It is getting to that time of year again, and I want to believe. I really do want to believe.
Like Linus in the Peanuts cartoon strip, waiting every year for the great pumpkin to appear in the pumpkin patch, I wait every year hoping once again that my faith will be fulfilled.
I want to believe all the things that are promised. I want to believe that the OWTU, on its own, has a working plan that can return Petrotrin to profitability despite the multi-multi-billion debt it has cost taxpayers over the years, and can do it without retrenching anyone except the managers. The world record for trade union takeovers of energy companies aside, I want to see it work.
I want to believe the nice man who promised me after my husband’s death that he would ensure that I would be comfortable in my old age by taking care of my inheritance, investments and savings, by investing them for me, without charging management fees, will someday find out where they disappeared to.
I believed in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, Papa Bois and Mama D’Glo, and I swear I actually saw a ball of fire one night floating through the trees in Mayaro with my own eyes. And so I believed in soucouyants. When I did a psychometric test, it said I rated ridiculously high in trust of others. I should have paid more attention.