A/N: This is my entry to the Queen's Commonwealth Essay Competition 2018. Unlike my attempt in the last oneshot, I managed to earn Bronze for this one. I thought I would share it for my lovely readers. Enjoy!
'Healthy, Wealthy, Happy, and Free': is one more important than the others?
‘Did I close the windows?’
Roxanne Lim, a woman aged twenty-five, wondered as she was merely five minutes into her journey to her office by foot.
Click, click, click.
The sound of her uncomfortable court shoes clicking, as they came into contact with the Singaporean concrete streets, echoed in her mind. Every breeze that blew, every step she took, every sound she heard, Roxanne paid heavy attention to.
‘Is someone tailing me?’
Upon hearing a snap of a tree branch, she could not help but turn around. Her head whipped back at a speed that would have broken her neck, had it been any faster. Scanning the landscape, Roxanne chided herself for overreacting.
‘Did I forget to lock the door, or switch the lights off?’
The manager questioned herself, entertaining her initial paranoia once again. Whenever Roxanne got this worried, tuning everything else out was a tendency of hers. Although a surge of unease was compelling Roxanne to rush back to her apartment to do a quick check, she knew better than to waste her time.
‘Five times, Roxanne. You checked every square inch of the house, over and over!’
The Singaporean was frustrated with herself. Perhaps it was the country’s culture to be extra careful, or as the South East Asian would say, to be “kiasu”, that had instilled this anxiety in Roxanne. It could also possibly be her upbringing that brought out her worrying tendencies.
Of course.
Her family history of anxiety disorder should have been a huge warning to Roxanne, ringing immediate alarm bells in her already anxious mind. In addition, she had been diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, as well as Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder when she was fifteen.
‘Could there be other genetic issues that I inherited?’
Roxanne had just reached her office. Her colleagues had placed work files all over her desk, knowing that the manager would have organize them by herself regardless of whether they arranged the files or not.
Dismissing and mistaking her Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder as the nature of a “kiasu” person was normal for her peers, given the Singaporean work environment.
‘Are these files stacked according to which is most urgent to least?’
Despite being used to the wary stares which her colleagues would give her, Roxanne felt uneasy. This uneasiness was permanently engraved in her. “Is there something wrong?”
Frantically, they would shake their heads no.
This grew her paranoia, “No, something is up. What is it?”
Her colleagues insisted that nothing was wrong. The manager scowled and began to probe them. Finally, someone spoke up. “You’re always spending so much time checking and checking, to the point that some of us have to work overtime to make up for it.”
Another continued, “I think it is good to be careful but you do it in excess, manager. Some of us even suspect that you have OCD.”
Strike one.
“Either that, or you’re a control freak.”
Strike two.
Even some of the most faint-hearted soul said her piece, “With all due respect, manager, you have shown symptoms of Anxiety.”
Roxanne had become completely quiet. She said no reply, showed no reaction and did no response. Doing nothing was her intention, for it was strongest front she could put up.
“Other departments are progressing faster with more efficient managers!”
Strike three.
BANG! The door slammed shut.
An eerie silence bestowed upon them as their usually optimistic manager stormed out of the office. The weight of her chilling departure hung in the air.
Click, click, click.
The sound of her footsteps were fast and seemed to accelerate as she passed some other people on her way up to the roof garden. No, not to end herself. At least, not yet.
“Fresh air, for goodness sake!”
Roxanne sat on a bench. Saying that her mind was not in a pretty place, is a rather large understatement.
Recollecting her thoughts was a nightmare.
Paranoia
cruel creature
In cahoots with fear
Everything has to be good- no
There is nothing but pure perfection
No room for any hint of mistake or error or flaw
This world has no space for unintentional accidents
Nor does it have the capacity to house any unforgiven crime
If you are mentally unsound you are labelled as a defective person
That stereotype will get you nowhere at all in life as people will avoid you
Other than the Institute of Mental Health- more like the rehabilitation cage
Damned you will be if you ever landed in that cursed place of a hell hole
You would not even be able to get a decent job if you ever return
Hiring companies will take one look and dismiss without a flinch
In this society only money can make the world go round
Without it you are deemed as useless and unhappy
Is that not the case- that poor means sadness
Health services need money provisions
Weddings require expensive dowry
Even jail offers bail for freedom
Is this system not messed up
Am I not messed up
… Who is not?
YOU ARE READING
o n e s h o t s
Random"Stand alone stories that have found a home to reside in other than my melody - filled mind."
