Casualty Bay

September 16th, 2005 atwork

It feels as though a death in the family. The small inheritance of mechanical pencils, financial calculators and blue arch files. Papers sorted, drawers cleared, sweaters that had never seen a day in the inside of the washing machine, now returned home in cartons. His table next to mine that was still full of papers on Friday – his last work day – as though he expects himself to pop back on Sunday to work as was his wont, is now so clean there is not even a stray hair to say he was here the last seven years.

It was said the head spoke with him Wednesday at lunch. Thursday at six my boss announced his leaving to the conference room. Later at two am, I was working, he was clearing up. He took out, amongst some dusty gifts, a head set. It has his name tagged to it. In a call center the headset is returned with security passes. It has that sort of weight. I put it in the box and felt my nose turning sore, my eyes moist.

Today I have a childish desire to put it back on his table. Just in case.

A thousand blooming flowers

September 9th, 2005 Treats

It seems that way at home with the Vandas bursting into pretty mandarin yellow blooms and the rich purple mini dens growing buds.

I’ve passed the stage where I go mad and buy pots of exotic orchids. It’s terribly exciting, yes, but it will die on the corridor when I put the other plants. It’s not the scientific knowledge about orchids that I love the plants. The flowers are gorgeous but more so, whatever you observe of orchids, the same can be observed of human life. Fertiliser, light, water: the right environment, the right mix and they grow like weeds.