Not long ago I was helping a friend to set up a firewall. I saw a menu item short circuited my imaginary muscles labeled as “Road Warrior Setup”. What I imagined: A Mad Max-ian warrior, in a battered battlecar with spikes, defending the network data; dodging bullets left and right. But this term, Road Warrior, had a more mundane meaning: It meant people accessing the corporate network via VPN – Virtual Private Network – tunnels.

The need for enabling workers to access corporate network stems the need for working non-stop. I know the argument, “the world doesn’t sleep – why should we? There is money to make, biz to transact” but the end result is very interesting. People wired to their computers in the coffee places, shisha parlors, even cinemas – wish I was kidding here. Office meant anywhere with a wi-fi connection. The kicker is, it doesn’t even affect their salary! This is akin to see a hamster, injected with a creative mix of metaamphetamines and crack cocaine, on a wheel. Going on and on, faster in every cycle until it dies from malnutrition or infarctus.


When I was training as a coder I didn’t believe in the concept of burning out. In way I think about it like I thought about a car crash, you often hear about it but never think it in context with yourself.

I think the moment of self-realization that yes I’ve burned out was in another friday, two years ago. While doing some routine data juggling on the production database and a colleague, called me from the other office for some niggling problem and I practically blasted her out of existence – just because my concentration wavered. I mean as overkills go it was like sending out B52s to carpetbomb an area with napalm laced with depleted uranium capsules and AGENT ORANGE just because they made a border crossing.

Nobody should make himself force to do a job. If you cuss inwardly whenever you see a client or a tool you use to do your job – it is time to switch to something else I think. Because in the long run it will turn into self mutilation. Worse, because it is a mental mutilation, the scars never heal but leave a phantom pain.


Turns out I became a third year student in my second Bachelor’s programme: International Relations. I am still surprised because I took 9 courses this semester, successfully passing them with high grades; skyrocketing my GPA to near 3.00.

Never was an honor student, I think this semester it is a distinct possibility which amuses me to no end because all I did was a superficial reading of the books they gave us.

Photo by Randy Laybourne on Unsplash