One's Imperfect Profession

Prologue

(I used to have a Frank & Reader book but deleted it and so I decided after all these months that I would make the same book again, only a different plot! The drawing I made below was for the old book and wanted to show you all!)

(Here is the current one up close in comparison!)

(Apologies for the interruption! The book will officially be starting now!)

(Rewritten)

"Ooh, look at you. My child is all grown up," your father held your shoulder, smiling the widest you had ever seen. You had the feeling of bitter sweetness as tears were seen settling. Your father's smile was quick to falter by this due to concern. "Hey, what's wrong, kiddo?"
The question set you off bawling your eyes out as your father pulled you into a hug without question. Your whole life flashed before your eyes—how your father raised you, the way he'd always be supportive, you could never forget that and wouldn't even trade such a life for the world. How could you? Nobody would, you hoped.
"T-Thank you, dad for everything," you quivered through tears. Your words struck him, making his eyes water up as well. He blinked back his tears while rubbing your back to comfort you. In an attempt to stray you away from noticing his mutual feelings, said, "Any-anytime, (Y/N)," but failed for his voice hinted a slight quiver. You pulled away, surprised. It has been long he cried, ever since his wife, your mother, passed. However, you didn't complain and instead is glad your assumptions about his inability to show vulnerable emotions after the incident were wrong.
Hearing the speakers announce your flight that was about to take off, you looked at your dad and said, "I have to go now."
Your father nodded his head in approval. This moment took him back to when you first began school. Watching as you ran excitedly towards your elementary school but fixated your eyes onto him waving frantically. How energetic you were to learn and form friendships. How could time make such a swift transition to this day. The day you became one independent and travel far. Somewhere he won't be the one dropping you off at.
"Good luck, sport. I love you," said your father.
"I love you too, dad," you responded.

This was officially the next chapter of your life.

- 1 Year Later -

While being scolded and yelled at by your boss for spilling coffee on the carpet and yourself, you would've felt deeply terrible about your actions and make the action to quickly clean up the mess. Now, you don't have the energy to make the effort. You stood there with dead eyes on the ground while your boss kept going off on you. He was the only loud one in the building but you somehow could hear just his mumbled voice rambling on.
When you began working in this company, there was a gleam in your eyes—expecting, dreaming, wanting. Though those expectations got easily crushed underneath your boss's feet day after day right in front of you, even when you try to make things right.
Night and night again, you couldn't get a single good night's rest due to the stress. During those nights the first couple of weeks starting work, you'd be thinking about what tomorrow would lay for you. What your mind gets filled up with when that optimism had finally blown out is blank. Mindless machines are what you and your coworkers were at that point.

One night upon your arrival back to your so-called home, your bag slipped out of your shoulder and you began stomping and punching the closest wall. You threw your bag across the apartment while angrily mumbling about how bad your work is and how all you wish to be treated as is a human being. Pure rage was all the feeling that enveloped you.
After a brief while, you manage to take most of your anger out and your legs felt weak as you fell to the floor slightly panting. You didn't even notice, but tears formed in your eyes until feeling the streams though you didn't bother to care. Taking a little break, you afterwards stood up and while you did so, vibrations were felt in your pocket where your phone is. You wondered who it was as slid it out, eyes widening after taking a first glance at the screen.
"Why now?" you harshly whispered and quickly wiped the remaining tears before pressing the answer button and placing the phone next to your ear.
    "Hello, anak! How are you doing?" your father cheerfully spoke through the other end.
You felt guilty for how your father is so happy to talk while you're in a state of despair. You didn't want him to witness you in this condition but now's not the moment to keep up your facade and to accept the fact you won't continue casually through this interaction. So instead of lying, you took one last sigh, making your father suspicious, and answered truthfully.
"Hi, dad. Yeah, uhm, I'm. . not doing good right now," you began.
"What? What happened?" your father asked, clearly worried.
"Honestly, I don't know what to do. Boss is always horrible and I can't get a good night's rest because of it, and I'm stuck! I'm stuck in this horrible job since I can't look for another that has just as much good pay as this one does."
You took a shaky breath. "I am so. . so tired, dad."
"I didn't wanna tell you when I needed help," you added, "because then I'd be a burden. You're suppose to rest and this is the way that I can repay you for everything you've done for me."
You couldn't see your father, but he is very concerned by your words, as much as he's moved by your immense care for his well-being.
"(Y/N), just because I raised and took care of you for so many years, doesn't mean you'll repay that by neglecting your needs. I'm still your dad. I'm suppose to be your support system when you need it. Even if you're an independent adult now because that's the whole point of parenting," your father reassured.
"When you were born that day, I just know I wouldn't regret raising you with your mother," he said—a voice full of sentiment recalling the day you came onto Earth.
"Now here you are. Your mother would've been so proud of you either way."
A soft smile creeped upon your lips by your father's words alongside the thought of your mother watching over and seeing how you've progressed. His description for your mother's encouragement for you was spot on, making the thought more meaningful.
"And I'm just as proud of you too, (Y/N). I'll always be here for you."
It was silent on your end. You've waited for those exact words in a lowly time of yours like now. And because of it, tears began forming. You continued and asked, "Well, what should I do now?"
Your father said, "You know what I think you should do?"
You hummed.
"Break the cycle. I think that is the right thing to do," he advised.
The answer had honestly left you disappointed. There was a glimmer of hope for words that'll have you cope with your situation than to leave this high-paying job.
"But, dad. Again, this is the only job I know that has a lot to offer in money."
"Your health is something you'd rather sacrifice for money? (Y/N), if you truly love a job, money wouldn't be your main worry. A win-win, right?" your father gently tried logically explaining.
You shook your head, knowing money's the backbone to one's living and if one's job is loss, no matter how much they tend to enjoy it, the money's always the main worry in end's meet.
"Of course I'll worry about the money at some point! Love a job or not, money is money."
"I know, I know," your father hummed. "Money is a need. But I didn't say it's your main worry—the first worry. After finding your true passion in a career or job, you know money wouldn't be a problem because you won't pay attention to it as you are thriving. And when you're thriving, there's no possible way you'll lose the job, no? Do you understand what I mean?"

You pondered about what your father said and can agree on it. If you had to be truthful, his words went deep into your brain to the point of thinking about what other jobs you could have you truly enjoy and pays just as well as your current job.
"I understand," you sighed a little content.
The only issue is—where will you go? Other jobs in the city, as you know, aren't your peeked interests.
"(Y/N)," your father's voice spoke, "I have to leave now. Work's tomorrow and I gotta sleep early. Next time?"
Disappointed but understanding, you half-heartedly smiled and nodded, even if your father couldn't see you. It was only a way you could truly convince yourself that you were talking to him face-to-face as well as a habit.
"Yeah, sure dad. Next time."
"Okay then. Don't strain yourself now. Take care and I love you."
You responded, "I love you too, dad."
And before you could hang up, your father said last second, "Remember what I said."
You chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, dad. I gotcha. I love you now."
"I love you too, (Y/N)," your father replied before the call had ended and leaving your apartment silent once again.

"Money wouldn't be my main worry," you repeated the words of your father's to yourself.