The Office

**narrative journal**
Time: 11am Bangkok Sept. 5. First day in Bangkok

The air in Bangkok was humid. At the *** offices, someone had plastered a colorful sticker on the sliding glass door. It said “Rejoice”. I slid open the door and was immediately engulfed by the office’s icy temperature. Two female receptionists, who looked around my own age, were in the first room. With more awkward bowing, I pressed my palms together and introduced myself

“I am EJ,” I said. “from America.”

Both of them spoke softly and were hesitant with their English. The receptionist’s were two cousins named Rita and Pam. Rita, the daughter of John (the scraggly Laotian who looked like Alfred E. Neuman), sat at the desks closest to me, was tilting her head with a quizzical look.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“The US.” I answered.

“But where are you from?” she asked again.

“Well, I was born in America,” I explained. “But my parents are Filipino.”

“Ohhh! Okay.” Both of the receptionists nodded their heads in understanding. I was told later that when they heard that an American was coming, they immediately thought of a very tall, very Caucasian man. Of course, I am neither of those.

“Is Mary here?” I asked.

“I think she is upstairs.” Rita answered.

I moved on through the office, which was half-home, half-work place. Dark-brown wood covered the floor and a crescent entry way divided the first room in two parts. It was quaint and welcoming and was kept meticulously clean. The second section served as the workplace for John and a Burmese pastor named Tuba.

When I opened the first door, I found myself no longer in an office but a living room. There was a couch, a tv and bookshelves filled with Bibles, dictionaries, thesauruses and dozens of books on missionary work. Over the dining room table, someone had hung a colorful world map.

I was making my way to the staircase when I saw a woman through the backdoor. Her frame was slighter than most Asians, and her eyes were cast downward, focused on something she was doing. She was older, bespectacled and dressed simply. I went towards her to introduce myself, but then, something made me hesitate.

I turned back to the staircase. Where there was another sliding glass door, this time with an “I Love Jesus” sticker pasted at eye level (I guess they put these up so no one will walk into the glass). I pressed my palm against the door to slide it open, leaving my handprint on the glass.

Upstairs I found three more rooms and a bathroom. Two rooms were used for office space and the third was a bedroom. Looking for Mary, I peeked through the first door, but she was nowhere to be found. I moved on to the second office, which I found out belonged to Paul, the director of the organization. When I entered, he was pacing the room.

“Eric,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

He had spent at least a decade in the States, which had given his English accent a Western drawl. He extended his hand to me and I shook it gratefully. After all my awkward bowing, I welcomed a nice, strong handshake.


I told him I was glad to be here and I made my way back downstairs where I was surprised to find the bespectacled woman bent down at the door, windexing my handprints of off the glass! She was the house servant! In America I was never used to having servants. I remembered that in Asia, it was a regular occurrence.

Her name was Dee, a Cambodian who had converted from Buddhism to Christianity a very long time ago. After she had given her life to the church, she moved forward and never looked back. Now she was serving at the office, living in a small room behind the house.

I sat at one of the desks in the first room and waited for Mary to arrive.

***

At around 4pm Bangkok time, I walked the 20 feet to the adjacent house where the weekly chapel was being held. Over a dozen workers and missionaries sat around a white conference table, where large maps of over a half-dozen countries hung on the walls. I took my place at one of the open seats.

They sang a worship song, which I remembered singing in church from the mid 90’s.

As they sang, my eyes began to flutter. It was around 2 am back home. The jet lag was making it my eyes sink like quicksand. Luckily, the AC was again, blasting an Arctic breeze, which was probably the only thing keeping me awake.

After the music, John welcomed me. In a clockwise direction, I was introduced to each member of the team.

The first was a Chinese man named Z ***names have been changed for the safety of workers. Recently engaged, he had a boyish face that made him look almost too trusting. He seemed to grin at all times. Z worked in one of the most closed countries in SE Asia.

Next was Goku. He processed papers for everyone’s travel.

Ping-Pong was the comedian of the group. Now that I think of it, I have never found out exactly what his job was. But he did all the odd jobs around. He was the most robust and easy going of all and great for a laugh. He was also the director’s little brother.

Tuba was another rounded brother, who played the guitar and sang vehemently. He was a pastor that seemed to have a genuinely good-natured spirit, which I think is a rarity to find. (If Christians are jars that God fills with joy, I have to say- I think this man is filled to the brim.)

Mary was the boss after Paul, and coordinated work in different countries.

Dalma was a petite Filipina: Assistant to the director.

Tuna worked in Thailand.

Lucy was a British woman who enjoyed telling me that I look like Barack Obama- the next president.

Ruth was a Filipina who cooked often, and served at schools and different countries throughout Asia.

Jackie worked with a particular oppressed people group in north Asia.

And then Rita and Pam, the secretaries. And also John.

They gave me the floor to speak. I was tired and didn’t have much to say. I ended up telling them my testimony so that they could get to know me a bit and know something about my history. I told them about my background and a little bit about why I came.

“…. so that’s my testimony,” I said afterwards. “I just wanted to go where there was the most need and God gave me this opportunity. Since I was seventeen, one of my prayers has always been: ‘make me a servant, humble and meek, Lord let me lift up those who are weak.’ Hopefully as we talk you all can share something about yourselves to me.”

Afterwords, they all gave reports about what was happening in their specific areas of work. I was tired, but I found their incredible stories of faith despite persecution, inspiring and re-energizing.

I went home and even though my body was tired, my mind felt like it was going a million miles a second. I slept for just two hours.

No amount of sleep could have prepared me for the next day.

***
next up: "Muted"...