Alice

Alice

The woman opened her eyes to a blank ceiling. She glanced at the clock. It was almost time for work. She tried to move, but her body felt heavy like stone. A feeling of emptiness anchored in her stomach. She contemplated whether to stay in bed longer, but at the ring of the alarm, the woman immediately rose to her feet.

On her way out, she locked her apartment door, rushed down the stairs, and walked three blocks until she reached the bus stop. She watched the other passengers. Some stared out their windows aimlessly while others closed their eyes from the world, escaping into their dreams. The bus halted at the train station. She trudged toward it. After a twenty-minute ride, the woman reached her destination and opened the door to the marketing company she works for.

As a front desk executive, she began with organizing a pile of client files and then proceeded to automatically input data into the excel sheet. She worked through the remaining list of tasks on her calendar, mechanically crossing them out one by one. The reception phone unremittingly rang. The woman cleared her throat and manufactured her voice with a pleasant tone.

“MJ Company, this is Ms. Amudo, how may I help you?” she answered.

“Ms. Amudo, please fax these documents.”

“Ms. Amudo, set an appointment for Smith at three.”

Directions from other employees flew in succession and perforated her calendar. By the tenth call, the woman sounded like a broken recorder.

After completing the assigned tasks, she scrolled through the company website’s bulletin. In bold letters it announced:

Looking for advertisement ideas for M&M Company. Accepting applications.

The woman looked at the notice favorably as she prepared to leave. On her way home, she pondered over several advertisement ideas before stopping by a grocery outlet. She crossed it off her calendar and reached her final destination at home. While the woman sat in her blank room, she wrote her application and sighed in relief of its completion. She automatically crossed it off her calendar. Realizing that nothing was remaining on her schedule, she decided to end her day with a quick glimpse of the breathtaking view of the city. The woman approached her balcony and soaked in the spectacle of nightlights. With hungry eyes, she wondered what laid behind the horizon.

“I hear there is an ocean out there,” she gently spoke to herself.

“I have not seen it,” the woman faintly whispered.

As she turns around, the corner of her eye detects a birdcage hanging on her neighbor’s balcony about an arm’s length from her. She noticed that the bird’s eyes reflected the nightlights as it intently stared at the view. A moment of silence filled the air before the woman realized that the bird felt familiar to her. She wondered about it before bed.

The next morning, the woman opened her eyes. Her body felt heavy, but she raced down the stairs, dragged herself on the bus, jumped onto the train, sat in front of the reception desk, and commenced with the first task on her calendar. At the end of the day, the director greeted her on his way out before she stopped him and handed in her application.

“I am sorry Ms. Amudo, we only accept applications from marketing associates. But I commend you for your effort-which reminds me, we are hiring a new receptionist. I could count on you to teach her?” He inquired.

She looked at the floor with a blank stare.

“Ms. Amudo?”

“Yes. I will teach her,” she forced a smile.

The executive thanked her and went on his merry way while she prepared to leave.

On her way home, the woman looked at her calendar. Realizing her friend is visiting for dinner, she hurries back and meets her friend in front of the door to her apartment.

“You forgot didn’t you?” her friend asked disappointedly.

“No. Of course not.” She smiles. “I was late because I had to turn in my pitch to an executive at work.”

“In that case, all is forgiven,” her friend returns the smile.

While cooking dinner, her friend asked about the pitch.

The woman regretfully replied, “The application is for marketing associates, so it was denied.”

“I swear!” her friend angrily slammed the table. “These companies keep you in the same position for years, and when you’re too old, they replace you with another part. You’ll know when they hire someone new!” she exclaimed.

“A part?” The woman repeated obscurely.

“Like a robot with the same function on repeat 365 days a year,” the friend answered.

“That explains the feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“Haven’t you felt like what you are doing is not real at times? Like it’s not you.”

“I know that feeling well. But if it’s putting such a toll on you, why don’t you quit?”

The woman paused for a second, wondering herself what the reason was.

Then she responded, “I suppose...it's all I have to fill my day.”

“Strange. I remember growing up, you dreamed of traveling the world. I recall we were exploring the forest behind your parent’s house. You insisted on traveling further, and we went too far, losing our way back. I never saw anyone more merry and lively being lost than you.” Her friend laughed reminiscing about the memory. “It was an adventure you craved for. You were so full of life when we managed to find the house that you set your mind to see the world. So, why not start now?”

“That was when I naively thought that life would be adventurous, mysterious, or even heroic, but it turned out to be robotic. How could a robot find meaning in something new when it was built to repeat itself. Everyone went to college. I did too. Everyone found a job. I did too. I just followed the manual. I am like the bird on the balcony. I heard it was raised in that cage. Could you ask it to find something new to fill its day?”

“You may be right. It’s as though the cage that imprisons us is life itself. But we have hands unlike that bird, you know. We just need to find the will to open it.”

“Have you opened yours?” the woman asked with fleeting hope.

“No. You see, I refuse to. You said the bird was raised in that cage. It will not be able to survive outside of it. I won’t be able to either. I don’t know how to live without my cage. There is no manual for living outside of it. On that note,” her friend glanced at her watch, “it’s time for me to go. Let’s talk of better days next time. How about our childhood? Those were the good old days.”

When her friend left, the woman slid under the blanket and fell asleep thinking of their conversation.

The next morning, she rushes down the stairs and steals a glance at the bird only to notice it is laying on the floor of its cage. Realizing the bird has died, a bitter taste dissipates into her mouth as she drags her heavy body to work.

After a day’s work, the woman returns home. On her balcony, she finds a new bird replaced the old one. Guilt suddenly creeps into her heart. But it is not the kind of guilt one feels for a dead animal. It is as though the woman feels guilty towards a dead person. She stares at her barren hands, her friend’s words return to her at this grim moment of dissolution, memories of her life flash before her eyes. She steps towards her closet, opens it, and finds her maritime academy certificate, a sailing trophy, a pile of adventure books, and a stack of short stories she had written crowded in the closet. The woman glares intently at the stack of writing. She finally sits before her laptop and begins to write.

The Adventures of Alice, in bold letters, titled the blank page. The more it was filled with words, the less empty and more alive the woman felt. Before the night ended, she wrote a short letter to her friend:

Dear Friend,

Life imprisons us, but it is not what locks us in. Your other person inside locks you in. That bird was meant to fly, however, it was raised in a cage to be something it was not. It may have never known how to survive outside, but it didn’t need to. Instincts are there for a reason after all. Wish me luck because I will follow mine.

Your beloved friend,

Alice.

After one week, Alice finished packing her belongings. She left behind her calendar, handed in her apartment key, and walked out of the building. Looking back at her neighbor’s balcony, the door of the birdcage was wide open and the bird was long gone. Alice smiled and began her journey towards the horizon.

Once she reached the harbor, the breath of fresh air filled her with warmth. She unanchored her sailing boat and drifted onto the vast sea, closing her eyes.

When Alice opened them, she witnessed the colorful contrast of the sky blue ocean and the fiery red sunset. Her ship on the horizon beautifully blended in.

“This time, there was no destination,” she thought to herself. “Only adventure.”