A Letter To Editor

 “Go to sleep, Leave while I am still nice to you,” messaged the 21-year-old brutally honest editor. I obliged her words. I always do when editors instruct me. It is part and primarily because I was an editor for around 3 years. So I know how they think and I feel why they say things. Naturally, it is more of an easy task to say yes and move on. But this time, I didn’t. 

I dropped another topic on the think tank. She chased me - “You will die at my hands," she reacted on PM (Personal Message). I responded with a paragraph. What exactly is going on here? Is he nuts? A normal reader might be wondering by now. I need to make it clear! So that the reader gains an insight into the incident. I also want to handover an official apology for the varying first and third-person narrative that would ruin this word of emotions.

I logged out from work at 6 pm. But did I? God knows the truth. Because I answered question after question during intermittent hours. I did that because it is the responsibility drive that pulled me in while my name popped up on the screen. It was because I loved what I was doing and I learned to embrace it in a way only I can feel. While I do not wish to glorify the perils of overwork, I have to admit the luxury that a human gets when he does what he likes doing the most in his life - for me, it is writing. 

So is it a dream job? Nope. The dream is kilometers away but the destination is on the way. His dream is the hope he saw as a kid. He fancied a gentleman’s game some 20 years ago. That has kept him alive till his late twenties. Currently, he is doing a sport in his start of the thirties that captivates the essence of Americans. And he is doing it earnestly, giving it his dedicated effort with a smiling mindset and a never-say-die approach. 

Why is he doing donkey labor? He wants to not end up as a voice in the wilderness. He has to have a meaning. However, as a man with an economy of words and a limited vocab, most of his thoughts and many of his innate desires are confined to himself. We can summarize him as a modest man with an earnest desire and a beautifully original mind. 

Why this letter?

Because he read a beautiful write-up in the evening by a colleague. He shared it with his teammates and suggested that they refer it. His job is different. It is to craft titles with an elegant and depth touch, which he has not mastered. The sad reality is he will never ever master it in his whole life, even if he tries it for 20 years. Because he knows his limits and he knows the dynamics that navigate his thought process.

He is doing a thankless and opinionated job. Everyone there is an expert. He is a modest man with a passionate voice and a mysteriously original figure to many. But they silently admire his strengths and secretly ridicule his limits.

The man just walks away from the glitz and glamour. His favorite actor was a fancy material for many because he curbed his natural instinct to go vocal and decided to shut his mouth for others to open. Many times his friendly colleagues ask him to be vocal but he is tough and his words are beautiful more in writing than in person.

He loses clarity in excitement and tactfulness in honesty. His words are not always catchy, unlike his colleagues. But what separates him from them? It is the burning desire to know the quest for excellence. It is also the desire to live his life like a dream, where he smiles at setbacks and silently celebrates his landmarks.

What is the story with the editor?

He dropped a title and the editor passed a death warning. He replied to her with a detailed note.

"On a different note, I know I need to keep myself away after working hours. but sometimes these topics just come into my mind and I helplessly drag myself into everything. Especially if I am alone and done with all my hobbies. But some of my hobbies like writing have gone for a toss. The last piece of my blog was a month or two ago. Other hobbies like singing and walking are progressing. Travel plans took a halt due to a money crunch. But it will be sorted in August. It's been so long since I typed this long a message to anyone. But now I am doing this injustice to you🥲 sorry. But on a goodwill note, thanks for reminding me🙂 good night, kid.

He called her kid. He never called anyone that usage before. But he called her that in affection for the role she did in reminding him of his personal life and innate dreams. She was a reminder. A reminder of his dreams!

Thank You Nidhi!