Oh, I know that one, two, or three years from now my work wouldn't matter.  What I do now at work is eventually going to be irrelevant and forgettable.  In a corporate setting, employees are as disposable as Kleenex.

So why get married with work?  A friend asked me.

Because this is what matters now.  Trivial and unimportant as it may seem in the scheme of things, I like it this way.  I like the smallness of what I do, the irrelevance and inconspicuousness of it.  In the past couple of years, I've dealt with the big issues in life--death, faith, love. And sooner or later, I'll be dealing with big issues again--settling down,   marriage, children, family, and God knows what else.  This is it, my small window of relief from all that.  My parents have stopped asking me about settling down and, as long as I don't see any of my relatives, the question of when I'm going to get married and start breeding kids will never be forced upon me.

And let's not forget the fucking quarter-life crisis everyone rages about.  The am-i-here-to-shit-or-to-piss-or-to-save-the-world-from-mankind question.  I don't want to give it much thought.  I'm not 25 anymore. 

Sometimes it's nice to put things into context, to appreciate where you are and what you do despite the flimsiness of it.  To relish the calmness and quietness of things.  Because even the small things serve their purpose.  Whether it's something to get your hands and mind busy at the moment or a temporary comfort, a food in the table, a book in the shelf; these are the small things that could keep your sanity in a frantic world.  Never mind if in the long run these things would be forgotten; relegated in the background as insignificant and inconsequential.  But it did get you through this life.  Far enough for you to have a chance to look back at everything. 

It's the little things that could make you hold on when you're on the brink of giving up.  The small gestures of understanding when your life feels out of sort and disconnected from the rest of the world.  When it seems like everything's working against you and then the waiter gives you a free dessert; or someone buys you a cold drink; or you get a message from a friend you haven't heard in a long time.

It's those silly moments when you see a smiling face in a crowded place or when you suddenly lose your balance while walking on a wet floor.  Those surprising moments when you see a book you've long been searching for.  A cup of perfectly blended coffee on a cold, rainy night.  A ride in the front seat of a jeepney during rush hour.  Or catching a glimpse of a full moon when you thought the world has gone terribly dark.  Like those illusory moments when, staring on the evening horizon, you mistake headlights for shooting stars.