By the time I got home that evening, my legs were swollen so badly that I could barely move.
I dropped my bag and sat on my bed.
For a while, I just stayed there.
I had been standing for most of the day, and my body felt like it had finally reached its limit. My legs hurt when I moved them. Even walking around my room felt uncomfortable.
I knew I was supposed to go back the next day.
My house was quite far from the shop, so going to work was not just about the hours I spent there. Every morning, I had to make the journey from home to the shop, and every evening, I had to make the same journey back.
At first, getting the job had felt like a good thing.
I had graduated and was trying to figure out what came next. I needed money. There were bills to pay and things I needed to take care of, but I barely had any money. I had been looking for a job because sitting at home and watching my expenses pile up was not an option.
So when I finally got one, I was happy to have something.
The work was different from what I had imagined.
We were expected to stand for most of the day. Sitting down was a problem. My boss did not like seeing us sit, and we would get yelled at whenever we did.
There were days when we had to stand outside the shop calling people to come in.
We cleaned.
We arranged things.
Then we rearranged them.
When customers came, we attended to them. When there were no customers, there was still something to clean, arrange, or do.
There was hardly a moment when I could simply sit down and rest.
At the beginning, I tried not to complain.
I needed the job.
That thought kept coming back whenever I felt tired.
I needed the job.
So I kept going.
Every morning, I made the trip there. Every day, I stood. Every evening, I made the trip home.
Then my legs started swelling.
It became difficult to ignore.
Some days, by the time I returned home, all I wanted was to sit down. But even after sitting, my legs still hurt. I would look at the time and remember that I had to wake up and do the same thing again.
The day I sat on my bed and looked at my swollen legs, I knew I couldn’t keep doing it.
I didn’t have another job waiting for me.
I didn’t have another source of income lined up.
I just knew I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I quit.
After I left, the problem I had been trying to solve was still there.
I still needed money.
I still had things to pay for.
I was still trying to figure out what I could do with myself after graduation.
I had thought getting a job would make things feel more settled. Instead, I found myself back at the beginning, looking for another way.
That was when I started learning how to make nails.
I was starting from the beginning again.
There were things I didn’t know how to do yet. I had to watch, practise, make mistakes, and try again.
It wasn’t a replacement for the job in the way I had once imagined another job would be. There was no fixed salary waiting for me at the end of every month. I was learning a skill and hoping it could eventually become something I could earn from.
Some days, I would sit with the things I was learning and think about how different it was from the shop.
At the shop, most of my day was spent standing.
Now I was sitting down to learn something with my hands.
I didn’t know how long it would take before I became good at it.
I didn’t know whether it would become a business.
I didn’t know how much money it would eventually bring.
I only knew I needed something.
So I kept practising.
There are still days when I think about that job.
I remember the distance from my house to the shop.
I remember standing outside.
I remember cleaning and arranging things while waiting for customers.
And most of all, I remember coming home and sitting on my bed because my legs were too swollen for me to want to move.
Then I look at the things in front of me and start practising again.
This time, I am sitting.