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Taina, that’s your name, the name that has stubbornly clung to you all your life; whoever gives such names anyway? The person who picked your first name must have been angry, or upset, or sad, or all of that. Taina is short for Tatiana, it means mystery, as mysterious as your birth; and your mother never fails to tell you about it whenever you both speak on the phone, which is quite often.

“Tatiana!” “Tatiana!!” “Tatiana!!!” 

That’s Kevin, hollering your government name loudly and foolishly, as he always does, you readily refer to him as your forever buddy; Kev, the one true person who knows you so well, so intentionally. 

It was your first week at your new job, the one you had lied at the interview to get, you wondered if the interviewer could see the anxiety beneath your badly made-up face, your desperation to get the job, the forced speeches, and your shaky hands. At the end of the interview, you could tell the interview went well, and a week later, when you received the offer letter in your email, it felt like an email you had waited for all your life. The wage offer was rather disappointing, yet you couldn’t wait to notify your one-man employer (who made you do ridiculous things in the name of a job) that you had quit. It’s funny how your dream evolved, how your plans changed, that’s what life does anyway (life, the faceless monster).

That week was so awkward you almost quit, yet you knew you had to keep the job. It went like a blur, and you were quiet throughout, because you were nervous your mouth would smell, and because you did not know how to interact with your new colleagues.

At the close of work on the Friday of your first week, as you descended the stairs, eager to go home, a rather croaky-voice, as though the speaker had a sore throat told you to "smile now" from down the stairs. At first, convinced this was not an instruction for you, you maintained your default straight-face and exited the building. 

"Auntie smile now," croaky-voice goes again as you try to flag down a vehicle outside the building and you are convinced the devil finally has your time today, of all days. You look at croaky-voice again, and he is distressingly handsome with a body as skinny as it could get. You would easily slap him like you would slap Benjamin, your annoying younger brother, but this is not Benjamin, so you walk away. How rude can one get?!

As you hug Kev, he talks about how much he loved your manuscript; your very first book draft. You smile because it's typical of Kev, to always be there to read your first draft, to tell you how you look like the sun on a Monday morning when he sees you at work, even though you lost your first button from struggling to get a taxi on your way to work. Every morning, Kev would brush your wig to normalcy with the back of his palm, without making you feel like a mad woman...

TO BE CONTINUED.....