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The Process of Change

The Process of Change - Herman Garris

I am a software engineer. The irony of my life is that I realised after becoming an engineer that I never wanted to be one. I have been working in the IT sector for the longest time and even today, when I wish to be something different, I can’t see myself coming out of the comfort zone of an IT company. I guess I am in love with the excessive number of people stuffed in one office moving around like zombies as a result of the weird work shifts allotted to them.

I have always cherished the fetish of becoming a writer. Coming from a community of programming geniuses who consider the writer fraternity a little less capable in terms of their mental capabilities and faculties has proven to be an unfettering factor for me. I believe that writers contribute as much to society as engineers. The only difference is that while a moderately successful engineer has a hot wife, a big house and a fancy car for himself, a writer will in most probability be single, with a relatively smaller house and a normal car. While I love money as much as anyone else, I am trying to convince myself that it is not as important as the happiness that I might get out of pursuing a long lived dream of becoming a writer.

I scour the classifieds column of the local newspaper. There’s an advertisement from the Montreal SEO Company which is hiring a rookies for its new assignment. I almost feel like dancing with joy! Since the past one week I have only come across ads wherein experienced writers are needed. I had started wondering if I will ever gain the experience to apply for these ads. I dial the number mentioned in the paper. A ring can be heard on the other side and with every ring, my anxiety increases. I hear a woman’s sweet yet professional voice on the other side, “Hello! How may I help you?” I want to tell her of the hundred different ways in which she could help me, the laundry has been waiting to be done since a month, the kitchen needed cleaning and I wouldn’t mind a ham sandwich. Trying to suppress the swell of emotions rising within me at her gesture of offering help, I say, “I am calling up in response to the job advertisement in the paper.” She asks me a few details which I assume she is simultaneously noting down. I have been granted an appointment at 3:00 pm!

With just four hours left for the interview, I feel I sudden rush of energy. I start moving around like superman trying to put my jumbled life in order again. The high of hope and positivity can be duplicated by no other dope.


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