After suffering an unpleasant episode of mild depression, which included recurrent thoughts of suicide through hanging, due to the pitiable state which lack of money induces, I have decided to quit my position as a nurse volunteer (which proved to be utterly fruitless, three months hence) and accepted an offer to work, of all places, in a construction site. I was only too glad to have received it, for there was absolutely nothing to be had in unnecessarily subjecting myself to the former, pursuing my dreams in futility while exacerbating the state of my diminished sense of pride and the abject inexistence of my personal finance; thus, I thought it fortunate indeed to finally have been graced with a real job with a generous and much-needed salary.

My job, which began almost immediately for the owner was most eager to start the construction right away, merely involved timekeeping (to ascertain that every worker starts and ends their duties in keeping with time) and supervising (to ascertain that everyone is attending their respective work and not involving themselves in other business other than that of which was specified to them which includes, but not limited to, standing idly or chatting excessively). I feel it is also within the scope of my job, though it wasn’t stated, to offer my help, even if unasked for, whenever the need arises. However, in time, manual labor became the principal focus of my employment for I found, during my daily rounds, that to be able to supervise the workers properly—one must join them.

In the course of three months, I have labored and toiled and have saved a humble sum of money (more than what I could have hope to obtain being a nurse) and have also acquired numerous cuts (one which was infected and proved such a nuisance as to require a month to heal) and minor bruises , brought back the vice of smoking, gained a wonderfully deep tan and a great appreciation for how fortunate I still am (which was the farthest thing from my mind the month before).

It is perhaps no secret that jobs which are physical in nature, such as to be found in a construction site, involves grueling, back-breaking work under the most oppressive of weather conditions (be it under the sun or under the rain) for minimal monetary compensation. Laborers, especially, who are engaged in most of the exhausting jobs (digging holes, shoveling sand and gravel, hauling bags of cement) only incur enough wage barely enough to get by a single day. Perhaps they are presented with no other choice, it is either go to work or go hungry—but I cannot help but admire their persistence and their ability to find amusement in their situation. I never found a bunch of people who talk about their tribulations in such a cheery manner (I always find them at it each morning). Gradually, I begin to feel that—all of my whining as to how my dreams have perfectly eluded me and all of my childish grumbling about my diminished sense of pride—now sound rather pathetic and insignificant. For the first time in a long while (I could not even remember when), I found myself with absolutely nothing to complain about.

I will not go into an extensive harangue over the reasons why there are such things as 'rich' and 'poor' and all of its social implications and what not (for I deem it absolutely useless as I do not have the solution). I only wish to impart the lesson that I have learned from those who 'toil under the sun'—which is to be grateful for what you already have and work hard for the things that you do not (whether they are things of necessity or luxury, really does not matter).