On my first day, I asked one of my coworkers, "Why am I in sales? I applied for a different position."
"Because you're pretty," she said, her eyes fixed on my face, giving me a cute smile.
I thought about how I described myself: long—though not extremely so—hair, black, round eyes, a small black and red mole on my face, chubby cheeks, and olive skin. It felt quite embarrassing to picture myself like that.
While I was still thinking about my first day, I got a call.
"Hello! Can I have last month's report?"
It was the main boss. He was asking about the sales report for the month.
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I gave him an honest answer.
"Sir, I'm a new staff member." I paused, collecting myself. "I will ask my coworkers and get back to you shortly."
"So you're new," he said, sounding calm. "Take your time and send it to me by five." He cut the call just after saying that.
Surprisingly, all my coworkers were also new hires. So, we took our time, went through every file, and sent him the report.
"You guys are doing quite well on your second day," we got this message as soon as we forwarded the file to him.
My days went by, doing this and that work, and after a long day, it was finally time to go home. I usually didn't interact with other staff members much, as I was at the front desk and they were in different departments.
When I reached home, the familiar sounds and smells greeted me. Mom was on a phone call in the living room, and Grandma was in the kitchen, already cooking dinner. It was our routine: she always handled the dinners, and Mom prepared the lunches.
"I made meat today!"
Grandma announced brightly the moment I stepped through the door. "I thought you would love it after such a long day.
"Hurry up and change so we can eat together."I had barely managed to kick off my shoes.
"You guys can eat before me," I said, managing a smile.
"I have clothes to wash first."I went straight to my room, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders. I dropped my backpack by the door and flopped onto my bed, the familiar springs protesting slightly beneath my weight. A welcome half-hour of peace stretched before me, a brief respite before the evening's tasks began. The hum of the washing machine downstairs was a comforting sound. I still remembered the days before we got it, the endless hours spent hand-washing clothes. Work , chores – the list seemed endless. Dinner was always a late affair, usually after nine o'clock. And the moment the last bite was swallowed, my nightly chore awaited: tackling the mountain of dishes and restoring order to the kitchen. It was a rhythm I knew well, a predictable cycle of responsibility and exhaustion.