A WORK PLACE LIKE HOME.

Seen a Night at the Museum? If you haven’t, it’s basically about a museum where the sculptural artifacts come to life by midnight. There's a golden monkey too. Well, today I'll tell you about a similar place; A place where I now call home. A place where most of us just know as a workplace; now chill, there are no golden monkeys here. The magic starts happening when the daylight fades into darkness, and there are more faces on the walls than on actual bodies. These same hallways once haunted by the shrill voice of Abigail suddenly seem void of life. Work colleagues turn to family members, and in that short stretch of time between dusk and dawn, you get to see everyone in a new light. The sound of clattering keyboards makes way for laughter, sobriety and excitement. Meals shared under the faint glow of a phone’s flashlight, and experiences shared amongst a hurdle of very different people united by similar struggles, situations, views and dreams- sometimes different. Some other times there's no hurdle. It's just you and the four walls of a very unfamiliar workstation. Faces of men and women you don't know staring down on you while you sleep, browse through your phone or do whatever it is people do. Most of the faces have quotes. Those quotes always seem to make more sense in those moments. Like me trying a dance move, making a fool of myself and suddenly looking up to Pablo Picasso's quote saying, “I am always doing that which I cannot do in order that I may learn how to do it.” And I’m like, “Bro!  You too?” Moments like that is Pure Bliss. Then, of course, there are the weird ones. The ones with no quotes attached, just their monochrome grim faces- I’m guessing those ones are introverts. They look very judgmental. You won’t understand till you fall asleep while working at night and wake up to the disapproving face of Steve Jobs, and there's no quote beside him to communicate his thoughts towards you at that moment. There’s this particular weird one that is just outside of my door. He has that disapproving look of my father on his face that causes beads of sweat to form on my forehead. I have to wake up to his motivation-filled face every morning, only this time; he literally inspires me to perspire. But then again, those pictures on the wall somehow imbue this place with inspiration. In my really confusing moments, I take a stroll through the halls of this place and take in some of that motivation, and every time I ask myself how these people got to this status. Maybe someday, someone would hang me on their walls; a framed picture, of course. I probably should start saying wise things. The magic doesn't last forever though .In the early hours of the morning, when the first glimpse of light breaks into the day, the magic starts to wane, and these magical walls slowly begin to transform back to a workplace. Family members turn back to colleagues and the ghost of Natasha’s past roam the hallways again. Those moments you get to appreciate the irony of how you are not allowed to work from home.