Existence is a funny concept. In Japanese, there are two words to explain the state of existing. There's いる (iru), which is applied to animate objects like animals and people, and then there's ある (aru), used to explain inanimate objects like books and lamps. I want to say that aru also extends to emotions, but I'm not a native speaker, so I don't get to make up the rules.

I noticed it today, the slight subtle transition from iru to aru. We got a few new workers at work today, all transfers from another unit that has been closed for the summer. There was a grouchy-looking lady, one lady-dressed in blue who was smiling nervously every time she passed me, and this guy with red shoes. We got new workers even though we've lost about four of our own (three of whom left temporarily and will be back in the fall, and one who quit).

The guy who quit used to be a big part of my work environment. He was there whenever I had an evening shift, which happened at least twice a week, and so we got around to talking a bit. Talk is what happens when you have to stand next to someone for thiree and a half hours, surrounded by steaming water wells on one side and a hot grill top on the other. Talk is what happens when there are customers who walk up to you and ask for a cheese quasedilla even though by default, a quasedilla already has cheese in it. Talk is what happens when you're stuck scraping melted cheese off of counters and inhaling large amounts of  "orange spray" for an hour a night while cleaning.

In short, over six months we "bonded". To me, his existence was iru.

But then he quit.

It's been about two weeks now since I've returned to work, picking up shifts here and there, and it's funny because even though he's not there, everything is more or less the same. It could have been just as easily assumed that he was never here to begin with because nothing was out of place and no one brought him up or said, "hey, remember this guy?"

Then, today, I meet Mr. Red-Shoes for the first time. Mr. Red-Shoes does all the jobs that my ex-coworker used to do. Jobs like chopping vegetables, wiping down counters, cleaning the kitchen equipment, and cleaning the deep-fryer. Mr. Red-Shoes does other things too, like mop the kitchen, but for the most part, their job functions were the same.

More or less.

And in that moment, when  I realized that Mr. Red-Shoes was doing all my ex-coworker's jobs, that was when my ex-coworker went from iru to aru. He physically exists somewhere in the world, but not here, not anymore. He became a memory that no one seems to remember about (or bother to remember) and in the process, because no one has to interact with him anymore, he went from iru to aru.

Technically, he's just moved on to another job but I find it terrifying how easy it was to replace him. They found someone else to do his job and now it's as though he was never here. It reminds me of how temporary everything is: these buildings, these relationships, these promises, these lives.

We weren't meant to last for more than a few moments and when we finally fade away, no one will remember we were ever here.

Just as quickly and without much trouble, we go from iru to aru.

Existence is a funny concept. In Japanese, there are two words to explain the state of existing. There's いる (iru), which is applied to animate objects like animals and people, and then there's ある (aru), used to explain inanimate objects like books and lamps. I want to say that aru also extends to emotions, but I'm not a native speaker, so I don't get to make up the rules.

I noticed it today, the slight subtle transition from iru to aru. We got a few new workers at work today, all transfers from another unit that has been closed for the summer. There was a grouchy-looking lady, one lady-dressed in blue who was smiling nervously every time she passed me, and this guy with red shoes. We got new workers even though we've lost about four of our own (three of whom left temporarily and will be back in the fall, and one who quit).

The guy who quit used to be a big part of my work environment. He was there whenever I had an evening shift, which happened at least twice a week, and so we got around to talking a bit. Talk is what happens when you have to stand next to someone for thiree and a half hours, surrounded by steaming water wells on one side and a hot grill top on the other. Talk is what happens when there are customers who walk up to you and ask for a cheese quasedilla even though by default, a quasedilla already has cheese in it. Talk is what happens when you're stuck scraping melted cheese off of counters and inhaling large amounts of  "orange spray" for an hour a night while cleaning.

In short, over six months we "bonded". To me, his existence was iru.

But then he quit.

It's been about two weeks now since I've returned to work, picking up shifts here and there, and it's funny because even though he's not there, everything is more or less the same. It could have been just as easily assumed that he was never here to begin with because nothing was out of place and no one brought him up or said, "hey, remember this guy?"

Then, today, I meet Mr. Red-Shoes for the first time. Mr. Red-Shoes does all the jobs that my ex-coworker used to do. Jobs like chopping vegetables, wiping down counters, cleaning the kitchen equipment, and cleaning the deep-fryer. Mr. Red-Shoes does other things too, like mop the kitchen, but for the most part, their job functions were the same.

More or less.

And in that moment, when  I realized that Mr. Red-Shoes was doing all my ex-coworker's jobs, that was when my ex-coworker went from iru to aru. He physically exists somewhere in the world, but not here, not anymore. He became a memory that no one seems to remember about (or bother to remember) and in the process, because no one has to interact with him anymore, he went from iru to aru.

Technically, he's just moved on to another job but I find it terrifying how easy it was to replace him. They found someone else to do his job and now it's as though he was never here. It reminds me of how temporary everything is: these buildings, these relationships, these promises, these lives.

We weren't meant to last for more than a few moments and when we finally fade away, no one will remember we were ever here.

Just as quickly and without much trouble, we go from iru to aru.