Sometimes, change arrives quietly, in the form of a desk being moved, a chair becoming empty, or a familiar face no longer being where it has always been..
On the surface, it was a simple operational decision. People move offices all the time. Work carries on. New routines are formed. Yet, you be surprised to know that navigating change is not always easy.
Perhaps it is because of the changes I have had to navigate in the past. Perhaps it is because somewhere along the way I learned to appear calm on the outside while carrying deep emotions quietly on the inside. I may have become skilled at appearing unaffected, at reasoning through situations, at accepting what must be accepted.
As a 5 year old, we were sent to hostel as Dad feared his job security in Abu dhabi. While my older sister was crying, I had to be the older one pacifying her making her understand that Dad sent us coz he loves us and cared for our education but it was hard for my 6 year old sister. Mom did eventually take us out in 2 years and we all moved in together. My sister used to cry when relatives come and I used to be the calm...When B left to Iraq I was choking inside...my eyes would well with tears at a tiny thought but I tried hard not to shed a tear in front of my kids or at work! My car and the Al Khoudh to work was the time I would vent out my true emotions! But acceptance and absence of pain are not always the same thing.
This particular change had been unfolding for days. I knew it was coming.. it was inevitable. I had prepared myself for it. And yet, when it happened, the room felt different.
It is strange how attached we become without even realising. The familiar morning greetings. The person who understands the rhythm of the office without needing explanations. The comfort of knowing who is around .... The quiet consistency of everyday presence.We rarely notice these things while they are there.We notice them when they change.
I found myself feeling a sense of loss, but not confusion. I knew the reasons. I understood the logic. It all made perfect sense. Nobody had done anything wrong. It was a practical decision, a necessary one too. Yet there was still pain.
I am not dramatic. I am known for my calm, my ability to stay composed. But I feel things deeply. I don't express affection outwardly. I am not someone who rushes to hug people or openly display emotion. Yet I value people deeply.The narrative that played in my head to make myself understand was "Nobody has left the company.", "Nobody has disappeared from my life." I knew those statements were true. But there was still a quiet sadness in seeing a familiar chapter come to an end.
Part of me resisted even admitting that sadness. Not because the feelings were invalid. Not because they were unimportant. They were both valid and important. It was manily because I felt I had no right to feel them. After all, I am simply an employee. A hireling, as I sometimes tell myself. Work is work. People move. Life goes on. Or so we say.
But the truth is that people matter.
As I reflected on it, I realised that what I was mourning wasn't the room itself. It was the comfort of familiarity. The creature of habit in me that settle into patterns, routines, and relationships which quietly become part of daily lives. Even when change is good. Even when it is necessary. Even when we agree with it completely. There can still be a small grief in letting go of what was.
What made the experience even more poignant was thinking about how she must have felt.
For years, that room had been her space. A place where challenges were faced, relationships were built, conversations were shared, and countless ordinary days unfolded. Even when change is not personal, it can still feel personal. There is something unsettling about leaving a place where you have become comfortable. I could sense emotions beneath the surface, even though they were never openly discussed. For a moment, I wanted to say something. I wanted to acknowledge that it could not have been easy. I wanted to say that I understood. But I didn't. Not because I didn't care. Perhaps because I cared too much.
Sometimes when someone is already carrying disappointment or hurt, drawing attention to it can make the burden feel heavier. Sometimes naming the wound reminds the person that it is there. So I chose silence.Not the silence of indifference. The silence of respect. The kind that says "I understand more than I am saying" and "I do not want to make it harder for you."
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps she would have appreciated hearing it. Or perhaps she was grateful that nobody made a larger issue of what was already difficult enough. I will never know.
What I do know is that how deeply human I am, even in professional environments. Behind every move, every organisational decision, every seating rearrangement, there are people adjusting emotionally in ways that never appear in reports, plans, or management discussions. We assume that only major life events leave marks on us. But sometimes it is the smallest transitions that reveal how attached we have become ....
The room is different now. The conversations will be different or will take time to build, Perhaps fewer.The routines will be different..that is not something to fear...a reminder that life is always moving, and that every season leaves its mark on us. People matter, connections are formed, memories are made, spaces become meaningful not because of the walls around, but because of the people who occupy them.
On Tuesday night, during Bible Study at church, these emotions I had carefully contained all week found its way to the surface. I found myself sobbing silently ...I had already reasoned through everything. I had accepted the change. I understood the logic. I had told myself all the right things. Yet tears have a way of revealing what reason sometimes cannot.
Perhaps the tears were not really about loss, but about care, gratitude, and the bond formed through years of shared daily life... for a daughter like figure who became part of my everyday life.
Love that often goes unspoken...Love that notices when someone is hurting
Love that quietly wished blessing over the person even while carrying my own emotions.
As I wiped away those tears that Tuesday night, I realised something simple.The room was never just a room.It was a place that had held years of conversations, laughter, prayers, worries, celebrations, and ordinary moments that slowly became meaningful.
The room is different now. The routines will be different. The conversations may be fewer. But perhaps that is not something to fear. Perhaps it is simply another reminder that people matter more than we realise, and that every season, however ordinary, leaves its mark on us.
I miss having that familiar, daughter-like presence in my room.But my prayer for her remains unchanged.. Go further. Dream bigger. Shine brighter. Become everything God created you to be.....
Read Part 2 ........
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