 am.
I can clean the house, mop and sweep the floor, wash the carpets. I can tidy the kitchen and wash the dishes. I can pay the bills and house rent. I can buy the groceries, manage the household.
Though this may seems stupid, but no, I don’t mind.
What I do mind is when even after doing all those, no one could bring themselves to wash my plates on the rare times when I didn’t have the time to do it myself. That someone actually took the pain to segregate them neatly, but couldn’t bear rolling up their sleeves and reach for the sponge.
All this while I thought being victimized meant harassment. But it’s not just that. It’s when you don’t take a stand, when you’re weak-willed enough for people to assume you’re taking it okay.
You gotta choose to not be a victim. At the very least, you should make your voice heard when someone trampled on you.
Defy. And fight.
It makes a difference.