Half a Year of Working Full-Time: A Personal Reflection

It’s been more than half a year since I received my university diploma and started working full-time as a Mechanical Design Engineer—right in the field I studied for four years. Everything seems to be going smoothly for someone fresh out of university with little experience: a dynamic work environment, practical exposure, and a diverse range of tasks that touch on construction, electrical systems, and more. On the whole, it’s been fine, in a “I work for you, I learn new things, you pay me, and we’re both happy” kind of way. However, there’s one thing I find troubling... I have to work six days a week, often with overtime, for the past six months.

...

Wait, hold on a second. HAS IT REALLY BEEN HALF A YEAR?

Oh my God, what’s happening? It feels like I’ve stumbled into a time trap, as if I walked into a cave in the movie "Time Trap" (2018) and, upon exiting, decades have passed. Or maybe I’ve become Jess in the film "Triangle" (2009)—stepping onto a ghostly ship and endlessly looping through time. Or perhaps it’s a combination of both, in some sort of Triangle Trap.

About 8-9 months ago, I was in the final stages of my graduation project with a friend. It was a heartfelt project about a huge machine in a steel plant. But what I remember most isn’t the result or the product but the process. The sleepless nights sketching designs, the endless hours in a café revising the explanations every time we changed our calculations, the tense meetings to discuss the project’s direction... It all seems like it just happened yesterday. Despite the brief four months, it was a memorable time at university.

A week six months ago had seven days, and I was very aware of how each day started, progressed, and ended. Each morning, there was no alarm forcing me out of bed to join the crowded commute, nor was there anyone telling me to stay late to finish work. I could wake up late, leave early, and arrange my tasks according to my preferences, as long as I completed the goals set the previous day. Generally, if not for the stressful periods near deadlines, time during that period flowed relatively slowly and meaningfully.

SINCE SELLING MYSELF TO CAPITALISM

After a while, a series of events happened quickly: defending my thesis, attending graduation, sending CVs, job interviews, trial work, and officially becoming an engineer. These events unfolded smoothly without many obstacles or doubts about the value of starting work right after graduation. This was a time for me to gain industry experience, see if I really liked and wanted to stay in the field, and also to determine my long-term direction after spending years in academia. Or, more simply, to earn money for myself.

That was the intention, but it seems that working has inadvertently altered how time around me flows. A week now has seven days too, but in my mental world, they seem shorter and fragmented into two distinct parts.

THE MONOTONY OF THE WORK WEEK

On one side, from Monday to Saturday, days begin with waking up early and navigating through traffic to get to the office on time. These days blend into each other with little distinction, as I simply follow the routine: wake up, join the crowded rush, work, have lunch, work again, navigate back through the traffic, attend evening classes, and sleep. This repetitive feeling reminds me of Phil Connors in the famous 1993 film "Groundhog Day," stuck in an endless time loop where every morning is Groundhog Day, the day he hates most. But unlike Phil, who relives only February 2nd, my time continues, from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday and so on until Saturday.

Saturday is a wonderful day, the one day without overtime and when employees can leave on time. It also serves as a crucial transition between the 'loop' and the one day I truly have free: Sunday. And this is where the mental-time begins to shift.

THE WEEKEND

The weekend begins when the birds around the house start chirping—a sound that, in the crowded city of Saigon, still feels quite rare. I wake up, put on my workout clothes, and prepare for a run. No alarm clocks are allowed to ring; everything must follow the biological clock. As the saying goes, waking up a little earlier makes your day feel longer. This way, I observe interesting things in the morning, such as the street vendors opening their stalls, the traditional markets bustling with buyers, or, more poetically, how the city wakes up.

On Sundays, I can wake up earlier, slow down, and observe more of the outside world. I have a few small plans today—finish an IELTS essay, read a book, write a draft for personal work, and find scholarships for a Master’s degree. But at least, there is a strong feeling of freedom and enjoyment that comes with Sundays: the feeling of being free and enjoying life. It’s not about luxurious places; simply living slowly and observing the rhythm of those around me is relaxing enough. This feeling—of slowing down and enjoying life—seems quite strange to think about when I’m in the work loop. If only every day could be Sunday!

Unfortunately, the joy of the weekend is interspersed with the unavoidable worry: that Monday is coming, and the loop will start again. Thus, time continues to flow, repeating from week to week.

THE SPEED OF TIME

Perhaps due to having less time to enjoy life, I’ve become more aware of the precious Sundays over the past six months. This creates an illusion in my mind that my available time is shrinking, that time is passing faster even though I know nothing objectively has changed.

This situation may be the opposite of the near-death experience described by David Eagleman in "The Brain: The Story of You." When survivors of accidents are asked about their experience, they often report that time seemed to slow down during the critical moments. Eagleman later explains that time does not actually slow down; instead, in extraordinary situations, a special brain region called the amygdala takes over, significantly enhancing the brain’s ability to process information. This increased information intake makes it seem like time slowed down during the dangerous moment.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’m sitting here typing these lines on a Sunday evening. Tomorrow morning, in just a few hours, when the dawn breaks, I’ll return to the familiar work loop. Outside, the rain lightly falls, and cold winds carry the dampness of approaching storms through every crack in the house. Surely, this loop is only temporary, and I’ll break free to find my own space. I’m reminded of lines from Đen Vâu’s song "Following the Shadow of the Sun":

“What is at the end of the world? No one knows what invoices and responsibilities make our dreams falter. I don’t want my youth to become thin and pale. I want to be a small bird in the clear blue sky.”

This piece is a reflection on the emotional highs and lows experienced during my "selling myself to capitalism." How about you? Are you living in another kind of loop?

Hope this helps!