The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a sterile buzzing that mirrored the mounting pressure behind my eyes. I needed to write this down—not for record-keeping, but for survival. If I didn’t find a sanctuary for these thoughts, the walls of this office would surely close in on me.

At the very top of my ledger of grievances sat one name, written in ink that felt as bitter as my resentment: aka. Jollibee

The Slow Unmasking

During my first year, he was a blurred figure in the periphery—someone I knew I should dislike but couldn’t quite categorize. There was a flicker of toxicity in his smile, a jagged edge to his jokes, but as a newcomer, I lacked the map to navigate his minefield. I was quiet, tethered by shyness and the heavy silence of the unacquainted.

He, on the other hand, moved through the office like a seasoned politician. He didn't just work; he performed. He wove himself into the fabric of the leadership’s inner circle, securing his position not through merit, but through the dark arts of the corporate climber: sycophancy, creative storytelling, and the calculated assassination of his colleagues' reputations.

The Turning Point

I remember the first time he used me as a shield for his own incompetence. Being new, I was the perfect scapegoat—voiceless and vulnerable. But time is a cruel teacher, and eventually, I learned the language of defiance.

The confrontation happened recently. I finally stripped away his mask of "good vibes" and laid out the rumors he’d been spinning about me. The reaction was pathetic. The man who could command a room with his loud stories suddenly became a stuttering ghost. He feigned ignorance, his eyes darting anywhere but toward mine.

Now, the dynamic has shifted. The air between us is thick with his guilt. He no longer dares to bark orders at me as he once did; instead, he directs his demands toward my seatmate, his voice trembling with the effort of avoiding my gaze.

The Illusion of "Positivity"

It is a comedy of errors, really. He is a master of the parinig—the coward’s weapon—hurling passive-aggressive remarks into the air, yet he lacks the spine to address me directly.

What baffles me most is the audience. The office treats him like a mascot. They tolerate his shoddy work and his penchant for chaos because he wraps his venom in the bright packaging of a "positive thinker." They see a cheerful companion; I see a backstabber whose wagging tongue serves as the catalyst for every bridge burned in this department.

There is a certain irony in it all. He speaks with the confidence of a scholar, yet every word exposes a profound ignorance. He is consistently, reliably, and exhaustingly foolish.

I have traded my silence for a shield. It has brought its own set of problems, but as I watch him struggle to look me in the eye, I realize that being the "difficult" one is a small price to pay for the peace of no longer being his victim.