I am tansa.
What is tansa? Let’s just say is a polite way of saying slave. So yes, I am a tansa.
My father always repeated to me when I started my job, don’t nag, don’t get angry in public, when they give you work, you work your ass off (excuse my language), keep your head down, and that’s how you’ll make it in life.
Honestly I’ve been trying, so hard, so much. I’ve been labeled tansa for quite a while now and accepted it as a fact. I’ve even been carrying it on my clothes and forehead for all to see and know.
I partially blame my parents for that, for the too good education I got, in respecting others, helping them out before helping myself, having this need to make everything perfect, for being raised in being extremely selfless and keeping my head down.
Unfortunately they forgot to teach me how to stand up for myself when people notice and start taking advantage of that fact.
I wish I could write more about what I’ve been going through, but my work ethics stop me at every word. I am still employed in the company and plan to at least finish a whole year in it. So respect first, the words and letters will come later.
Let me put it this way, here is a scene: I have a certain number of things to do with the help of a coworker, we have a deadline, coworker knows I’m a tansa, coworker takes his time, I finish my part and his, coworker takes credit, I keep my head down. Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, don’t nag, don’t say, don’t write, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t.
I’m not sure how far I’ll go living this way, and for the first time in my life I’m not sure if my father’s advice is correct. But for now all I can and am allowed to do is be the best tansa I can.