Illustration by Arson Vremea

Dear Unemployment,

I met you over two years ago, in October, 2023, when I lost my job after two years. I felt suffocated by the heavy-handedness of the new manager, things came to a head, we parted ways.

I was looking to take a breather, but just a few days in, October 7 happened. Despite only a rudimentary knowledge of the Israel-Palestine situation, I knew enough to be petrified for Palestinians. I found myself crying for days while doomscrolling on TikTok, seeing video after video of the carnage in Gaza.

You gave me the space and time to process my grief and for political education and action. I immersed myself in books on the history of the Middle East and my own people’s freedom struggle in India to understand the moment we were in and the way forward. I joined a neighbourhood group organizing toward a ceasefire and ending Canadian complicity in the genocide. It helped clarify my purpose—I was going to use my time and energy to make this world a better place. At times, that looked like making a deputation to the local police board to protest being kettled at a peaceful protest. At other times, cultivating a values-aligned social circle.

The requirement of living under capitalism—having an income—was never far from my mind. Job searching was tough because of the disgust I felt at my labour, through taxes, being used to fund a genocide. Employment insurance could help, but it was blocked by my employer. I had to morph into a full-blown lawyer—researching precedents, preparing the legal brief, and presenting the case—to eventually win the benefits. The facts never changed, but it took many stressful months through two escalations to access my rightful due.

You also gave me an opportunity to pursue interests for which I did not have time while employed: performing at open mic nights to sharpen my comedy chops; volunteering for the upkeep of Toronto ravines to indulge my love for nature; taking a gymnastics class to advance toward my longtime goals of full splits and handstand; and working at a community radio station to learn radio production and hone my journalism skills.

I discovered the joy of exploring the city on weekdays: a visit to the Royal Ontario Museum felt like a private tour as there was hardly another soul around. I found grocery shopping in a rush-free environment so peaceful that I only do groceries on weekdays now. It struck me how living in a hyper-capitalist society, we’re constrained to enjoying the world mostly on weekends.

On the flip side, I am constantly thinking of making my dwindling bank balance last by supplementing groceries through a food bank and asking my parents to send prescription medication from India, as the cost here ran into hundreds of dollars without insurance.

I wonder why we don’t have government-owned grocery stores, similar to the way provincially run liquor stores operate? An oligopoly of grocery chains fixing the cost of food is dystopian, as is employment status determining access to prescription medication.

Now, I’m searching for jobs in communications, while trying to dig myself out of a chronic tendency to undervalue, and thereby undersell, my experience. Meanwhile, I am noticing companies are becoming more rigid about return-to-office mandates. The capitalist class keeps tightening its chokehold. I don’t see many options to evade it as the alternative is a rendezvous with you, which is not sustainable.

I am grateful for our time together—I have pursued my interests, developed new skills, got attuned to my purpose, and lived life outside of weekends. I will be entering my next job a much more evolved person, trying to expand my freedom at every turn.

Much love,
Mehak Aggarwal