Voices of corporate ghosts!

Flames of self-determination began the moment I realized that I was the only one with the will to rise to the occasion. If I sacrificed, I'd be a part of something great, I knew this. The world told me that if I worked hard enough I would not want for anything. I was to propel my family name to new heights. I was to carry the torch from my parents to my great-grand children. I had a plan, and the flames of hope in my core propelled me forward. Never starved for anything else but to be and to achieve. You see, when you are raised by have-nots the world reminds you of it often. It strips you off of your worth and spits on you. I was that girl no one saw, no one heard, and never remembered. The amorphous figure moving amongst other ghosts. No matter the light in my eyes, my presence was overshadowed by something else, the shame of a vague background laced with penury and privation. Sometimes this shame morphed into guilt, and I would look up in the sky and say, "it's my fault." I should do something about it. I would cry to my fits in the depth of the night wishing I could be more. So, for many years I stood by my word. I rose well before dawn and retired late into the night trying to find a way out. And of course, the onlookers plied my path with meaningless praises. Some of them toxic, some of them half-useful. Keep going, you go girl, go get it, you deserve it! I was to be the knight in shinning armor in my own story. Why not? The earth did not speak when I spent countless nights ploughing through spreadsheets, preparing for the next exam, the next internship, the next job opportunity that will turn into a long coveted career - I was this close. Always this close. This close to an unreachable goal that I pursued so relentlessly. I knew no better than what I felt was expected of me. And when men in high positions tanked Wall Street in 08, it was my fault. I wasn't working hard enough. As usual I went back to a beast mode, a ferocious pursuit of goals that were getting farther and farther away from me. I met every hurtle with a grin and more words of affirmation recited in front of broken mirrors. Love? What was love to me? Love was a reserved privilege for those girl who were carved out of manikins. Victoria Secret angels of the world, I was nothing of the sort. I was born a worker and the world told me that my worth was tied to my work. So, that's why I never fell in love, never even contemplated it. No one in their right mind falls in love with a function. At least that's what the world said and the earth did not interject. I stayed a lady in waiting inside poorly ventilated cubicles pushing paper, given orders, dictated to. Do this, do that, the deadline is approaching soon. The meaning of life careened past my peripheral view while I was bogged down in the morass of making others rich. Bosses who snapped, threw tantrums, entitled men-children who've never heard a "no" in their lives. Yes, men who threw office supplies every which way telling girls like me that we are diametrically opposed to joy. I was to derive joy from my work. And thus, I worked. I worked for my parents who were never given the chance. I worked for those with privileges to excuse themselves. I worked for the men who sat at the top of the totem pole with impossible demands. I worked for the CEOs and CFOs who smiled all the way to the bank never caring an iota about the welfare of those at the bottom of the ladder. I worked so that the big boys with penthouses for offices can get their yachts custom built in Amsterdam all the while threatening to destroy world heritage sites. I worked so that most of you can spend time online insulting others for no reason at all. I worked for billionaires, true chameleons whose stress levels only reached a boiling point at every tax season. I lost a lot of sleep at night bolstering companies whose foundations were not built with me in mind. I worked for lady bosses, A-type women who stared you down until you felt the skin melting off of your bones. I was hurting badly, psychologically. Food tasted like salt. The voice that propelling me forward over the years when the last reservoirs of strength were depleted also left me. Overwhelmed with tough decisions above my pay grade, yet making half the pay. No days off, I count even take a sick leave. Always reminded that down here the luxury of lollygagging did not exist. They said keep grinding, be the team player, we'll clock you out if you drop down and die though. They didn't care about how hard I fought for this. And how hard I fought for them too. And when the pandemic hit, I blamed myself. Did I do enough for everyone? Yet none of them ever asked, "Are you okay?"