The Slow Return

Lo and behold, I was called into work after the authorities’s sudden green light over the weekend for most sectors to resume operations and stimulate the economic growth. Returning to the routine that we maintained beforehand would be arduous, if not close to impossible. I mean, take a look around at your environment. Some shops still have their doors shut. Some are open but subjected to a stringent standard of practice. Diners are only permitted to order a takeout through the delivery apps like Grab and FoodPanda or through self-collection.

My heart weighed a ton when we all entered the office for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Close to 6 weeks, I think. Everything was still in its place except that it carried a musty smell from the lack of fresh circulation. Even under the dim lights, I could see the height of my files on the table, which made me sigh in my heart. It drove home the fact that we were backdated in terms of paperwork. As if that wasn’t saddening enough, we didn’t have complete access to our files and could barely work remotely. Half of us even worked in total darkness, which would’ve strained our eyesight, due to the limited electricity. I’m not sure what disconnected the electricity supply, but the recent thunderstorms might have played a part in burning the wires. Who knows for sure, right? I’m only keeping my fingers crossed that it’d be resolved soonest possible so that we can return to a small sense of familiarity amidst the new normal.

And my documents are actually pending the continual ability to work remotely. Once that’s done, I can slide into the habit I had.

Truth be told, it’s easy to have the sensation of being caved in whenever I’m surrounded by files. Think of this way: I’m living and breathing work - at all times. Files have piled up in my little cubicle, warranting a move to a larger space but I haven’t found the appropriate time to transfer everything to the new place. It also doesn’t help that I have this desire to hide under the table and break down, but I made a pact with myself to maintain my composure and to leave any crying until I’m in the privacy of my four walls.

I’ve trouble returning to my normal sleeping schedule due to the forced leave since the MCO in mid-March and have spent nights staring at the ceiling, hoping for sleep to wash me over. It worked in the opposite direction: I have been blessed with eyebags that make me resemble more like a panda than a human. As a result, my subconscious is all over the place that I dreamt that I attended an open-air celebration in an abandoned building. It was held in a crowded hallway between two blocks of residences. Situated outside was a stationary green antique car that resembled the vehicle that Mr. Bean drove. A gun-crazy brandishing his weapon barged in from nowhere and shot at all angles, sending everyone in a hurried state of panic. I’ve searched for the online interpretations of each scene and chose not to pen more about it in public due to its sensitive nature. Combined with the recent dream that I had about fleeing humans, it’s closely linked to my truest emotions.

Maybe that’s the life of a working member of society. Late nights and early mornings are nothing new.