Who gets to make the first move the morning after?
I don't find it strange anymore that I am always at the transition of things. Change of office site, dreary financial climates, closures. It isn't always disastrous so I can't say that I am jinxed. However, these interesting times (bless the Chinese) require interesting decisions.
Should I take the separation package, take a flight to Singapore and knock on factory doors? Stake it all at the casino so that six digits can become seven or eight? Put more into my nest eggs and wait another year for my birds? The offer is so tempting, I cannot save ten months' worth of my gross. And so it is.
It's been months since our office became the residence of a rodent. It ate my statistics tables. The rat had no taste, it seemed, or despaired because there was nothing to eat except for instant coffee and cream.
In the super typhoon of last year, our office was flooded. And we were on the second floor.
I'm waiting for signs. The nearest gym closed down early this year. I need to, not out of vanity but for my health. I'm seven kilos lighter, skinny but thank God, I have a flat stomach. I get tired easily because I have no exercise. Old age perhaps.
I miss the sophistication of working in the big city, where e-mail flamers do their English cuss words with flair. It's an overkill to be cursed by bad grammar. Other than that, office politics, rumors, grandstanding managers--bring it on.
My car is being repaired. It will set me back 3k, but if that is the amount that will make me forget about the accident then fine with me. I don't have any idea when I can get it back, so I'm a parasite to an officemate for an indefinite period.
I've missed commuting. Stupid me, I didn't know how to insert the MRT ticket and the man behind me was laughing. So what, I'm now used to driving, I should have said. But that will be pretentious. We laugh at others at some time anyway.
I've been trying everything and I have no regrets. End of story.
Should I take the separation package, take a flight to Singapore and knock on factory doors? Stake it all at the casino so that six digits can become seven or eight? Put more into my nest eggs and wait another year for my birds? The offer is so tempting, I cannot save ten months' worth of my gross. And so it is.
It's been months since our office became the residence of a rodent. It ate my statistics tables. The rat had no taste, it seemed, or despaired because there was nothing to eat except for instant coffee and cream.
In the super typhoon of last year, our office was flooded. And we were on the second floor.
I'm waiting for signs. The nearest gym closed down early this year. I need to, not out of vanity but for my health. I'm seven kilos lighter, skinny but thank God, I have a flat stomach. I get tired easily because I have no exercise. Old age perhaps.
I miss the sophistication of working in the big city, where e-mail flamers do their English cuss words with flair. It's an overkill to be cursed by bad grammar. Other than that, office politics, rumors, grandstanding managers--bring it on.
My car is being repaired. It will set me back 3k, but if that is the amount that will make me forget about the accident then fine with me. I don't have any idea when I can get it back, so I'm a parasite to an officemate for an indefinite period.
I've missed commuting. Stupid me, I didn't know how to insert the MRT ticket and the man behind me was laughing. So what, I'm now used to driving, I should have said. But that will be pretentious. We laugh at others at some time anyway.
I've been trying everything and I have no regrets. End of story.