Ang Pinakamahabang Lunchbreak

Nakasanayan na sa amin ang kumain nang magkakasama. Pagkapatay ni manong guard ng ilaw sa hapon, tatayo, uunat ng konti, at magtatanong kung sa opisina kakain o sa labas. Relax lang. Hindi palaisipan. Ganoon madalas sa amin. Ang biglaan ang natutuloy; ang hirit, nagkakatotoo. Kaya din siguro masaya ang lunchbreak namin sa NEC. Lahat napag-uusapan. Lahat posible. Lasingang Friday sa Thursday? Sige lang! Isang bulubundukin ng french fries? Order-in na natin! Kasalan sa Davao? Tara!

Sanay na din ako sa ganun. Madali um-oo sa mga bagay na malayo pa.

Ayaw ko pala, naisip ko, noong gabing nagiimpake na ko. Sa huling gabing maaari pang tumanggi sa 4 na araw sa dulo ng Pilipinas, wala pang disenteng tulog, at may baon pang trabaho, nagimpake ako at nagtaka kung bakit ako nag-laan ng pera, nag-paalam ng leave, at nangarap ng makatakas sa buhay Maynila pansamantala. Siguro dahil um-oo ako at kelangan panindigan--at syempre, sayang ang ticket.

4 na araw din yun. Nag-whitewater-rafting, nag-lasing, nagtiwala sa tibay ng tali ng zipline, nainitan, nagpaka-sasa sa prutas, nalunod, nagpatugtog ng Lady Gaga sa dagat, nag-cartwheel sa bundok, umakyat ng puno, natakot, nangitim, sumayaw, nagpapicture sa kasal, nag-lagay ng garter, nabusog, nag-lasing uli, at oo nga pala, nagkuwentuhan din kami.

Nagkuwentuhan kami, ng mga kuwentong patanong, ng mga tanong na nagiging kuwento. Tungkol sa buhay, tungkol sa trabaho, tungkol sa isa't-isa, tungkol sa mga tulog, tungkol sa mga naiwan, tungkol sa mang-iiwan, tungkol sa iiwanan. Parang lunchbreak lang uli, naiba lang ng lokasyon, ng oras, ng nakalatag sa hapag-kainan. Pero gayun pa man, hindi pa din nagbago ang usapan: masarap, casual, walang pag-iimbot at hindi nalalayo sa katotohanan--nang madalas.

Marami sa mga bagay na napagusapan sa hapag-kainan na iyon ay hindi ko na gaanong maalala. Ang naalala ko na lamang, ay ang ugong ng electric fan, ang tahimik na tulog ni kuya sa labas, ang bungisngis na pahabol sa bawat shot, ang ngiti ng puyat pero masaya, at ang tinig ng kuwentuhang nagtatapos lamang sa pagod.

Naalala ko din na nangarap akong sana'y hindi na matapos ang masasayang gabi, hapon at umagang iyon. O, kahit magkaroon ng pagkakataon maulit muli lahat ng ito. Sa pagkakaibigan namin, sa tatlong taong nagsama at sa 4 na araw nabuhay sa Davao, parang posible pa rin naman. Lahat naman napag-uusapan. Lahat din natutupad.

right here

I haven't written anything in a while--for two distinct reasons. The first is to avoid irony: I knew that if I would be writing anything again, it would start out with "I haven't written anything in a while"--totally lame. The second is for sanity: the last 4 months have been all about the work that must be done, that was done, and I am currently doing. I knew myself well enough to know that the writing I mostly do is the spill-over of whatever it is I am currently ensconced in. And writing about work, while I'm not at work, might just be, I predict, the last thing I do before the inevitable trip to the nut house.

So I won't talk about work, at least not consciously. I'll make the extra effort to talk about everything else in my life outside work. Give it the focus it deserves, give it tonight's spotlight.

Like my commute, have I mentioned that I stare at other commuters now? I do. It's my new hobby. Whenever I'm not unconscious in the backseat of the shuttle to Makati trying my best to make up for the lost sleeping hours, I take the time to examine my seatmates. The varying measures of disinterest, the fiddling of a watch or cellphone when we near 10am, the eyes that stare out but whose attention is caught inwardly.

I study these things not because I'm trying to usurp the position of resident creepy commute guy. I study the people in the van in the hopes of gaining some insight of my own. I, who am so helplessly embroiled in the heartache that is my job would like to know if I'm alone in this relentless crusade. Am I the only guy who's sinking in the sea of corporate life? Should earning my keep day by day by day really be this hard?

I'm still wondering today. The people I see on the street don't seem too overwhelmed about their lives. They walk around not worrying when the next deadline is, or whether they got the job done right or not. They just walk. One foot in front of the other. I worry-walk. The brisk pacing I now do is indicative of the rushed mentality I bring with me to work, like a security blanket.

But it's just a job, right? I could quit my job and I won't die. I've gotten pretty far in my life and I have no regrets. I'm proud of myself actually. But then, why do I feel like shit sometimes when I step out of the office?

I just want to know if I'm the only guy struggling here in Makati. I struggled to get here and now I'm struggling to simply stay put. I am aware that I earnestly want to be here. And I'm sure most other people struggled to be where they are now, too, just because they wanted to be there, with their whole heart and sheer strength of will.

And some of us have made it. So now we put on the face of the accomplished, the strut of the succeeding, because we got exactly what we wanted and we've got only ourselves to blame.

After that fateful first interview, plying that now too familiar route from the office to the shuttle center, I discovered something walking around the hustling and bustling men and women of Makati. They bore the face of the city. And though they wore expensive ties, sharp suits, and slick dresses, the city looked pretty glum.

So do I.