1 It's a Wonderful Life

I used to think my life was run by a computer program that's written by a higher power with shitty coding skills. It's like only God understood the code when he wrote it so the poor angel who had to maintain my program got stuck in an endless loop of debugging, never getting the chance to roll out some much-needed updates.

That could explain why I, a twenty-something who could barely make ends meet, spent my early twenties traversing between home and work like I was destined to go through that vicious cycle until I'm finally old enough to kick the bucket.

Everything was routine.

Every day was just a replay of the next.

Who wouldn't get tired of such a life?

I would wake up, drive to work, start caffeine-fueled computer programming, get stuck in traffic on the way home for an hour or more (because Metro Manila), and finally get a taste of death —which, by the way, is what normal people call 'sleep'.

It wasn't until I got caught up in a bizarre situation that I realized that life can take a weird turn — or a total 360-degree revolution — when you notice the bugs and decide to do the debugging yourself.

The only problem? You fail miserably at it, so you just leave those bugs within the code and try your best to go on like nothing's wrong.

It all started in the summer of 2015. The scorching heat of May felt like it was about to reach its peak. Despite being confined within the four walls of our bleak air-conditioned office, one could easily tell how seething the temperature was outside. You could see the hotness of the weather bounce off the glass casement window that I was looking from, reducing the view below me to quivering images as if watching from a damaged TV screen.

My desk sat directly in front of a 48x48 window, which is pretty much the only thing that connected me to the outside world during the 9-hour workday. I cannot stress enough how boring the place can get. The company had banned the use of mobile phones during office hours at the time — a rule that everyone was vehemently against — so employees would focus on the job they were paid to do. I have to admit that things had been getting out of hand back then so they had every right to do so. Some, myself included, had begun doing the minimum amount of work required because their eyes were glued to phone screens most of the day. To rub salt into the wound, our CEO decided to block all social media sites. It was like living in the Stone Age all over again, except you don't get to ride on dinosaurs.

Our workplace was remarkably dull. Basically, it's just a long L-shaped space surrounded by walls white as freshly-cooked rice with bottom plates covered by a deep shade of gray. When you enter the office, you will be welcomed by a small reception area and be greeted by Marie, our HR/concierge, with her patented half up half down bun. She'll flash that affiliative smile of hers, showing a tiny peck of dimple in her right cheek, to leave you vulnerable and capable of waiting for countless hours because our Office Manager never bothers to come on time for every appointment. There were four rooms in total: one was behind the front desk that's reserved for the CEO, in case he visits the country; another that's directly in front of the main door leading to the pantry; and two others on the left which the Design and Finance teams use. The rest of the workstations occupied the remaining space because they weren't as special as the other teams, I guess.

Nearly bored to death from troubleshooting my goddamn codes, I took a break from work and peered outside the window. It has always fascinated me how busy Ortigas was between the hours of 11AM and 7PM. You'd always see a procession of both people and vehicles making their way to a meeting, a lunch date, or a dream that's never coming true.

Everything and everyone moved along with the hands of the clock. I always asked myself: Why is there so much going on in this world? Why do we have to be constantly moving, constantly filling our time with god knows what, and constantly doing something? Do we fear being left behind? Do we fear stillness? If it were up to me, I'd freeze time and just rest. I want to take a break from work, from paying bills, from being an adult —everything.

Before I lost myself to existential anxiety, a gentle tap on the shoulder pulled me back to my senses. I jerked myself awake so I could focus. "How can I help you?" I said as I turned to where the tapping came from.

Upon turning, what stood in front of me was a woman, looking between the ages of 19 and 26, wearing a mustard cardigan on top of a white shirt and blue ripped skinny jeans. She wore browline eyeglasses which made her emit a professional kind of seriousness. Her hair was long and deliberately messy like someone had called her to get up and get to work in the middle of having her hair done. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous but she was beautiful in all the ways a woman could be beautiful.

"Could you explain the revision you emailed me?" the woman said in a neutral tone.

"Hey Zef. Hello" I interjected.

Looking annoyed at my attempt at small talk, she pointed to one of my monitors, gesturing that I should open the tab containing my email immediately. As Zef leaned close to explain what wasn't clear in my instructions, my nose caught a whiff of fresh roses combined with fruity floral raspberry that reminded me of springtime in Australia. Her scent was so intoxicating, I could have married her on the spot.

I opened my email client on the left monitor and displayed her design on the right. We were working on revamping the company website because it looked like someone had pulled it straight from the early 2000s. If a song played just as the web page finished loading, you'd mistake it for a Friendster or MySpace account. It's not surprising, really, as many businesses build their website but never touch it again once it goes online. I guess they just don't like paying for ongoing support.

"So what the marketing manager wants now for the homepage is..." I said while pointing to the monitor, "to make the design simpler and straight to the point. Just use a full screen image of the one we have and slap the primary call-to-action button in the middle, just below the main and sub heading."

Zef squinted to the screen then back to me. She stroked her chin twice before turning around to walk away without saying a word. Such a social butterfly, that one.

Shrugging off Zef's peculiar behavior, I took a sip of my tepid coffee and went back to work. I typed away like a madman, stroking each key with terrifying precision to write lines of code without looking at my screen. I felt like a pianist, performing on the grandest stage of them all. When I came to, it was already half an hour past twelve noon. I almost missed lunch.

Why do we associate lunch time with noon anyway? Can't we just all agree to eat whenever we like?

The realization was quickly followed by a strike of hunger pangs that came with the force of a raging typhoon that destroyed everything in its path. While my mind was still eager to work, my body was too hungry to do anything productive. I stood from my mesh computer chair and sauntered out of the office.

"Hey Ace," called a female voice. The sound was soft and murmurous like the wings of a dove.

It was Marie. Her head stuck out between the two 23.8-inch monitors in front of her.

"You going out for lunch?"

I nodded and flashed her a half smile. I have this habit of just nodding to questions answerable by yes or no. I sure hope it doesn't rub people the wrong way.

"Mind if I go with you?"

Before I could get a chance to respond, she grabbed me by the arms and muttered "Of course you won't," then dragged me outside the office. For what it's worth, at least it's a deviation from my usual routine.

Unsure of who died and made Marie king, we stepped out of the building and found ourselves walking for five minutes. She wanted to eat Japanese food so we had to pretend the sun wasn't burning us into a crisp.I found it unfair because the heat will barely make a dent in her milky-white complexion. Someone like me, on the other hand, whose natural 'kayumanggi' color is borderline poop brown, will probably be mistaken for her shadow if we kept on walking side by side.

"What's with you and Japanese food?" I asked, wiping sweat off my forehead using a handkerchief. My stomach growled like a lion that hasn't eaten in days.

Marie didn't seem to hear anything as she just went on walking, scanning every commercial space we passed while mumbling something along the lines of "I know it's here somewhere." With her preoccupied, I used my time to marvel at her beauty. You see, Marie is the kind of girl who knows she's beautiful. Physically, yes, she is a work of art, a 5-star review, a solid 9 out of 10 —an angel without wings even (So, a human?). But what separates her from the rest is she doesn't give the world the permission to break her. She is comfortable with her flaws and openly admits them. She feels confident and beautiful, which makes everyone around her feel the same way.

Halfway through the street we were walking in, Marie's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "It's there!" she exclaimed, pointing to what seemed like an empty driveway. She grabbed my hand and yanked me forward like it was an attempt to rip my shoulder off. This woman sure likes to drag people around, I thought.

We scurried to the location she was pointing at and stumbled upon a little Japanese restaurant tucked behind an unremarkable building by Ortigas standards. The doorway had taken some loving inspiration from traditional Japanese houses with the use of shoji. There was a podium at the left side of the door where a woman in an orange short sleeve dress patiently stood. She smiled at us and greeted in Nihongo before handing us a pair of menus. Marie traced the words in the menu with her finger and read each item as she pulled it down.

"Table for two, please," she said while holding up two fingers in the air.

"Right this way, miss" responded the woman who then opened the door for us.

The door slid open to a place that seemed more like Japan than Ortigas. Its interior was warm and homey, probably due to the dark wooden furniture that filled the place. The focal point was an open kitchen that resembled Japanese Izakayas where you can just take a seat and chug a glass of ice-cold beer while the food is being prepared.

We were seated by the bar facing the open kitchen. I sat in front of Marie who continued to browse the menu. I let my eyes wander around the restaurant before focusing it on a man who seemed to be the head chef. He appears to be in his early 50s and of Japanese descent. I watched him diligently work on the robatayaki like he was creating the next culinary masterpiece.

A nudge to the elbow disrupted my viewing. "What do you want to eat?" she inquired. I peeked at the menu and was aghast at how exorbitant everything was. Prices ranged between 250 and a thousand bucks for a dish. For a goddamn dish. You could buy two orders of a burger or fried chicken meal at a fast food restaurant.

Not wanting to waste our effort walking under the heat of the sun, I gave a safe "I'll have what you're having" response. I followed up with a half smile to hide the fact that all I wanted was convenience store food. Hell, if she craved for Japanese food, instant ramen would've done the trick. Easy peasy. Japanesey.

Marie called the attention of a male waiter who took our orders efficiently. We sat in complete silence for a few minutes because I didn't know what to talk about and she was busy with her phone.

"Hey, how long have you been in our company again?" she asked cordially. Marie put down her phone and shifted her focus to me. She let her chin rest on her palm and looked at me with great interest like I'm some sort of circus sideshow.

"About four months, I guess?"

I joined the company in January 2015 —two months after leaving my job as a web developer for a leading IT solutions provider based in California. Why leave, you ask? Well, I worked through the ranks very quickly, going from junior to senior developer in just a year, by going beyond what was expected of me. What did I get in return? A sorry excuse for a pay rise that cannot even afford a night at a four-star hotel. It's better than nothing, yes, but I could not stomach the fact that I COULD NOT get more simply because I had not been with the company long enough to deserve more. Do they not know loyalty goes both ways?

After that, I did the reasonable thing which is to ask for more work in exchange for another raise. But what did that get me? A year full of time-sensitive projects that got topped off with an empty promise of being promoted to manager after three years.

And when those three years came, there was no leadership position available all of a sudden. I kept asking myself what I was working hard for. What is the end game?

My frustration levels hit an all-time high. It was then when Marie messaged me on LinkedIn about a job opening in their company that paid 60% more and provided flexibility in terms of working hours and location.

"How are you liking it so far?"

I paused for a moment and thought about the times I was left to code in peace. It was refreshing to not stop working because your manager kept ringing up your phone because he had an "epiphany" that would change the game of e-commerce.

"I'd say it's better than my last job."

Marie's eyes glimmered at that response. I guess she was pretty proud of herself for delivering on the promise of getting me better pay and working conditions.

"What made you contact me on Linkedin anway," I asked out of curiosity.

Marie clapped her hands in excitement. She must've been dying to share the story of how she came across me on a professional social media website.

"Well," she started in a high-pitched voice, "would you believe it happened in a dream?"

"A dream?"

I could tell I had a confused look on my face because it felt like everything was twisting in ways they usually don't.

"Yes. The night before I came across your profile, I met you in a dream. I was at the top of the mountain, catching my breath after a three-hour trek. When I went to look beneath the zenith, I found you hanging on to a branch and to dear life. You had a rather odd expression on your face —a mix of pride, maybe because you got to the top, and fear, obviously because you knew all your effort was for naught if you fell from there."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said in disbelief. It was terrifyingly similar to the situation in my previous job.

"I'm not making this up. That's why I called you the moment I saw your photo!"

"That's how it went with my previous job! Also, does that mean I just made your dreams come true?" I then proceeded to tell her about my life in my previous line of work. Marie listened intently to my rants and gave her inputs both as an HR personnel and as an employee. She would insert her own anecdotes every once in a while which rewarded me with bits of information about her.

Several stories later, our food came in. Marie ordered a plate of pork belly simmered in ginger soy sauce; a massive serving of rice rolls which had cucumber, bamboo shoots, tempura, egg, and what appears to be eel; and a pair of lightly grilled oysters with a miso-based sauce that's nestled on a Chinese spoon.

"Itadakimasu," declared Marie as she separated her disposable chopsticks from each other. She took a piece of the oysters first and gingerly placed it in her mouth.

"Mmmm.... It's so good," she blurted out like she finally had an orgasm after several months of abstinence. Her chastity ring probably broke in two when the food traveled down to the stomach.

Chewing slowly, she looked at me and pointed at the last piece of oyster with her chopsticks, indicating that I should give it a try.

I nodded in agreement and popped it into my mouth. The following seconds would forever be engraved in my taste buds. You know how oysters are considered as jewels of the sea? Well, slightly grill that jewel then glaze it with Japanese mayo and miso. Then put it in your mouth. Chew slowly. Savor that fleeting, exquisite taste as the oyster breaks apart and comes together again, like it's dancing to an unknown melody, and begins to fill your mouth with flavors previously unknown to you. By then, you will realize it's no mere oyster anymore but a sign —a sign that God is always watching over us in whatever we do, whatever we eat.

Feeling our appetite invigorated by such an amazing dish, we inhaled everything on the table like a line of coke. We stuffed our mouths with rice rolls and downed everything with a glass of beer.

"It's just this one time, okay?" whispered Marie followed by a playful wink. I'd have gotten in trouble if I drank beer alone and went back to the office. If it's OK'd by the HR, then I guess I'm safe. Goddamn, having an ice-cold beer during work hours surely got my endorphins working overtime.

I raised my hand and gestured for the bill. Marie checked how much she had in her blue chantaco leather wallet and I mirrored it by checking if I actually brought mine. We spent two minutes in total silence because the place started to get loud. Hordes of students from the exclusive university nearby swarmed the place.

"Hey," she called out, waving her hand and telling me to get closer. "Whom do you find most interesting in the office?"

The question got me scratching my head. I wanted to ask what she meant but I was afraid to look stupid, so I thought long and hard before coming with an answer.

"I guess it's Zef from Design," I said unequivocally.

"Oooooh. Intriguing."

Marie's eyes glimmered with a familiar sparkle. She began to sit stiffly, straightening her back, then leaned forward and rested her perfect jaw over her small clasped hands.

"Well, from what I gathered it seems we like the same stuff. We both like to read books, like the same TV shows, and we even listen to the same bands. She's also a huge Lakers fan, and I like Kobe so there's that."

Marie nodded as if she agreed those were valid points.

"She is pretty cute. Kind of anti-social though. Like you, but less approachable."

I snickered at her comment, unsure whether it was a compliment or something else.

"Was she always that way?" I asked with genuine curiosity. I'm no social butterfly, but at least I have an idea how social interactions work.

Marie looked up in thought, lips pursed, trying to locate the area in her brain that stored any information about Zef.

"I guess it started about three months ago? That's when she found out her high school sweetheart was cheating on him with five other women. That asshole probably had a day scheduled for each girl. Can you imagine? I guess he thought it was sweet of him to give Zef the whole weekend because she was the main girl."

I grimaced at the thought of finding out your long-time partner has been cheating all this time. What bothered me the most was how he was able to manage his time and money among six women. Terrible person, yes, but he had skills that actually worked in the real world.

"She's hated every man since?"

Marie nodded. She downed a glass of water afterwards to wash away the faint smell of beer in her mouth. A few seconds later, the waiter handed us our bill which summed up to a whopping 1,300 bucks. I wasn't mad though. That heavenly oyster was worth every penny. We split the bill in half even though I ate more, and went back to the office.

When we got back, I stood for a moment at the door, cherishing the cool air brought by the AC. Not wanting to reek of sweat, I sauntered to the restroom to freshen up. The office restroom was so small that only one person at a time could use it. There was one toilet at the center and a small urinal to the right. Beside it was a 30"x36" mirror above a white pedestal sink. Unlike the actual office, the walls were painted walnut brown and the floor was steel gray.

I went inside the restroom, closed the door, and found myself wrapped in darkness. It hasn't occurred to me to turn the light on. It sure feels odd to do something you normally do everyday in the wrong order, I thought. Kind of like the universe got thrown off balance for a moment. Shrugging off the feeling, I turned on the lights and began to expel bodily liquids so they can return to the earth.

I returned to my desk and spent the last four hours of the day working on our project. Zef did a terrific job on following the instructions, enabling me to do it with ease. When the clock hit 5 o'clock, the sound of clicking and clacking had stopped. Everyone stood from their chairs in unison. Some did body stretches then there were others who bolted out of the office without any thought. I kept typing away because I really didn't feel like going home yet.

The seats got emptied one by one. Chad, the dude who sat to my left, knocked on my desk and nodded to say goodbye. I nodded back. That's what I liked about Chad. No nonsense. No unnecessary small talk. Just straight to the point.

I was about to do some non-work-related browsing when two gentle taps on the shoulder caught my attention. I turned around and, to my surprise, it was Zef. She was smiling ear to ear, looking excited about something.

"Ready to go home, babe?"

"Not yet," I said, shaking my head.

I carried on with my browsing and WAIT WHAAAAAAT!? BABE?!?