At the Table, Alone

The ballroom was buzzing with dignitaries, politicians, CEOs, and high-profile figures from across the globe. The International Business Forum was a sea of perfectly tailored suits, delicate perfumes, and measured handshakes. I had always loved these events, the energy, the conversations, the slow, subtle dance of networking. Once upon a time, I’d be mingling without a second thought, pacing myself from one chat to the next, energized by each connection. But things were different now.

I spotted my boss weaving through the crowd, making his way toward me with his usual warm smile. “Ready for a long day, Cassie?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“More ready than I look, sir,” I said with a grin, though even I wasn’t sure how true that was.

Just then, a familiar figure caught my eye: the President of the Philippines, surrounded by security but casual, making his way through the crowd, exchanging greetings, firm handshakes, and nods of respect. And then he was right in front of me, and I extended my hand with practiced ease, giving a polite smile as he shook it, offering a few words of gratitude for our attendance. I kept my expression professional, but inside, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of the old thrill, the quiet pride I used to feel at events like these.

After a full morning of speeches, panels, and conversations, it was finally time for lunch. Waiters streamed into the ballroom with delicate platters—courses artfully crafted by the hotel’s chefs, dishes that looked like works of art. But instead of reaching for the plates set in front of me, I pulled out my own lunch box, the familiar motion second nature by now. I caught the usual sidelong glances, the raised eyebrows as people noticed me opting out of the chef’s masterpiece. I gave a little shrug to a colleague seated nearby, who looked at my meal with curiosity. This was just another day for me. No fancy meal, just my plain, carefully prepared food.

I was used to the questions by now, the subtle looks from people wondering why I wasn’t indulging in the luxurious spread. “Some things are just… off-limits,” I’d say, keeping it light. There was no need to go into details, no need to explain the complex intricacies of my dietary restrictions or the chronic illness that had stolen so much from me. My boss, as usual, gave me an encouraging smile. He never asked questions, never made me feel uncomfortable. He was supportive in the way I needed, treating my adjustments as just another part of the job.

Lunch faded into the networking session, and I moved from conversation to conversation, navigating through crowds of business people from across the world. Somewhere along the way, I found myself in a lively discussion with a businessman from India. He was quick to notice my empty hands, the lack of cocktail or hors d’oeuvres. With a curious look, he asked, “Not even a taste of the hotel’s food? You have a stronger will than I do.”

I smiled, ready with my well-practiced answer. “I’d love to, but it’s just easier for me to bring my own. Let’s just say my food is a little more… predictable.”

He chuckled, and we moved on to other topics, but the exchange reminded me of all the times I’d had to navigate this same terrain. Once, I’d been the girl at the center of every social gathering, sipping a cocktail, grabbing bites without a care in the world. I missed that girl sometimes. But she was a memory, a part of a different chapter of my life.

By the time the event wrapped up, I felt like I’d run a marathon. My feet ached, my back was sore, and even though the evening was still young, I knew I was done. Years ago, a night like this would have left me buzzing with energy, ready to meet up with friends for drinks, maybe even visit old classmates who still lived in the city. But tonight, all I could think about was getting back to my aunt’s apartment, peeling off my heels, and curling up under a warm blanket.

My boss walked over as the crowd thinned, his eyes a little concerned. “Cassie, you alright? You look wiped out.”

I gave him a tired but genuine smile. “Just a long day, sir. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said, giving me a nod that was part encouragement, part understanding. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

As I made my way back to my aunt’s place, I let myself sink into the relief of silence. The day had taken everything out of me, more than I cared to admit. And though I was grateful for the life I still had, sometimes I couldn’t help but miss the parts that had changed. The parts I’d had to let go of.

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