Just Passing By

For an outsider looking in, my workplace looks like any other office. Some of us come in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy until the first cup of coffee. Some just breeze right in, with boundless energy that makes you wonder if they’re drugged or something. Then like clockwork, we all go to our desks and start tapping away. Oh yes, this office is just one lean machine aimed to hit a very specific target: $42 million in revenue by end of December.

But I’m not an outsider. Two years into this office, I and the extra chair in my cube have become magnets for anyone who cares to share his or her story. There’s one story that particularly stayed with me lately. This lady is three times divorced and one hell of a writer. She and I work well together: She has a flair for words, I cut and trim and chop and voila! We produce the best marketing pieces this side of the world.

Her story makes me thank my God for giving me an easy, sheltered life. She has a very dark childhood and ran away at 16 to marry the very first boy who showed some kind of respect for her, just so she can escape being repeatedly raped by her step dad and stop the abuse that’s gone on for far too long. At 19, she divorced her husband and had to pimp herself so she can feed her two kids. Her last husband hit her face with an iron (opo - plantsa) once. She gets migraines because her jaw was permanently damaged from that hit. Now at 44, she’s still working on earning her bachelor’s degree. She’s been to hell and slowly working her way back. She’s badly damaged and hopelessly broken but I admire her spirit for wanting to be whole again.

At 19, I was still blissfully unaware of the dark side of the world. I watched the news from time to time and sorta/kinda knew that violence existed but I was far too removed from any of it and remained untouched by it. The closest form of violence I ever experienced personally was when I was initiated into the sorority. Even then, it was my choice to have that much physical pain to be inflicted on me.

I’ve led such a blessed life that I sometimes feel that God played favorites and I am one of the lucky few He’s chosen to shelter from unthinkable pain. I really don’t have any right to complain about anything. God has been very good to me. I just hope that by lending my ear to poor lost souls such as this co-worker, I am able to pass on the love that has been given to me.