"OFFICEMATE"

(when a friendship being offered comes from an unexpected way)

At 34, I’ve come to a realization: most people we meet are just passing through. You laugh with them, plan a few hangouts, make good memories—and then, just when you're ready to invest your time, trust, and emotion, they disappear. One day, you just wake up and find yourself in the desert—alone.

After going through this over and over again, I started building walls. I stopped letting people into my world. I promise myself to only share the happy memories (even if there aren’t many), because I’m afraid of pushing people away with the mess—the drama, the vulnerability. And if someone gives me the space to open up, I convince myself to stay emotionless, or worse, turn my pain into a joke.

In my mind, I’ve already accepted that everyone leaves eventually. I’ve never experienced what it’s like to be genuinely loved—or to hear that I’m truly important to someone.

I’ve set high standards not just for myself, but for everyone else. I’m always in defense mode. The moment I sense even a hint of unreliability, I disappear without a trace.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m like this. Maybe it’s because I know myself too well. I’ve loved too deeply before, to the point of self-abandonment—always putting others’ comfort before my own. A people-pleaser, you could say. I’ve grown past the extreme of it, but I know it still lingers in me. So I learned to protect myself by not caring. If people stay, great. If they leave, so be it. This mindset became my armor. My shield from pain. But if you asked me if I’m happy? Honestly, no. I’ve just grown used to the numbness. My smiles are hollow and empty. I guard my heart so tightly that I don’t feel much anymore. In my mind, I’ve already accepted that everyone leaves eventually. I’ve never experienced what it’s like to be genuinely loved—or to hear that I’m truly important to someone. And because of that, I no longer know how to truly connect to others.

People say you shouldn’t expect anything in return because everyone loves differently. But if love and friendship are meant to be mutual, how can you not expect something back? Or are we just meant to give endlessly without ever receiving? So I stayed guarded. Isolated. Safe, at least.

But it wasn’t a one-time thing. He kept showing up. Not in a pushy way, but with quiet consistency. I didn't get it. This concern is really foreign to me.

Then one day, someone unexpected walked in—an officemate. Nothing special, at first. We got along, worked well together. That was it—or so I thought.

I started to notice his efforts. He wanted to get to know me. He invited me out. He even offered me a ride on the back of his motorcycle—just to go somewhere, anywhere. I kept brushing it off. “He’ll get tired eventually,” I told myself. No one does that without a reason, right? What’s his motivation? Does he just wants to be in my good side?

But it wasn’t a one-time thing. He kept showing up. Not in a pushy way, but with quiet consistency. I didn't get it. This concern is really foreign to me.

Then one day, we had lunch together. He used that chance to ask about me, beyond just being an officemate. I found myself slowly sharing fragments of my story—still guarded, still watching for signs of judgment or insincerity.

But there was none.

I asked myself, should I risk it? Could I even take down one brick from this wall I’ve built for years?

He listened. Genuinely. No judgment, no awkward smiles, no backhanded comments. He just being present at that moment.

Then he said something that completely caught me off guard—he told me he had been where I was. He knew what it was like to build walls, to feel nothing, to shut the world out. And then he challenged me.

He told me I should try investing in people again. Allow someone inside. To feel again. And then he said something even more unexpected: he was willing to be a friend—as long as I was willing to open up too. That maybe, just maybe, I needed someone who could break down those walls.

I didn’t know what to say. It felt like we're having an LST session. I asked myself, should I risk it? Could I even take down one brick from this wall I’ve built for years?

So I told him, “Maybe… I’ll try. But it’ll take time.”

He understood.

I’m still figuring things out. I’m unsure, cautious—but curious. It’s a risk, yes. What if it fails? What if it’s all a show?

What he didn’t know was—I was already holding back tears. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect someone to offer a friendship like that… to someone like me, someone he barely knew.

Before I could get lost in the moment, lunch was over, and we returned to our desks.

Right now, I’m still figuring things out. I’m unsure, cautious—but curious. It’s a risk, yes. What if it fails? What if it’s all a show? Just a way to get on my good side? If it is, I’ll be hurt—but I'm used to that.

But what if it’s not?

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*LST (Love Someone Today)

is a one-on-one seven-lesson discipleship guide of the Feast (Catholic prayer group founded by Bo Sanchez) to help new disciples start their relationship with God.