A Lesson In Freelancing
I wake up at past nine to send my morning greetings to my partner. And then off I go to the toilet, to fill the bucket I use to water the already wilting plants. I would then return to bed to talk to the beau. An hour before lunchtime, the laptop would be switched on. It is the start of my workday, which often, wraps up at daybreak the next day.
It has been my cycle since I turned to raket science to beef up my wealth. With the kids at home getting sick, and the matriarch having panic spells when daily needs find its way into the conversation, the only resolution I have is to make extra money. It means logging on to the website of the company that hired me last month.
And do work.
For all intents and purposes, I signed up to a full-time job. I thought the work is easy, but it is not. I could have walked out - like so many others in my batch. But at the end of the day, the extra work promises to increase my earnings. I see a long-term partnership in this venture, with my workplace getting a piece of the pie if I cook the ingredients well.
But the personal cost is staggering. No longer I could sleep at night without thinking of the quota for next day. I could even say that sometimes, respite comes only when I think of my boyfriend. That he is with me, and his presence affords me to undertake such life-altering projects like this.
For the first time in recent memory, I am no longer dreaming. I am pursuing a dream.
And so, even when I indulge in written rants, or let myself get immersed in the social media banters I shun lately, there is no reason to step back and turn around to the dicey life I had. What matters is I remember the essence: the activities that define who I am now - to the day of my last breath.