dee wai faiv fo’ no mo’

In a little over five hours from now I’d be cut loose from my ties with the company i’ve worked for the last twenty-one months of my life.

DY54. This number has opened doors within this office. My tag. My concentration camp serial number tattooed on my forearm. My identity.

But I am not just an alphanumeric entity. In a few more hours, I’d be reclaiming the ‘me’ that I’ve checked in at the door to enter into the corporate gates more than a year ago.

I’m excited at my liberation. Yet in this excitement, I have tendrils of regret.

I regret leaving a place where I have found so many friends. I have always thought that I would go through life with just a handful of people who could be called friends. But it is in this place where my notion was shattered. There are people who are sweet. They make me smile in their own ways. And I will miss them dearly.

I regret leaving a place where my resolve to grow up has been tested and found strong and solid. I regret leaving behind an environment where each day is a challenge and at the end of it, I find myself able to make it through another day.

But as I shed the number dy54, the scar will remain and will become a reminder of the bittersweet mem’ries of those days in a certain workplace nestled amongst bamboo groves in the company of people who have become part of my life, as people who matter.



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