I usually leave the office at fifteen minutes past six and, regardless of whether I'm going home by myself or with my dad, I end up half-sleeping on the way. Nine (or ten, as it usually goes) hours staring at the monitor reading stuff is a strain on my already strained eyes, and the conversations (or the lack of it) that goes in between just sweetens the deal between me and the Sandman.

Last night, though, I was wide awake. I ended up being witness to the unbearable traffic at Shaw Boulevard, the surprisingly bearable traffic at the South Luzon Expressway, and to one of the passengers dropping off a mile away from where she was supposed to drop off. It never happened in a while, but I didn't feel the need to forget what just happened. I think I was slightly delirious, even.

After yesterday's events, I was still averse to the idea of actually crediting their sudden, err, niceness for my sunny disposition. But that's what I got. It's exactly what Jenn told me a few weeks ago, during one of those I-want-to-go bouts that affect my workday: "It's supposed to be two-way." It's still early days, but finally I felt a sliver of comfort in the people that spend their days doing basically the same things I do. Obviously I still don't know whether it'll last for a while - my cynicism still gets the better of me - but there's a reason why Valerie and I chatted last night. That won't just happen.

Sometimes being comfortable is all you really need to get things really going. There's a fine line between "mandatory socialization" and being friendly for the sake of being friendly, and you definitely know where I stand on that one. You can only despair so much by just thinking of what to write on that copy of The Little Prince, and more so when you realize you slightly stained the page, leaving a sludge on the previously pristine white page. Change things a bit, and you'll never mind smearing the page, much more not making sense on the dedication. You'll never have to pace around thinking of what you'll do and how you'll do it.

I was texting Jenn last night, while both of us dealt with our own traffic jams, and I wondered why things now feel like they're just that, rather than being so big it'll take me by the neck. Is that sinking feeling gone? No, I answered, because I still feel like sinking, although I was extraordinarily preppy - and I was inside a packed van that makes cracking sounds whenever it turns left. So maybe it's the potential public reaction, but not really, I figured. It's just a confounding thing: what used to be a damn big gesture before felt like something I'd normally do. And, take note, it still was a big gesture to me, or at least that's how Icka would think.

So maybe all it really takes is some comfort. I've never felt that in quite a while, so perhaps it's just me fighting with isolation, and although it's weird thinking how far things have gone for some, but for me, it might be the smallest of baby steps. At least there's an inroad.

And, if comfort helps you know new things, it's that mobile-to-mobile communications don't feel snobbish, period.

And your responses...

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