I don’t like people waking me up when I’m snoozing through my lunch break. But you do it nonetheless: regardless if you’re waking me up or merely laughing at my twisted capacity to do work without your assistance.
When your office friends began piling up in your area for a promised merienda, it was an automatic, platonic, innocent gesture to help out and guide the people through the whirlwind of spaghetti and pichi-pichi. And while eating, I started to get uncomfortable about it. I’m used to being one of the boys, but when people started to notice our apparent closeness, I knew I needed to back off. Because I wouldn’t bear you hearing what they were telling me.
It hit me. We are getting used to each other. We switch mugs, we share a Chapstick, we steal each other’s baon, drinking out of the same cup. It is shallow and I have this mindset that I have always been pounding in my head: you’re like a family to me. Ergo, the apparent closeness.
I wanted to avoid you but I just found it as an easy escape and a way of persecuting myself. I’ll only appear guilty if I stay away. And I began to trust myself that I could be nice, and you’re a nice person too who just happened to fascinate me.
I still remember the day when I found your stack of calling cards. I asked for a copy as souvenir, they don’t indicate our personal numbers anyway. And you refused to give it to me yet because you will be jotting down your personal mobile number. I froze. It was like the proverbial snake offering me the forbidden fruit. I’ll ignore it for as long as I could.
And when I have finally convinced myself that you’re a family, and let the former kind of fascination disintegrate into thin air and just admire you as someone that young people look up to, I would again smile at the apparent closeness, with the ten-digits you wrote in my guilt-free hands. Cheers!