I haven’t been the kindest to myself in the short time that I have been unemployed. I had anticipated a dip in my general mood, of course, and I mentally braced myself to the best of my ability. But never having experienced unemployment in my adulthood until now, I not only feel restless, irresponsible, and overall like an abject failure, but also a profound sense of loss — of purpose, time, and worst of all, identity. I am grieving.

Spiralling downward and hitting more rock bottoms on the way than I knew existed, I feel parts of myself chipping away, and I catastrophise that I may never get them back. It is then that I realise that it is not darkness I am afraid of, but emptiness. And I feel empty, and naturally, nothing else. I go about my day, drowning in this nothingness while my body, dissociated from my mind, does the laundry, goes to the gym, and walks the dog. But I don’t feel hunger, thirst, or lust unless, and sometimes even if, I alter my state of consciousness chemically with various medications and other substances.

I look back at the feelings I used to be able to feel, only to see them fall away from me the way Eurydice did from Orpheus on the verge of returning to life. I grasp, but in vain. All I can do is watch helplessly. To let them go, because that’s all I can do. To accept, because that’s all I can do, too.

But even in my dissociated state, I periodically manage to remind myself of Buddhist teachings I grew up with, the very same lessons that my mother still imparts with me every time we talk on the phone. Nothing is permanent. Attachment causes suffering. When I was young, and even up until quite recently, I have never imagined that I would be the kind of person to be leaning on faith during hard times. In my mind, I was always a woman of science. I and never thought twice about dichotomising ‘religion’ and ‘science’ as they have been presented as binary opposites in societies I have lived in. Life — and perhaps my training in anthropology that taught me the falsity of such dichotomies, too — continues to humble me in this way.

As I build up the strength to fill my emptiness, I remind myself of the faith I have in Truths, scientific or religious, for I realise that they aren’t always contradictory or mutually exclusive. The teaching that nothing is permanent isn’t all that different from the concept of entropy; uncertainty principle can explain the ways in which attachment to certain expectations and outcomes can lead to emotional distress. And if nothing is permanent, I can rest a little knowing that this pain, this emptiness, too, shall pass.

A few weeks ago, I took a short lunch break from work to play the piano in the rare afternoon sun. My heart timidly swelled at the prospect of a sunny springtime in Scotland that could easily be taken away by the not-so-unprecedented snow in April. But I decided, consciously, to enjoy what I could, then and there: the sun and the music, no matter how temporary.

No one and nothing knows me like the piano. Not my parents, not my sister, not my partner, not even my dog. My hands rest comfortably on the keys, knowing exactly where to go. The relationship I have with piano is a longstanding one; it is a craft to which I devote a lot of my time and effort. As long-term relationships of any kind that require time and effort often do, the relationship I have with the piano helps me reflect on myself. It is through the piano, then, that I think about what kind of person I have become.

Having been in a relationship with the piano for two and a half decades, I must say that I didn’t always enjoy playing the piano. I started at a very young age and with smaller-than-average hands, and it was always just uncomfortable, bordering on painful. But the piano taught me how to sit with and through discomfort, to stick with things until they can bloom. I have come to think of this ability to withstand the discomfort of my imperfections and to persevere through the discomfort in order to improve as ‘maturity’.

Playing in ensembles as well as performing solo, I have consistently been challenged with new music that always starts off feeling uncomfortable, but I know and trust will become a part of my muscle memory if I kept practicing. I still have music that I struggle with, find difficult to make sense of, want to give up on. But I make it a point to keep practicing.

As I find myself in a deeply unfortunate position of having to find a new job once again, I try to remind myself of this every day. I just need to keep going, note by note, bar by bar, phrase by phrase, until my body quite literally incorporates the music in its muscles, tendons, nerves. In hiring processes (in my experience), these things — what makes a person who they are — are rarely discussed or prioritised, as the focus tends to be on metrics and achievements.

Perhaps it is naive of me to want to be treated like a person rather than a ‘human resource’ in the contemporary world of work. But ultimately, the reality is that employers are hiring a person, whether they see them as one or not, rather than a set of numbers and awards. I just wish to be treated like a whole person that I am, someone who isn’t just a set of extractable skills, but whose perspectives — and not just measurable skills — are respected and valued.