“Ding…” Never knew that the high pitch sound that emitted from my laptop, one that frequently would irate me when I am buried with work, could sound this sweet even if it meant that I lost count of the number of tie-plates for that floor’s workstation clusters. Then again, I suppose any sound, of any decibel, at any time would sound ever so sweet if it was an indication that you bagged what you toiled for.

I set the A2 size floor plan aside and walked the 10 steps to my workstation. I positioned the on-screen cursor to what I was looking for amongst the many emails and made a firm right click on my mouse to open the route to work satisfaction and most importantly, one that help to alleviate the stress off sales figure number chase for the year.

I picked up the printed hardcopy of the contract that still held residual warmth from the heat transferred at point of print, to carefully scrutinise the content, ensuring that there was no mistake whilst mentally justifying the many extra hours I put in across the last 4weeks and a smile naturally formed on my sleep deprived face.

I grabbed my mobile and let my fingers tabbed on the number screen the all too familiar eight numbers I knew like the palm of my hand, all eager to share the good news with that one special person… my Head of Sales, my best friend, my rock, colleague, confidante, my Darling, my… Tiffany.

Just when my index finger was about to tab on the green call icon of my mobile did I notice that it was 4.40am in the morning. My upturned lips slowly dropped into a flat line together with the excitement I felt just mere seconds ago. I closed the phone application on the mobile and placed the mobile down onto my work top, face-down.

Why? Because who in the world would make a phone call to wake her miscarriage risk friend at such early hours to share the euphoria of closing a project, especially one that she had toiled 14-16hours a day for the last 4weeks, reviewing the system furniture configuration of the three different floors, floor plans after revised floor plans until her vision threatened to be clear only with the permanent aid of prescription glasses. Also, which sensible person would call her recently pregnant friend whom she had shared every joyous and tearful moment with from since 5years ago at 4.40am on a Sunday wee morning and say, “Time to pop the 2006 Cristal Rose!” even though it is a tradition we kept to from since 5years ago, for winning project valued in excess of $3million. How inconsiderate and inapt would that be.

I swivelled my office chair 180degree around to face the drop floor glass window and stared blankly at the amber lit roads that was devoid of life. All was still other than the leaves on the trees, lined up along the side-walk, swaying in sync to the rhythm of the wind in a slow tango. Even the leaves on the trees had each other to dance together with. 

I started to reminisce about how it all was, just 3months ago, when we clinched the project to outfit Jung Fund House’s new office just 2 streets away. At 7pm that evening, I picked up my mobile to a boisterous, overly jubilant Tiffany saying a little too loud and too fast, “2006 Cristal Rose, back to office in 10! Get the glasses ready!”

Victory was sweeter in that manner. The company we kept as we worked till late on our individual projects, the tight friendship forged with the many hours shared together in the office, the celebratory sweet blush bubbles we drained that tantalised our taste buds, uplifted our spirits and awaken every dormant dirty brain cell in Tiffany’s head with every win.

Give Tiffany alcohol, accompanied with the company of Hyo, my other rock, and you can trust those two to crack me up with every dirtily blushing content, in the adult sense, that  would sprout out of their mouths. Inevitably, the night was bound to draw to a dramatic end with Tiffany openly declaring that she was going home to release all the pent up stress she had held in, between the Egyptian cotton sheets, with her Investment Banker husband, John Song.

There was no doubt that “Baby Song”, the name we use when referring to the foetus growing in her womb, was made that same night she won the Jung Fund House project. I suppose Jung Fund House is really a “Power House” after all… excuse my pun.

So here I am… armed with good news and no one to share it with.

The pin drop silence that surrounded me this early morning became almost too loud to bear. The loneliness I tried to keep at bay by incorporating the daily nearly 14-16hours gruelling long work day that left me so physically