The Corner of Irrelevance

By Tess Neis

The Corner of Irrelevance is a funny yet poignant look at one womans journey through a life of mediocrity, of big dreams and little successes, of failures and struggles, and finally, of acceptance and peace.

When she marries, everyone says she has finally earned her happy ending. But as she starts her new life in a foreign land, the obvious becomes even more apparentthat she will always be average, ordinary, and middle of the road. As she struggles to fit into a culture that is intolerant to outsiders, she painfully realizes that perhaps a mediocre life is not worth living, that death is the only possible end to a lacklustre life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503509221

Tess Neis

TESS NEIS lives in Sydney with her family. Her first book, My Own Winter Sun, was published in 2012.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Tess Neis.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015913546

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-0920-7

                Softcover        978-1-5035-0921-4

                eBook             978-1-5035-0922-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/30/2015

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Matter of Greatness

Chapter 2: The Problem with Mediocrity

Chapter 3: The Paradox of Death

Chapter 4: After 10 Kilos

Chapter 5: The Telltale Signs

Chapter 6: 50th

Chapter 7: The Boundaries of Friendship

Chapter 8: To Be or Not to Be

Chapter 9: The Rebound

Chapter 10: The Unexpected Journey

Chapter 11: Web of Lies

Chapter 12: Unfinished Business

Chapter 13: The Ones That Got Away

Chapter 14: Those Who Can’t, Teach

Chapter 15: First Brush

Chapter 16: Mr. Woollybutt

Chapter 17: The Road to Recovery

Chapter 18: Miss Congeniality

Chapter 19: Alternate Universe

Chapter 20: Becoming Mrs Woollybutt

Chapter 21: Cautious Optimism

Chapter 22: The Ocean of Becoming

Chapter 23: No

Chapter 24: She’ll Be Right

Chapter 25: The Other Woollybutts

Chapter 26: The Violinist

Chapter 27: The Wedding Present

Chapter 28: The Unlikely Friend

Chapter 29: Colour Blind

Chapter 30: Days of Joy

Chapter 31: The Homecoming

Chapter 32: Broken Ladder

Chapter 33: Duty Free

Chapter 34: Black Hole to Nowhere

Chapter 35: Bloody Asian

Chapter 36: A Girl Named Maria

Chapter 37: Double Trouble

Chapter 38: Parenting 101

Chapter 39: The Louis Vuitton Story

Chapter 40: Connected by Nokia

Chapter 41: Kitchen Witch

Chapter 42: Take Away Queen

Chapter 43: The Cleaning Lady

Chapter 44: The Flight

Chapter 45: Heart Be Not Proud

Chapter 46: Hard Road to Forgiveness

Chapter 47: An Inconvenient Truth

Chapter 48: David and Goliath

Chapter 49: According to Meagan

Chapter 50: To Be Young Again

Chapter 51: The End of the Line

Chapter 52: Stories Never Told

Chapter 53: Eulogy

Chapter 54: The Corner Office

Chapter 55: In Retrospect

Chapter 56: After the Storm

Chapter 57: Platform 8

A massive thank you to my daughter, Mary, for allowing me use of the book title.

To

Duda and Wowo

Without whom there would be no me

Sometimes I am funny

Sometimes I am not

Sometimes I am crazy

Sometimes I am more than that…

-EE

CHAPTER 1

The Matter of Greatness

Greatness is a big word. Greatness is a big ask. But many people, I believe, are destined to be great. Among the myriad faces in every corner of the world are men and women born to achieve what others can only dream of. These people are born to lead, born to excel. They are born to set new records, born to empower lesser folks. They are born to impress, and yes, born to rule.

I have read about the great philosophers of ancient times and their big minds and grand ideas. I have heard about the great writers and their amazing prose and poetry. I have met great artists and their master pieces. I have seen great scientists and their even greater inventions that changed the way we all live today. I have come across great government leaders who stand by their principles and beliefs. I have read about their incarcerations for standing up against tyranny and hypocrisy in society, and for fighting for their natural right to democracy. I have encountered brave soldiers who fight for the freedom of their country and the beliefs for which their country represents.

For some reason, or so I think, there are a few in society that are wont to think that greatness is not innate. They are those who believe that one’s significance is largely dependent on a number of factors – families, peers, environment, dream, and will. That one’s life is shaped by those around him has indeed been said many times.

Of all these factors, it is perhaps will that eventually decides and prods the individual to succeed in his chosen field. For without will no one rises to the heights and glories of greatness.

So it becomes a common sight to see musicians perfecting their craft by constantly looking for ways to improve their music. The will to succeed and the drive and desire to be better than the rest all come together to make that one particular dream a reality.

Then again, I may be wrong.

For what of those who go through life without ever being the best in their lot? What of those who breeze through their short insignificant existence without ever achieving anything worthy of an accolade or honour? The so-called regular folks who struggle with everything they do for one reason or another? Those that really try but never succeed? Those that do not stand out in the crowd? Those that never become the shining stars? Those that forever take on supporting roles? The so-called mediocres of society?

Is a life of mediocrity a life well lived? A life worth living?

CHAPTER 2

The Problem with Mediocrity

By almost any measure, I have led a mediocre life. I course through my existence as a middle-of-the-range performer at best. My virtues are few and far between and my vices are timeless.

Average, typical, normal…these are words that pretty much sum up who and what I am. Average is safe. No one questions what is normally typical. I don’t like rocking the boat, neither am I comfortable with trouble. So I put in my time, do what I’m told, and hope that someday, things will work out all right.

Hope, I think, is the only thing I’m good at.

Hope that my work station will transform into an office one day.

Hope that my hard work will earn me a promotion…and that needed raise.

My pea brain tells me I am just one of them…a school of fish, a swarm of bees, an army of caterpillars.

I am no different from everyone else. I am safe. I am secure.

The thing is, at night when I finally lie down on my bed to sleep and I think about my day, I cringe at the idea that I am just one of the so many. I wince at the thought of expectations half achieved, of risks not taken, of never really being able to live a full life…because of the fear of failure and defeat.

Because it is so much easier to be regular…common…mediocre.

Was I born mediocre or did I simply choose to be one?

Will I always be middle management?

The problem with mediocrity is that at some point in time it brings one to scrutinize his life…his path; and when such scrutiny results to nothing but regret, what choice does anyone have but to end his worthless life?

Mediocrity scares the living hell out of me. But mediocrity is easy.

So is dying.

CHAPTER 3

The Paradox of Death

Not that I want to die, definitely not. But the notion of death as the end result of a not so spectacular life is starting to grow on me. It is, for some strange reason, starting to make sense.

For isn’t death the ultimate consequence of childhood dreams set aside in favour of a secured life? Isn’t death the natural end result of the pain of defeat? Isn’t the person who dies relieved of suffering?

Like a mirror, death shows me my fears and distorted images of myself.

On closer examination of my so-so life, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that death is the only answer to my insignificant existence.

Death can be the only culmination to who I am and what my life stands for.

But in saying this, death still frightens me to no end. For it means the end of my possibilities, the end of my world. While I constantly think about it, I have yet to come to terms with it.

Where death is concerned, I am the dog that forever barks but never bites.

Death is grand and for one who thrives on mediocrity, there is a sacred horror about everything grand. Any idea as lofty as death is almost too appalling. In the republic of mediocrity, death, even if undoubtedly the only worthy finish to a lacklustre life, is dangerous.

Dangerous is not in the vocabulary of the mediocres of this world.

So I would rather soak and suffer in my corner of irrelevance and let my mediocrity achieve an inglorious success than strive for the highest standards in every single phase of my life.

Death will inevitably come. I don’t choose to die. It will eventually happen anyway.

Death will come for me when it’s ready.

CHAPTER 4

After 10 Kilos

I started thinking about death and mortality more seriously on my fiftieth birthday. I was in the words of my daughter…old and fat. Not exactly the kind of thing I would have wanted to hear on such a big day.

Heck! I wasn’t always ten kilos overweight, or grey-haired, for that matter. Once upon a time I was described as pretty and charming…and petite. I was never beautiful by supermodel standards but when I was seven years old, I was crowned at school as Miss Grade Two. Beat that.

Out of the twenty girls in our classroom, I was the unanimous choice to wear the coveted crown and carry the title. I could still vividly picture the baby blue chiffon gown with tiny flowers around the hem that my mother had especially made for me for that grand occasion. I remember getting on the G.I. jeep that was disguised as my float. It was decorated with yards upon yards of coloured crepe paper sprinkled with a combination of silver and gold dust. I joined Miss Grade One and Miss Grade Three in a parade that started from the town square and ended in my primary school…far too quickly.

The parade, unfortunately, had to be cut short because it started to rain, and because my float did not have any cover, I ended up getting soaked to my skin. I thought my dream of becoming Miss Universe ended that day as well. That parade would have been the beginning of many beauty pageants to come into my life, but the pesky rain that afternoon ruined it all for me.

I cruised through primary school as among the most popular kids in the playground. Making friends with the other children, young and old alike, was a breeze. I was not Miss Universe but I was definitely Miss Congeniality. Not beautiful…but charming. And when I turned on my charm, no one stood a chance. Absolutely. I was in every school activity – I was in the choir; I was in the dance troupe. I even started my own drama club, and I played Miss Universe with my classmates.

I finished first runner up.

I was mediocre even when I was little.

It was the question and answer portion that destroyed my chances. I was asked this question you see – If you ever become Miss Universe, which country do you want to visit and why?

I wanted to impress everyone in the room and so I answered, New Zealand, because I want to see the beautiful skyscrapers there.

Too late I realized that in the seventies there were not that many skyscrapers to brag about in New Zealand…even to this day, I think.

During the annual Christmas parties at school, I always got the most boxes of chocolates from the boys. It was annoying actually. Just because they’d given me the chocolates, they thought they could already dance with me. Yet I totally got their drift. I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class, Christina was. But she was a mean and horrible girl who was forever sulking and so the boys decided to go for the charming one. Fair enough.

Years later when I was studying to become a lawyer, I was voted Lady of the Night in a secret balloting that happened during the induction party of the College of Law’s officers. As I recalled, I was dressed in a dark blue satin dress that was a creation of one of the prominent fashion designers in the city. My parents paid a hefty price for that dress. My left leg was in a plaster cast however, having figured in a not so glamorous fall from the stairs a few weeks back. Still, the College of Law voted for me. Those people were not dumb, definitely not. They were studying to become lawyers.

I don’t recall telling my family about this incident, perhaps because I didn’t really put much thought into it. It was just one of those crazy things that happened at a party. Besides, what’s the big deal about being voted Lady of the Night? I was Miss Grade Two, yeah?

But my sister learned about it somehow and spilled the beans. To this day, I still get teased by my family about being voted Lady of the Night and keeping it a secret.

So, no… I wasn’t always old and fat. Just saying.

CHAPTER 5

The Telltale Signs

I think I first saw the signs that I was changing physically some ten years ago. They were not too obvious at first, but yes, they were definitely there. When I started to struggle getting into my Levis jeans, I should have known something extremely wrong was happening.

I remember the day I transitioned from a size small to a size large. I did not go through medium size. It was painful! I was in denial for a while, telling myself I just wanted more comfortable clothes, but who was I kidding? The ugly truth was staring at me in the eyes. When I looked at myself in the mirror wearing those tight fitting clothes with the unsightly bulges not going anywhere, I knew the only way to go was to upgrade to size large.

My sister told me I should go on a diet. There are, after all, so many to choose from - Atkins Diet, Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Vegan Diet…the list goes on. But I was never one to believe in diets. My excuse was that I have such a simple existence that I should really not sacrifice one of the few pleasures in my life – food. Besides, how could I be convinced that diets work when to this day, my sister is still dieting? Go figure.

There was a time when buying clothes was a hassle because I could not find anything small enough to fit me. One day I bought this skirt and blouse ensemble which I wanted to wear to a party. I had to have the skirt’s waistline altered because it was a size twenty-four. I was a size twenty-one. I remember the dressmaker had to take my measurement three times just to ensure that she got it right. No one has a waistline of twenty-one, she said.

Despite everything however, shopping for clothes was fun back then. The styles to choose from were limitless. In fact the only thing that had a limit in those days was my pocket…and with it, my purchasing capability. My income was meagre to say the least.

Now I see shopping as nothing more than a task. A chore. Every now and then, a pair of shoes would excite me, or a trench coat would keep me awake for several nights, but other than these rare thrills, I now rank shopping at par with washing the dishes and doing the laundry.

Mediocre, to say the least.

I do not have to emphasize the ugly truth that whereas before my problem was finding clothes small enough to fit me, the problem now is finding clothes that are big enough. I need say nothing more.

Ten years ago, I dyed my hair only because it was a fashion statement to have a hint of golden brown in an otherwise dull and boring lock of black. In fact I could honestly claim to have dyed my hair burgundy once. The change in colour was not too obvious at one glance until I stood under the direct path of the sun because then my hair transformed into this blazing ball of fire. My parents were shocked, and if truth be told, scared a bit, not knowing what had become of their daughter who was pretty…and charming.

These days I dye my hair out of necessity. First it was just every six months. In the last few years however, the frequency has increased to every three months, then every couple of months. Now I dye my hair every month. It’s the sad and very expensive truth.

Sad, because no matter what I do, I could not stop the shades of grey (no pun intended) from violating my once glorious mane. Expensive, because I have to dole out at least a hundred and twenty dollars a month to get my hair looking respectable.

I always have the option of going natural of course but I am still in denial, and so for now, I will continue to fight the relentless battle with the grey. When inflation next hits the world, I might eventually be forced to revisit the idea of saving a hundred and twenty dollars a month. I do not like the thought at all.

I started wearing eye glasses when I was in my mid twenties. The glasses were purely to correct a problem related to astigmatism. I didn’t mind back then. In those days it was considered cool if one was bespectacled. It gave the impression that one was smart. It was particularly helpful when one was applying for a job that would normally be considered as too ambitious for someone who had little to no experience in the industry.

Of course these days, I cannot live without my eyeglasses. I am useless without them. I have transitioned to multifocal lenses as well.

I don’t remember who it was that suggested contact lenses, but someone did. My problem with contact lenses is that I do not want any foreign object anywhere inside my eyes. It’s bad enough that they are puffy all the time. The thought of putting something small and slimy in my eyes makes me want to…Ew! I cannot even begin to imagine it.

And the back pains…good lord! I have been diagnosed with scoliosis when I was younger, but these days it’s a different kind of pain altogether. I have weekly sessions with my physiotherapist and I also go for remedial massage on a regular basis, but still, the nagging pain won’t go away.

My husband suggested I lose weight. The back pain is, according to him, caused by the excess weight I carry. I told him, if I got some help with the household chores, may be my back would not hurt so much.

My routine has been the same for many years. I wake up at five o’clock in the morning, every single day. I prepare my children’s morning tea and lunch without fail; I prepare their breakfast and make sure they go to school on a full stomach. Then I catch the bus and train and work for eight hours in a company that has not given me any salary adjustment in the last two years. Then I come home to a hungry family and I get dinner going – every single night. Then I wash the dishes, and iron the clothes that have been sitting in the dryer for days. Every now and then, I get into an argument with my teenagers who demand help with their home work. We argue because their concept of help is that I do the home work for them. I tell them in my days, I never got any help from either my father or mother. I ended up fine anyway. My children just roll their eyes when I go off like this.

I love my children dearly. But it has been a while since they’ve started calling me Mummy Fatty– a term of endearment, they said. I’m not exactly sure about this.

The signs were definitely there. I guess I just wasn’t paying much attention to them.

CHAPTER 6

50th

I don’t have many friends. I have never been good at the exercise of meeting people and making new friends. The few ones I have kept all these years are those I honestly believe are the rarest gems in the world. Friendship is a wonderful thing but it is a tedious and often times complicated relationship that sometimes I find too tiring and demanding.

But on my fiftieth, our holiday home was packed with people. My husband made sure that on my special day I was surrounded by the men and women who’d been a part of my life one way or another. At first I did