Corporate or creative?

This post may turn out to be shitty because I'm in such a rush (my cousins and I are taking turns to use one laptop), but I've got something to vent about and wild horses can't stop me! I just wish I had my laptop with me the second I needed to furiously type away, because a bit of my angst has faded, but here goes anyways. So, two days ago, I had to attend a written test for Petronas, for a Senior Writer position. And here's the thing - my heart wasn't in it. My mother had been pestering me about it for weeks before, with her Aainaa-have-you-sent-your-resumes and her my-friend's-son-is-working-in-Petronas-and-he-enjoys-it-SOOOO-MUCH!" Yes, I know it's Petronas, yes I know it's an incredible opportunity, yes I know the benefits are AMAZING. But it's CORPORATE WRITING. I'm not saying I may not be interested in corporate writing at all, but at the moment there are creative things I want to do, things I'm passionate about. I have always felt that a person is successful when they're doing something they LOVE doing and they excel at doing it.

So on the morning of the alleged 'written test' day, I woke up with this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I got out of bed, and decided to tell my mother one last time that I really didn't feel like going. So I did. And I got yelled at. I then proceeded to find something 'corporate-ish' to wear and I couldn't find my black, high-waisted pencil skirt. Crap. Rummaged and rummaged, finally decided to wear my sister's black work pants and blazer. Which was fine, if it wasn't for the fact that the pants were too short. I swear, when i sat down, the hem of the trousers almost came up to my knees. So, that was bad enough for me. You see, when I hate what I'm wearing, it affects my mood. If my shoes don't go with my outfit, I start getting foul mouthed and PMS-like, I can't help it. 

Rushed to KLCC, got to the Petronas towers, and realised I wasn't sure which bloody tower my written test was in. Called The Boyfriend, he tells me it's tower 2, took the visitor's pass, scanned my handbag for bombs, took the lift to level 45, got out and changed lifts (they have lifts which only operate for odd floored levels) to get to level 69. Yes, I found it a little humourous when I first found out that my written test was to be held at level 69. Anyway. Got out from the lift at said level....and lo and behold, i was facing an empty office floor. Great. Called The Boyfriend again, he checks my e-mail and tells me sorry, it's at tower 1. I suppressed the urge to scream at him because I knew it was my fault for not double checking in the first place. So rushed into the lift to get to level 45, got out, changed lifts to ground floor, gave back visitor's pass, practically ran to tower 1's reception counter, got the right visitor's pass, scanned handbag for bombs, took lift to level 45, changed lift at level 45...and FINALLY made it to level 69. Apologised profusely to the human resource guy, breathlessly explaining the mess up, all the while hoping he wouldn't notice my short pants which came up to my ankles. He then led me to a room with a single laptop on the table, and a piece of paper which had the essay topics of what I could choose to write about. Part 1 required me to write an essay of not less than 800 words, and part 2 was a sub-editing test, where I had to basically, edit. He then tells me I had an hour and a half to do both, and proceeded to leave the room. I took a deep breath and stared at the essay topics.

Crude gas and oil. Right. 

The room suddenly felt like it was closing in on me. There I was, with my ankle-pants, staring at essay topics regarding crude oil. I stared at the paper and it stared back at me. I stared at the laptop screen. I stared back again at the paper. I started getting angry and frustrated. What was I doing there? I didn't want to BE THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. I started wishing I had a brown paper bag to breathe into, but I didn't. I attempted to write something, but by the time I got to 200 words, I had ran out of things to say about crude oil. I knew I had to get out of there. So I got up and told human resource guy I was leaving. He seemed confused, but I left before he could say anything. Got into the lift, got out at level 45, called The Boyfriend and started sputtering and half-yelling about why I was even THERE in the first place, ignoring curious stares from corporate people. 

I was angry. I was annoyed that I was forced to even be there. But most of all, I was sad.

I was sad because my mother had pushed me to apply for a corporate job when clearly, I had gotten a new job which I might actually enjoy doing, a job which allowed me to express my creativity. I know she wants what's best for me, she's my mother - but I was sad that she didn't trust me in making my own career choices. I was sad that she didn't hear me out when I told her, exasperatedly, that corporate writing wasn't exactly what I wanted to do at the moment.  Most of all, I was really, really, sad that my own mother wouldn't listen to me when I tried talking to her, that she raised her voice when I said I really didn't want to do this. Did she seem happy for me when I first told her I got a job at BluInc? Nope. 

I still feel sad as I'm typing this. Will she ever listen?

Sigh.