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Ah, the things that happen with silence. Your innocence will leave you deranged soon.

Sometimes you just have so much pent up inside you, that you end up doing things with such a passion without understanding why it deserved such treatment anyway. You pick up one thing that just start banging on the keyboard, and you see all those words fly from your fingers to the screen, and you're thinking, man, I am in my element today! And then it gets longer, and longer, and before you know it, you've done much more than they actually require you to do. In other words, it's what I told Carmel a few days ago: "I think I overwrote an article." Seven hundred words of nothing.

My officemates call me "the Flash." Well, a disclaimer is in order: none of my co-writers call me that. Of course, we are a big bunch of outsourced employees, and most of them can't help but notice how fast I apparently walk, which I (on the other hand) think is my usual speed. Maybe it's my inherent hyperactivity, but sometimes that speed comes to good use. In my case, it only happened once, when I found myself running out of the conference room - in the middle of a conference call - when Neobie realized she didn't have her notebook with her.

It's not really a long distance to travel, but I found myself running to my desk anyway. Besides, the folks at Seattle were dictating a list of television shows, and nobody among the five could keep up. We all ended up missing Monday's list, since I didn't catch it entirely - I was out running, duh - and both Neobie and Kris failed to catch that one show.

But that event seems to have cemented my reputation as a speedy person. I rushed to my desk, and the group of researchers that I had to pass by went, "ayan na naman si Flash!" complete with sheepish, if not mocking, grins. The thing, of course, is that I could've just walked my way to the desk and calmly pulled out my notebook. Kris got three shows anyway, and we'd all get an email from the folks at Seattle outlining all the shows we worried about.

All of us are certainly looking for that feeling of satisfaction. I feel it when I know I've whipped out a mean blog entry, or a meaner article (like the one I "overanalyzed"). I also feel it when, like everybody else, I know I've done something of good to someone, even if just remotely. Before you know it, you're instinctively doing things just to get the result you want, even if it means looking ridiculous in front of everybody else. And that's where my fascination comes in: I am also amazed at seeing how things turn out to be what they are. Bit by bit, brick by brick, dead worker after dead worker, you suddenly have something that people will never fully comprehend. Yes, I am inaccessible that way.

"Look at me! It's 01.30 and I'm still on YM."

"And now it's 01.46! You're still on YM. I'm still not double-clicking."

The lower-right hand of my screen claims Raisa has gone offline.

"And now I am offline. Ha!"

"And I noticed that. I still don't know how to... react? Or should I?"

The lower-right hand of my screen claims Raisa posted something on my Facebook page, again. Two seconds before I clicked, in fact.

"I love how we're responding within seconds from each other. Yay Internet! But now I have to sleep. Good night!"

"Go sleep then. It's almost 02.00. Niiight!"

Before I knew it, I was getting amazed at the speed, at how many avenues there already are for communication, and at how risky this precise activity supposedly is, because it can get someone blocked from accessing some things on Facebook, if not kicked out altogether. And I was spending my free time in between typing and changing browser tabs, and it's become mechanical, and it's become automatic, and for some reason it feels fascinating.

However, what made that possible is the fact that it all happens online. It's just a few keystrokes. No commitments, no instant blunders, and no fear of getting called names, even if they're strangely complimentary. Transfer that to the real world, and some people are bound to frown at you for your dedication to such worthless causes, like excessively analyzing a television show that nobody in the Philippines will probably be able to watch, or running out the conference room just to get a notebook. Yet, you can't blame yourself for doing such ideally stupid things, because you're in it for that feeling you get when you've done something in the most wonderful of ways.

Suddenly you'd be brimming with ideas, and you'd somewhat impatiently wait for the right time to come for you to act. And then you'll realize that they'll not receive you fondly, because they're up to other things, like pretending you don't exist, despite you being so giddy about it. Start wondering why it even has to go that way.

And your responses...

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