Knicq

Hate and rage are terrible emotions. They are corrosive in nature, so when I fight to keep them inside me they eat me up. When I let them come out, they threaten to rip off the many masks I don to myself and many people, and bare the real me – the ugly, seething, pitiable weakling that I am, to myself and all. Then, shame descends – like the dew in this country, leaving everything drenched and sodden. Rust sets in.

For years, I have fought successfully to keep hate out. Rage has won more often than I care to admit to myself, but it has. I knew I had a problem, but I knew I had it under control on the hate front. And now, suddenly, I am not so sure. It has been only a couple of days, but I have been tried and found wanting.

It was bad enough that I lost my sense of humor. I did have one, I know that. And, now, to lose to hate. To be hateful. It is such a terrifying thought, such a terrible scenario. It is the fear of the worst that becomes the strength of my resolve to keep fighting.

I respect myself too much to be driven to such pettiness. I know better than to think that the object of my rage, and the target of my hate, is hateful. I know people are driven to hateful actions by circumstances, and everyone has reasons for what he/she ever does – perfectly valid reasons. But, knowing it all changes little. Rage boils my blood, and hate gnaws at my heart. Disappointment is greatest after all when it comes from close quarters.

My last employer is a grossly unfair man. He exploits people shamelessly, and is thick-skinned enough to even convince himself that he is a fair man. In my own naiveté, I allowed him to take me for a royal ride for a year and a half, but when after having given him the benefit of doubt for far more than anyone should ever be given, I decided to call it quits rather than work for him any longer, he resorted to what we call “Auche hathkande”. It has been five months now, and he continues to try my patience. He has even had the audacity to sit me down and tell me to my face that not only did he not owe me anything, but that if we ever sat and did the math, I probably would owe him something. A grossly unjust statement when you factor in the fact that in the least he owes me six months of accrued increments, and in a fair world he would owe me a third of whatever one particular business made, and accrued salaries for eight months from two companies which he had me running for him for absolutely free of charge. And tons of apologies, and shiploads of professional gratitude.

He has driven me into fits of momentary rage. But I have never hated him. He is directly responsible for sapping two years of my life, but I do not hate him.

This is what makes this so unacceptable. I cannot begin hating; not now. If I did not hate a person who has actually done me harm, how can I hate another for saying a few things?

Fortunately, there is love. Lots of it from lots of people, and lots and lots of it for so many people. And it works. If only rage would not make me forget this important detail.