The impermanence of us
THIS WEEK’S WINNER
Chris Daniel Loza works as a senior systems engineer at a software company. He graduated from Ateneo with a major in Electronics and Communications Engineering and a minor in Philosophy. His cubicle is sparse and unadorned but for three CPUs, one computer screen, a mouse, a keyboard, a telephone and the wires that connect them. He blogs at http://zhouls.tabulas.com.
It’s because it’s my life.
For months now I’ve been trying to get myself engrossed in novels after a reading list of purely non-fiction — memoirs and biographies. I tried reading fiction that won awards, books that take me to alternate universe, even thrillers, crime novels and guaranteed page-turners. But I lose interest after a few pages or a few chapters. They’re not bad or boring. I just can’t sustain my interest in them.
This one though never warmed my shelf. I read it as soon as I bought it. Unlike some of the novels I haven’t finished reading. Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris is the story of the work place, of the corporate world. Whereas other novels would mention work in passing, much like an afterthought, this one details what transpires in those cubicles. The office gossip and lunch breaks, the dead hours and deadlines, and most accurately, a validation of why we do what we do. Why our grandiose dreams of helping the poor, striving for world peace and saving the world remain to be dreams we have when we retire for the night. We hope for a better world, yes we do. We dream to be the superhero web-slinging in skyscrapers rescuing old ladies and shrieking damsels in distress. But as the book succinctly puts it, we don’t have the luxury of going off with a Himalayan trek in search of emeralds and gurus. We have bills to pay and our limitations to consider; we have our families to support and our weekends to distract us.
“We suffered failures of imagination just like everyone else, our daring was wanting, and our daily contentment too nearly adequate for us to give it up.”
During office breaks we talk of giving 10 percent of our salary to the Church or charity, of going back to school or taking up nursing, but no one acts on these impulses. Instead we have meetings to discuss business matters and business needs. We bitch and we bicker, we smoke and we drink. Our officemates are the people we spend most of the time with, yet know so little of their individual lives.
We may know them by their cubicle numbers or phone extensions or by their proximity to us or their hierarchy in the corporate ladder, their office nicknames or reputation, but when office layoffs come during recession, as in this novel, or when they resign, they merely become part of the statistics, the turnover or unemployment rate.
Inasmuch as we want to establish ourselves in the corporate world, make ourselves indispensable to the company we work in, the harsh reality is this: we are replaceable. No matter how many overtimes we file or late hours we clock in for work, when business needs dictate that we should go or take a pay cut, there’s nothing we can do. The corporate world is very transient and liquid and can survive without you or me, thank you. In this dog-eat-dog world, there’s always someone waiting to bite us or cut us off and take our place. Cutthroat, yes.
Then we reach the point when we consider what we could be missing if we’re doing something else. Like the big boss in this novel who learns she has breast cancer. She goes on a wild goose chase of finding the right place to be the night before her scheduled operation. She ends up in her office, late at night, working. That’s the right place to be. Sad, true. For some of us, work is our life.
This is what becomes of us in the work place. It’s all about the money, of making a living and missing out on life. We take hobbies, when we can; have hubbies, when there’s one. We work hard, party harder. So much of the modern world is cruel and lonely. Connections are fleeting, and relationships never last for long. Conversations are reduced to hallway greetings or small talks or pickup lines.
This is the tragedy of the modern life. We measure success by how high we are in the corporate ladder, by how fat our bank accounts are, by the properties we own and what our money can afford us. We measure the quality of life by the quantity of what we have. We post pictures of ourselves in our Friendster, Facebook or Multiply account of the places we’ve been to and the company we keep. We become cam-whores in order to capture the good times and the happy moments. Because we are aware of the impermanence of all things, of us, especially of our stability and our happiness. Thus, we struggle to establish and hold on to the things that can never be owned and measured. We take stock of what we’ve lost for what we’ve gained. Sometimes we question if they’re worth it. But we rarely seek the answer. Because where we are is comfortable; where we are affords us our lifestyle.
It is cold and, perhaps, dehumanizing. And we are often mocked and derided for being corporate slaves. Maybe someday we will get out of it for good, take a trek to the
