Soulless 9-5, 2 a.m. walks
The world changes at 2 a.m.
There are fewer people and less noise. The light is different. Most buildings shut down their garish bulbs, and hazy street lamps stand out more.
In the mountains of Baguio City, the streets turn foggy in the early hours. The air is cooler, fresher. I walk down alleys and I smell them before I see them: A sweet, perfume-like fragrance—Angel’s trumpets that bloom only at night.
In those days, my “9-5” started at 8 p.m. and ended at 5 a.m. I was a call center agent: Booking hotel rooms for Americans. The rooms they book average $150 a night, with the cheaper ones in the $80 to $95 range. Others stayed in $200-$400 rooms and those on vacation spent as much as $500 a night. I got paid roughly P13,000 ($228) per month to do that job, planning escapades I could never afford.
So I looked forward to two things: The end of my shift. And the one-hour, unpaid lunch break, that I took at 2 a.m.
There is a song I listened to on those walks. Something I found in an animated film. The song is over seven minutes long, with an instrumental intro that goes for 2:47 minutes. I paced my walk based on that song. Walking at night with music makes you feel like you’re inside a movie.
I worked in an information technology hub of corporate buildings and cemented parks in Camp John Hay. Surrounded by pine trees and manicured golf courses, the place felt safe, kind of. So I could take my 2 a.m. walk leisurely, with earphones on. I’ll be outside of the buildings in two minutes. Then I acclimate myself to the park for the last 47 seconds of the song’s instrumental.
I start walking. The path leads to restaurants that close at 10 p.m., which means the noise and the light grow fainter and fainter as you advance. I liked taking that route; a path my coworkers on break never take. They seemed to prefer the noise, the glaring fluorescents, the smoking tents, and the instant coffee machines.
I preferred the music and the silence. In that small space of sanity, my mind would wander. I dreamed. I planned.
I dreamed about the life I wanted to have.
At the time, my dream was simple: To earn as much as, if not more than, my monthly pay — on a job with daytime hours. That was hard to find in Baguio, where the minimum wage was around P7,000/month. It was 2014 and I was 19, a sophomore in college. I worked the night shift while taking classes during the day. It was the only way to afford a laptop, a camera, and all the expenses that go into pursuing a film career. My father, who drives a jeepney for a living, suffered a stroke then, and my call center job became, for me, being the eldest among four siblings, my family’s safety net.
I waved thoughts of my family and finances away. I focused on my surroundings. The trees stood in the shadows of orange street lamps. A cold breeze passed.
There is beauty in stillness, especially in stillness moved: The pines swaying, the insects chirping in the silence. I was alive and healthy, and getting paid. I was fine. And though my problems felt overwhelming, I was making do, and that was all that truly mattered. I would be fine.
Then I thought about my plans. What can I look forward to?
A story.
Mentally, I began writing a short film. Where will I get the money to feed and transport my actors and crew, even if I don’t pay talent fees? I decided to think about practical logistics some other time.
Instead, I focused on building the story:
Once upon a time, there lived a man in his mid-20s who worked at a call center at night and sold health supplements during the day. He lived to sell, hoping one day he’d sell enough to stop selling.
Then he wakes up one day to find he was transported back in time. He sees his 17-year-old self. Before the call center. And he discreetly follows his younger self around. The younger version looked alive, talking films with friends and writing stories all day. And the present version finally remembers why he works in the first place.
—————-
I once worked a morning shift.
Most agents avoid the morning shift because, aside from the night differential pay cut, there are fewer calls in the morning. This means less probability of sales, lower KPI, and shakier job stability. But one summer, when I didn’t have classes, I took it.
My shift started at 4 a.m. and ended at 1 p.m. For the first time since working at the call center, I saw the sun again.
Most days, the sun is sweltering when I get out of work. But there are times when rain arrives in the morning and it continues, unabated, until after lunch. Most people hide indoors. And the air smells of a world made refreshingly clean.
In those moments, I clock out of work and put on my earphones.
I play the usual song, leave the building cluster in two minutes, like usual, and spend the last 47 seconds observing my rain-drenched surroundings.
The lyrics come in.
I take one step after another, absorbing the sights and the smells. Suddenly, I find myself thinking: I can do it. I will do better. Much better.
And then I did.
—————-
John Pucay, 28, is a Kankanaey-Ibaloi author from Baguio City. After quitting his call center job in 2015, he graduated from university in 2017 and moved to Metro Manila in 2018, starting a freelance career. He returned to Baguio in 2020 to pursue writing full-time and has since published short stories and a novel nationally and abroad. He finished producing his first short film in early 2023. More details at: johnpucay.com
