Young Underpaid Professionals

FICTION posted by Rica

The lift was empty when I got in it on the ground floor. There was a lift man, but he never asked me what floor I’d be getting off.

Up, up, up. Stop.

A girl with pigtails got on when we reached the fifth floor. she turned and smiled at me, and I smiled back. She wasn’t any taller than I was but it seemed that she’d been riding the lift far longer that I’d been.

Another woman stepped inside when we got to the seventh floor. She had a small bun on top of her head, and had glasses, and wore high-heeled leather shoes. She only looked at either of us girls once when she stepped in, and never bothered to nod the lift man’s way. Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted by wasabi kid

On June 4, I made a life-changing decision in a matter of seconds. If you think quitting a job then hopping on a plane bound for Doha with no plans at all is crazy, then that’s what I am. So what’s the reason for all of this? Well, here’s the closest answer I can come up with – just because. Plans on how to survive and eventually thrive? Well, I’m winging it. Some might see it as a witless choice but one cannot deny the fact that it’s one adventure.

For a Filipino in a foreign setting, it can be quite unsettling. The fear comes from everything and anything that is not familiar especially when your life is deeply rooted to traditions. It’s difficult to say goodbye to comfort zones. But welcoming new surprises? Those are the moments that we definitely live for. Read the rest of this entry »

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FICTION posted by Rica

I live with The Omen. So far she hasn’t done anything that would eventually become a catalyst toward world destruction. She’s one lazy devil. A literal one. But, you have to understand, even if The Omen hasn’t moved her ass off that huge creepy red throne of hers, I’m pretty sure we’ll all be headed to her queendome soon enough.

Dibs on Apartment A.

It’s not a privilege, by the way. It just so happens I’m her sister, so this is a favor. And it’s a huge curse, I tell you. Imagine… hell. Bonfires are at the bottom level. The big kind of bonfires that you’d only typically use during the burning of a witch. Imagine the fire’s taller than you if you stand beside it, and the you’ll feel as if the fire’s seeping under your skin and burning your insides first.

That kind of bonfire.
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FICTION posted by Rio S.

She woke up and readied herself for work.
She went into the office with a smile on her face.
She worked.
She logged out on the office attendance sheet.
She hailed a cab.
She greeted the doorman and went straight to her flat.
She was happy, she could almost hear them say.
She laughed.

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FICTION posted by Rio S.

Dear Sam,

It sure has been a while. Thanks for sending your coffee blend, by the way; Fran says thanks too. We’re still wondering whatever it is you put in there. Honestly, I can safely say we’re quite addicted to Samantha’s Personal Coffee Blend.

How have you been honey? I’ve been busy with work and family stuff the past couple of months and I’m sorry for not writing as often. I know I haven’t called that many times either but I know you’d understand. Fran and I got your package yesterday. I tried to call you, but all I got was that automated voice. In German. Course, I had no idea what it was saying; I just assumed you’d forgotten to charge your phone again. I tried calling many times and still that voice answered, so here I am writing you an email instead.

Mom says to thank you. The curtains you sent to the house were “just darling,” she said. She’s been nagging me to write you more often, but I was really busy you see. Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted by Mabie

last night sir mark broke my heart.

fresh from my creativity and problem awareness class, i was left reeling and in dire need of red horse beer — grande, please — upon the discovery of the “possibility” that vincent van gogh may not have been the crazed maniac i’ve always romanticized him to be.

this is my favorite painting of his, my favorite painting ever, actually:

in last night’s class, all that was romantic about this painting was ripped and shredded to pieces right in front of me. and all i can do was to don on that glazed, stone-faced mask to keep the tears from falling. i would have been very hard-pressed to explain to the class what the fuck i was crying about, first of all. Read the rest of this entry »

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