November 4

Dear you,

This has by far been the fastest slowest day I have had here in the new center. I logged in, after having some heavy trouble with the sheets earlier, only a minute before my time. Mondays immediately swamped me with deliverables, and Mondays always meant coaching updates, so that means A LOT. I update myself with all the information I’m supposed to pass on, keep track of, and remind all 16 of my agents with. Not to mention those mini updates I’m expected to know. And yet, everything’s hazy, a demented mix of slow motion and fast forward.

I’m still stuffy. If when I was an agent, I normally won’t absent myself with just a few sniffles; I guess it would be horribly embarrassing to stay at home for the same reason today. Not with me trying to educate my agents with responsibility–and yes, I guess living by example is the hardest but somewhat most rewarding thing to do. Except I think I would have to be more obvious of things in the future.

Anyway, I had a weird flashback this lunch. I bumped into one of my agents while I was about to start my own meal hour and we were both scrambling for locks in the locker area. Immediately, she remarked that at some point, we’re both the same now: we’re void of lunch buddies. Hers just went home to Naga to re-enroll for his remaining University duties and would be back Tuesday, while mine is in a sabbatical and would be back two weeks after. She said she didn’t mind. She missed her personal space.

I noticed a book on her lap. What’s that, I asked. I was expecting a self help book which she normally makes a reference of, but I was a little surprised when she replied, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. She said she missed reading.

I found a small pain poke me somewhere. I remember myself in her, sometimes. Actually, I was very excited somehow to learn she’ll be part of my team then, thinking she’s probably a wavelength mate. It turned out, today, she’s much more. She’s a painful part reminiscent of me.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have an aversion to her. But she reminded me so much of how I used to like my space, how I would rather withdraw from the crowd and sit somewhere with a book. How I would buy so much titles and pull myself out from a crowd.

She’s probably not like me, and somehow, I envy her. She’s too comfortable of her own space that she’s okay spending a quiet lunch alone. While I, after getting used to Ger being around–and maybe, with the idea that I have to be an amiable supervisor–am afraid to stay alone. It’s too inviting, I’m afraid what I might welcome back my introverted self. Ger used to scold me somehow when I’m getting too withdrawn before. I can’t possibly be timid and expect everyone to be sociable when I need them to be to me.

And so I did. Now, I can’t stop emanating Ger’s hyperactive self in order to somehow keep pace. It’s either that, or I stay silent, and I have learned that yes, I tend to abuse silence. I hoard it as much as I can. Now, I see someone who’s very comfortable in that very silence I miss…and I can’t stop but be jealous somehow that her silence is very wisely used.

And so, I close the small conversation with her with a small smile, and picked the nearest next person to talk to again—someone who won’t leave me silent. I left my agent to her locker, and with that, I left my silent self with a small, lingering look. I’ll find time to salvage her soon. But probably not now.

Suddenly, everything has returned to its fast, slow haze.