It has been three weeks since I last walked into an office to look for a job. I have not given up; I am simply giving myself enough time to recuperate from the pain of several rejections before I start again. I have already ironed my blue-and-white long-sleeved shirt and silk pencil skirt, just in case I get a call for a job interview. If the power goes out, I can simply put them on and be on my way.
As I remain unemployed, I sit at Mama’s fabric store while she runs her errands. It’s better than hiring someone who would likely spend her commissions and profits anyway. I sit and scroll through my phone daily. Sometimes, I drape a few fabrics over my arm and pester people walking through the market stalls, urging them to step inside and take a look – maybe even buy something. They barely glance my way. I retreat and continue scrolling.
I have made peace with the way I feel about Lydia. It is envy and hate, neither of which are her fault, but I need someone to blame for all my misfortunes. The last I heard, she was in Switzerland, enjoying the vacation of her life. I doubt she even remembers my name, let alone the role I played in her story. To her, I am just the bull that ploughed the land. To me, she is the pain I must learn to live with.
I have replayed our final year far too many times – an unhealthy number of times. I remember resigning myself to the fact that I would have to do our project work alone when I found out I had been paired with Lydia. I recall begging her on the eve of our final presentation to meet up and prepare after I had put everything together. She promised to show up but left me waiting at the library for two hours.
The next morning, I seethed with rage as I watched her walk up to me, unapologetic and perfectly made up, looking as if she had contributed anything to the project. I was too angry to present, so when she offered to do it, I conceded, secretly hoping she would falter and fail to answer the questions. That way, I could reveal that I had done all the work. But the 30-minute delay in setting up the lecture hall gave her just enough time to rehearse.
I watched her present so well that I instantly regretted giving in. Almost all the questions afterward were directed at me because my “partner”, had done all the talking. I answered them, but not as confidently as she had handled the few thrown her way. My stomach churned as I saw the lecturers nodding and smiling while she spoke. I knew then that the special applause at the end of our presentation was not for us, but for her.
A lecturer on the panel asked her to see him after the presentation.
“You speak so well. I have a job for you, if you’re interested,” he said.
A few weeks later, before we even graduated, she was already working for a European firm. What followed were some of the toughest times of my life. For weeks, I mourned my loss, stalking her on social media, monitoring her every move as though my life depended on it. Typical of her, she flaunted everything – her office, her company car, the influential people she met, the fancy places she visited, right down to the five-star hotels and restaurants she dined at with her colleagues and bosses. I fed on her journey, fueling my anger and resentment.
I had never felt such deep negative emotions toward anyone. I hated myself for harboring such bitterness and prayed for it to go away, but it never did. Many nights, I woke up crying, calling myself “stupid” for letting such an opportunity slip through my fingers. I tried to convince myself that the job wasn’t meant for me, that even if I had presented that day, her voice would have still opened that door for her.
But why did I have to do all the work for someone else to reap the rewards?
How could she party every day, barely scrape through with a pass, and still land the best job, while I remained jobless for three years and two months?
Why does life have to be so unfair?
I must begin to accept where I am. It certainly cannot get any worse, but I cannot keep sulking over an opportunity that was never mine to take. To make things easier, I shall mute my nemesis on all social media platforms where I am likely to see her living the life I so deeply envy.
Maybe Mama is right, perhaps the Lord will not open a door for me if I cannot be happy for those He has blessed, like Lydia… even if I feel she doesn’t deserve it.
