Love Letter Series #1 — To the Man In My Morning Elevators

Dear Man In My Morning Elevators (or should I call you Man of 19th Floor)?

It must suck that the rain wet your newspaper today. I know you usually read the front page as you wait for the elevator to come—apparently 5 minutes is more than enough for you to understand what is going on with the world and have something to talk about in your meetings. That “Ding!” sound is a cue for you to lift your head up from the last column and enter the elevator. And for me, too, to follow you and pretend that I am busy with whatever I have in my hands.

Both of us arrive in the lobby no later than 8.00 a.m. every day—too early in any Third World standards, which explains why we always bump into each other while waiting for the elevator. By my 3rd (or 4th) day of internship here, you already recognized the Girl of Your Morning Elevators. You smiled as you pushed the “19” button, and I nodded back as I sipped my latte macchiato to collect enough confidence to casually greet you. But instead, I just stared at my reflection on the polished elevator doors, checking if I had any latte macchiato left on the tip of my lips.

Dear Man In My Morning Elevators,

I love that you are so full of patterns.

On Mondays, you usually have a cup of espresso—probably a very strong one, to recover from the fact that you do not get to sleep the previous night. Also, you always wear a red tie—your daughter loves the red tie, and she wants you to wear it as you drive her to the boarding school every Monday. You told me she bought it for you on your 37th birthday.

Wednesdays are days of letters. You have at least a folderful of them and look strangely happy. I wonder if that’s because you have a hobby of replying letters (I do, too) or it is simply an attempt to fool yourself into believing that you do. Regardless, I hope you would be glad to read and reply to this one—no pressure, though.

My favorites are Fridays. You cannot hide your joyful face because you will meet your daughter by the end of the day. And I am sure that she must be very excited, too. I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but you hum a lot when you’re in a good spirit. And that puts me in a good spirit, too, because I get to chuckle along when you get your pitch wrong. And we would laugh together, for a while, before the elevator drops you off at the 19th floor.

Dear Man In My Morning Elevators,

I send you this letter because I want to thank you. For the simple things that you let me observe. For remembering the number of my floor and push the button for me. For holding the doors open when I was late the other day. For showing up with two Starbucks paper cups and handing the one with latte macchiato to me. For humming false notes. For telling me stories about your beautiful, smart daughter. I really wish I can meet her someday.

I’m also thankful for the days when the elevator is packed with a crowd of people who stop at different stories, because it means that we can have longer conversations—although it also means that we need to keep our voice low.

It’s been the nicest two months I’ve ever had.
I wish you a healthy and happy life with your daughter.

Love,
The Girl In Your Morning Elevators