Blood ties and broken hearts

LORITA: " You can sign here and also here, and also your age is required". The human resource manager giving me a direction on what to do. The human resource manager, a poised woman in her mid-forties, exuded an air of professionalism with her sleek, chestnut hair neatly pinned back in a bun. Her crisp white blouse, adorned with a delicate silver brooch, complemented her charcoal-gray pencil skirt, which fell elegantly to her knees. A string of pearls adorned her neck, adding a touch of sophistication to her attire. Her hazel eyes, framed by thin-rimmed glasses, held a blend of warmth and authority as she directed me to the paperwork. The office, bathed in soft, natural light filtering through sheer curtains, was impeccably organized. A mahogany desk stood at the center, adorned with a vase of fresh lilies, emanating a subtle fragrance that filled the room. Behind the desk, a bookshelf lined with leather-bound volumes showcased the company's commitment to knowledge and excellence. To the left of the desk, a cozy seating area was arranged with plush armchairs and a coffee table adorned with glossy magazines. A potted plant in the corner added a touch of greenery to the space, infusing it with life. The overall ambiance of the office was one of professionalism and refinement, reflecting the company's dedication to its employees and its commitment to creating a conducive work environment. I think I am lucky, to work here. If I eventually get the job I thought to myself. I reach into my black leather bag, searching through it with frustration. I feel overwhelmed by existential crisis. This marks my seventh job application, all in pursuit of earning a living. I wear a black T-shirt with blue buttons and two large pockets. It's tucked into faded black trousers. To complete the outfit, I carry a black handbag and wear a blue belt for support. "I don't have all the time in the world," the resources manager says to me with a side eye look. "Ma'am, I can't find my birth certificate," I reply, still hoping to locate it. "Where have I kept it?" I ask myself. I remember packing up all my documents yesterday, before I went to bed in pain and unneeded disturbance. "Okay, you need to wait in line for the next person. You can't keep us here. Get your birth certificate and bring other documents. I will only give you a few hours to do so because I am in a good mood today," she says curtly. My face is covered in disappointment. I don't want to lose this job again. I have worked so hard for this interview, and I need to get my money up so I can move out of my family house and start my own life. This is so much pain for me to bear. I hurriedly leave the queue and search for a seat that is occupied by other employees, who sit there with little patience.They give me a small space to sit, but I don't feel comfortable. I struggle to adjust my trousers as I sit there and also simultaneously dig into my bag with my head almost into the bag, looking for my birth certificate. "I can't find it," I blurt out with frustration. My face is turning pink, and my lips are getting dry. My heart pounds heavily, and I can literally hear it. Sweat runs down from my forehead down to my face, and my feet tremble in fear. "I can't go back to my place where I stayed with my foster parents. I only have transport fare back from this interview and certificate submission." I stand up and go to the resource manager, almost tears dropping from my eyes full of disappointment. "Ma'am, is there another alternative?" "No, there is no other alternative," she replies with a careless look on her face. She does not pay attention to me. She focuses on the next person she is attending to. "Ma'am, I..." "If you are not ready for the job, as you are showing here, we can gladly replace you," she interrupted immediately, cutting me short of my speech. "No, that's not it, Ma'am." "Then you know what to do." "Okay, ma'am." I noticed that she is ready to hear anything I was about to complain to her. I am left in turmoil, contemplating if I should go and get the birth certificate. It strikes me that I am with my identity license. I hurriedly took the license from my bag and headed back to the office. I am hopeful that this would be as important as the birth certificate because it also contains my actual date of birth. "Ma'am, can this also replace my birth certificate, I mean my license?" She takes the license, spends the next 5 seconds looking at it to confirm if it is authentic. "Yes, it can." "Finally," I exclaimed in so much excitement. As I stood on the queue with all. My documents and my Identity card being on top of the files, I reflected on the series of events that led me to this moment. I can't help but feel a sense of relief and gratitude. Despite the initial setback of misplacing my birth certificate or forgetting it, I managed to find a solution and salvage my chance at securing the job. I have hope that sometimes, when I am faced with adversity, all it takes is a bit of resourcefulness and perseverance to turn things around. It got to my turn. The resource manager handed me the paper, to fill in my name and date of birth with other documents. I searched for my pen, I could not find it. I stretched my hand to nudge my neighbor who was done with her own. She gave me her black coated tin biro pen. I opened it, turned it the right way and used it to fill in the required form. I was in complete happiness as I scaled through the question. What kept ringing in my mind, finally I am going to get a job, I just need to save every last penny from this job and I can leave this monster of a man who has been tormenting me every night.