Category: Memoir Type: Non-Fiction
Copyright: Jan 1, 2008
ON MY BEHALF documents the misadventures of a young Vietnamese woman who moved from the Bay Area to Southern California to become a successful writer.
ON MY BEHALF is a quirky, compelling memoir documenting the misadventures of a young Vietnamese woman who moved from the Bay Area to Southern California to escape her past and pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a successful writer. It seemed simple enough until she actually met the real world and encountered a series of bizarre events that in turn, convoluted her claim to fame.
In the process, she fell in love and lost complete touch with a man before their romance had a chance to blossom. He became the only face she looked for in a crowd and her search for him inadvertently influenced every key decision, making her mishaps even more remarkable.
Frank and hilarious, the author offers her unconventional views on racism, social facades, dysfunctional romances and the untrained art of finding yourself.
ON MY BEHALF is available for purchase on Amazon.com
Taking on a grand flight attendant career on the search for the man of my dreams sounded romantic and all until the fairytale was sliced short, its ending handed to me in the form of a yellow envelope with a fancy letter stating that they were wrong about me. Turned out, I wasn’t qualified to serve sodas on a plane.
Weeks thereafter, I could not help but feel nauseated by the guilt and inexplicable hopelessness that plagued my every waking minute. Being fired didn’t exactly inspire good feelings. It felt like a mind-numbing slap to the face and I could hardly find the will to get out of bed to face the reality of my current situation. The loss put my principle in serious question.
Did I not take pride in my work?
Did I not put up a good enough fight for the job?
Did I put up a fight at all or did I subconsciously let it go?
What the hell was wrong with me?
Though flight attending was never a dream of mine, I still had to wonder whether my negligence and lack of integrity were grounds for this recent damage.
What’s a ‘dream job’ anyway, I wonder? Who dreams to work? If anything, my dream is not to labor at all. I want to do things solely on my terms and only when I felt like it. As in, I only want to get up and move when my butt and limbs are stiff from non-movement. I didn’t want to have to do anything.
Forget picket fences and those creepy giant poodles, that’s the real American Dream. But what a dandy, cotton-candy world it would be if bills, rent, gas and other living expenses could wait.
Dream job or not, the fact was that someone entrusted me with a paid duty, a rather fine opportunity, and I carelessly did away with it like it didn’t matter.
For what now seemed like a trait, I was scared witless. My face was blanching from the fear of knowing less and less by the minute. This state of affairs, save the fact that there were no physical bullies, felt much like what I felt in the ladies’ room one Friday night of long ago.
Bully Me Not
After graduating high school, I half-heartedly attended junior college while waiting tables at a casual dining restaurant.
Toward the end of a demanding swing shift, I wearily took a restroom break and in the process of lathering my hands, I heard hollering at the other end of the restroom. In the mirror, I saw the petite bus lady fearfully clutching two rolls of toilet tissue to her chest. The booming voice belonged to the gargantuan one of two Caucasian girls, skimpily dressed with silly corn-rolls for hair and a livid face wild with streaks of makeup. Which by the way, I don’t even know why she bothered. You can’t fix ugly.
The big girl enunciated her words with sheer condescension, "I said we needed paper towels you dumb beaner, not ass-wiping paper!"
"What the fuck did she bring toilet paper for?" the smaller girl instigated.
"Because she’s a fucking bandaho," sneered the giant bitch, fully aware that I was watching them in the mirror reflection. She straightened her back and towered over the busser who was tearing up with fright, "I swear to God, how the fuck do you wetbacks figure you could cross the border, steal our jobs and can’t even do it right?"
Terrified, the busser backed out of the restroom, cautious not to turn her back on the antagonistic pair.
My face grew pale with unspoken rage that dated as far back as when I was seven, when I stood by in silence.
In a flash, I saw my younger brother crying for help as the horrible kids next door strangled him within an inch of his life. I was too scared to retaliate. My brother could have died… but I was too fucking scared.
Sherlyn Powell opens up about her love and devotion to her family and the overwhelming repercussion when communication breaks down. Heartbroken and distraught she learns to release her prayer and realize with faith God would reunite her family.
