Wednesday, February 22, 2012

The Gamesmaker saga continues....

So, a while back I posted a blog about the Gamesmakers' uniform. And I mentioned that I was still waiting for my interview.
Well, I had it this month! I travelled up to London, and of course combined it with a visit to one of my good friends.
I had a ball naturally; stayed in London for two nights, and I feel that the interview went rather well. I have no regrets! Although there was one thing that I could have mentioned and may have been useful to them, but nevermind, I'm sure there is a very good reason why God let me forget during my interview so I am not going to fret.

They were interviewing me for a role in the Events service team; which is basically a fancy way of saying, customer service.
i.e, the big question they wanted to answer is am I a people person?

I have to say that I actually really enjoyed the whole experience. And even though I was pretty nervous about the interview, the guy who interviewed was so nice that I was able to completely relax.
I was slightly uncomfortable with the fact that everyone encouraged us to brag and boast about our skills and characteristics etc. But I got over that, my skill is more enthusiasm as opposed to qualifications to be honest. But I am pretty good at working in a team and getting things done.

So anyways, I won't have to wait long to find out if I have been offered a role, 6 weeks at the most!
I'll keep you posted! =D 

Thursday, February 02, 2012

squandered time

It was a spiteful thing to say; It was intended to injure and cause damage. It was regretted almost as soon as the last syllable came rolling off the tongue. But the regret did not outweigh the anger and rage welled deep within the heart. Those words were said in order to cut and wound. Anger was directed at her.
Any Mother would've been ashamed to hear such words of hate and passion falling so easily and freely from her daughter's mouth. But this girl's Mother was not present to correct her. All the wise words bestowed on this girl by her Mother were lost; silenced by passionate madness and frenzy.

Stupid now; reckless now; how often does the girl berate herself for such a display of teenage angst and ignorance? She lies awake and wonders to herself, "what was my provocation? I cannot recall. What did we quarrel over? It must have been important. I cannot remember. Or maybe I can, perhaps deep down - I know. But it was stupid, so superficial, so pathetic, that I refuse to acknowledge it. I deny."

Sometimes a suppressed memory will float up and engulf her. A joke shared, a sadness endured, a homework assignment flunked together. These paralyse her, making her feel worthless. The scarlet of embarrassment colouring her pale cheeks. Sometimes she overcomes her pride and thumbs uncommitted through the phone book. Wondering, hoping, terrified, ashamed.

Since that time she's made so many mistakes; and deep in her heart she knows, that the one person who would've dissuaded her, she cast aside like a rag doll, beat her down and hurt her.

That memory that hurts the most; the car pulls away. Carrying her off in the back seat, to a new life far, far away. She does not look back, she does not cast her eyes back at her attacker. She sits in injured pride, eyes straight ahead. Never looking back. And the attacker, held fast by her own stubborn pride, refuses to call out, to chase after the car, to beg forgiveness and a phone number.
The girl sneers at her teenage self these days. So proud; she let go of the dearest and sweetest friend, and for what?

Whenever she goes out, and sees young girls together she longs to warn them, to press on them the importance of friendship, and how much the loss of it can ache, like a life long toothache that no pill can remove.
She sits and watches them, as they stroll along, arm in arm, giggling, at ease. Just like they had been, and should have been still.

She allows a memory to sweep over her, like the tide it slowly creeps up the beach that is her consciousness, until she in completely immersed in it - She sits on the park bench, and her dear, sweet friend giggles and calls out to her, and calls out, again and again, like an echo, but not, her voice grows stronger and draws closer, instead of fading out.....The voice is so loud, too loud for a mere memory. But she dares not open her eyes for fear that the memory will fade and leave her flat and in emotional turmoil like before.
That voice so sweet and melodious, loving and kindly. She clings to the memory. She feels a soft hand upon her cheek; and the scent of a lily.

Her hand, her scent.

She slowly opens her eyes, and a face swims into view. Two kind beautiful brown sparkling eyes, the colour of milk chocolate, flecked with warm golden honey comb, now dewed with moisture. That face, wrinkled now and careworn, the gift age bestows on all - but it is her; dear, sweet friend.

She has found me, forgiven me, and sought me out. She searched for me. She missed me like her left foot. And a burden that weighed her shoulders takes flight, never to return. Forgiveness is like honey, sweet, and warm. Speech is impaired, only tears flow. But words are not needed now.

Now standing beneath a blossom tree; a beautiful spot. Natural beauty displayed all around. Spectacular and glorious. She would have liked it. A shadow of a small smile briefly touches her face, and then it disappears.
She reached her journey's end; she came to say goodbye.

She was the better woman; she forgave when the other could not. She embraced the one who cut her down. The victim sought out the attacker and loved her.

She loved me and she came back.

Now, I miss her even more.