A Weather Story

It was the last workday before the week-long national holiday for Lunar New Year. The office was half empty but just as loud. Coworkers exchanged Happy New Years. Those conducted in a partner’s office were the loudest. Almost a decade working in the same accounting firm Lin still couldn’t comfortably wish her bosses well. It never ceased to sound toady to her. She imagined how fast their smiles faded once she was out of their offices, and their heads shook, amused. She doubted they could see her beyond the deliveries she owed them. And now her overdue list was two pages long. But before a holiday nobody cared about overdues. Neither did Lin. Neither would she care during the holiday to do anything about it. But it sure would drag her mind and taint her peace. The thought annoyed her deeply.

She rose from slouching behind her cubicle before she slipped off the chair. Unconsciously she was hiding, from the buzz of the office, a mixture of last minute crunch and holiday joliness. She felt neither. It was amusing to Linh that regardless of the time and the situation, her thoughts, followed by her emotions, could always find the sour spot, evidence reminding her of how far behind she was, her to-do lists, her career, her finances, her love life. She was behind because she didn’t know where she was in a plan she didn’t have. What bothered her was not the pressure to keep up but knowing that she wasn’t doing enough.

She sat taller when she felt more alone on her side of the floor, and got hit with beams of sunlight. It was then she realized it was already past lunchtime. The sun cast down, causing no strain to the eye. Because it was late January in the northern capital city. Before long the sun would hide behind taller buildings, which grew in abundance in the CBD where Linh’s was located. It created the illusion that it was much later of the day and Lin had always hated it. Because it made her think that she could stop working while in reality the grids barely started. If it were not for the national holiday, Linh would have to work past midnight. The first quarter was her busy season. And this year was her 10th. She thought by this point with years of long hours her body would respond to the indoor lighting not the solar movement. But she still got the blues. In the manmade jungle where space was insulated and time equaled deadlines, she felt rushed yet hollow.

A partner walked out his office just behind her cubicle. “Why are you still here?” It was Jay, the newest addition to the partnership on the 26th floor.

Linh actually liked Jay. When Linh started with the firm, Jay was a senior associate, only a couple years above her. He was wonderful while kind and had been her role model for the first few years when she questioned her place in this corporate life. “It won’t be too bad if I become him.” She would tell herself that. But years later she realized that she still admired him but would never become of him. Because she just wanted to be like him. Not a young partner.. Long before that their camaraderie had died. He had become various versions of him when he grew with the firm. And she had always been she.

“There will always be work!” He gave her a smirk and disappeared around the corner. The smirk, which used to be arousing, now slapped harder than a disapproving head shake.

Like he was saying, “It has been 10 years! You still haven’t figured it out?”

The light got dimmer yet the sun stayed put. Maybe the buildings moved or the clouds. A wave of lethargy hit Linh. She could leave now, as Jay warned and as the sun beckoned, but she wanted to stay and cross off a few to-dos. To send her home on a more promising note, more peace, less drag. She should return to her computer. But instead she walked to the floor to ceiling windows, leaned forward and pressed her forehead and palms against the glass.

The chill that permeated her skin and reached the back of her head was the realest thing she felt this morning. Nothing else compared. The ebbing chatter of her coworkers. Their muffled excitement. Their attempts at business.

Why are they still here?

Linh was depressed. What was their reason?

Don’t they feel the departing sun? Don’t they know there will always be work?

Where she grew up, 900 miles north of the capital city and 900 times colder, people respected the cold. Or they simply gave up fighting the cold when the defeat had been in their blood for generations. Their way of coping: lay low. They became an individual, each one wrapped in layers of clothing, their own bubble of warmth. Their speech became short. Because too much talk their breath would frost their eyelashes. People got louder, so they could speak through scarfs and frozen air. Also because they were grumpy. Who wasn’t grumpy when the sun floored just past noon. To balance it off, they adopted humor. If they had to converse in the cold, they better got a laugh out of it. As important as preserving heat was the creation of It. So important that their days centered around their meals. Whoever cooked held power. They were the ones to decide which niece their husbands, or wives, but mostly husbands should employ. People got jobs through nepotism. But no problem since there was not much to do and not much to prove when the cold froze over. On the empty and icy winter roads, only dreams ran fast and far, such as the one about what life could be when one moved to the big capital city, where things truly happened. In the depth of the cold, people stayed away from the crowd. Their solitude preserved them, prepared them and protected them.

Isn’t it how it’s supposed to be? But now Linh was in a man-made greenhouse, careful, delicate, act so she was seen, speak so she was heard , make happen things she could never actually feel on her skin like a northerner.

Lin suddenly had a lot of ideas about why she was who she was. Why she was tired, bitter, and dreading the corporate life more than it was dreadful.

Because she was living against the cold. She realized. She needed to get out of here. Her flight home was tomorrow. But she needed to ride the mania before it detoured to misguide her into believing if she tried harder she would be just like Jay. She turned before she even opened her eyes, and to her surprise found Jay right next to her, his nose flat against the same window Linh just felt. His gaze cast down at the crowds 26 floors below. But Linh knew that Jay was not looking outward. That was a look she missed from him. An empty look of not knowing the answer yet having no interest to find out. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Lin blurted out, with a certainty rare to her.

Jay turned, red nosed and dazed eyes. But he soon regained the confidence of the go getter Jay who always knew what to say.

“You absolutely should. And happy New Year!”