Life in a cubicle

Time stops here to get a massage. Seconds after punching in-eternity kicks in. The influx of irrate callers whose tune is synchronizedwith the impending thumping of a baby ulcer inside my womb- just dying to crack through the surface.

Outside of this microcosm of a hellhole,real babies utter their first cry. Families eat their dinner of homemade nilaga & hot rice. Meanwhile exactly at 11 p.m. I go on AUX mode and press the break button, careful not to panic as I race against time. At this precise second as I am clicking the mouse, I am negotiating with destiny not to let another call squeeze through the pipeline, which could take me another 10-15 minutes to finish if I'm lucky! I grab my things in a hurry, and run to the fire exit.

There in the 11th floor of the San Miguel building, I eat my late dinner of one crammy piece of soggy donut, at the stairway. Light doesn't exists here in this strange space, only despair & loneliness. As I mechanically chew on my strawberry jelly donut, not really tasting its warm, dewy, sweetness.

...to be continued