It was a bitter irony. What's the point of it all, really?
I shed no tears at the funeral. Was I just cold-hearted? Perhaps.
A fortnight later, back at school, my days fell back into the old, aimless routine.
Classes, jobs—just going through the motions.
I've never been one for grand dreams or ambitions. All I've ever wanted—the kind of warmth I've craved—seems forever out of reach.
So, I take life one day at a time.
In my junior year, our school set us up with internships. I landed a gig as an executive assistant at a corporate firm, thanks to my major in administrative management.
I'm naturally reserved, and this job demanded top-notch communication and interpersonal skills. About a month in, I was struggling. The office politics, the cutthroat atmosphere—I was done. I thought about quitting.
One evening, I dropped my resignation letter on the CEO's desk, planning to just not show up and head back to my part-time job at the local café instead.
I figured I'd deal with the fallout later.
The next morning, Mr. Brown, the CEO, called me up.