A Letter to Myself When a Colleague's Name Showed Up in the Promotion Email

To myself at ten to five last Thursday afternoon, the moment the announcement email appeared,

It is ten at night, one week later to the day. The fan is turning. This afternoon's iced tea has lost all its ice and sits in its plastic bag on the desk, just like the one from that day. I am writing this letter because I remember you very clearly, and I want to tell you a few things you could not hear at the time.

You were halfway through typing a report when the notification chimed. The appointment notice, three lines long, and the name on the second line was Khôi, who joined in the same intake as you, who once ate instant noodles with you in the pantry during that first week. The Zalo group of thirty people, in under a minute, climbed to nine or ten messages, all "congratulations, Khôi", all pictures of flowers.

You opened the chat and typed "Congratu" and stopped. Your fingers slowed right down, as if someone had put a stopper in the middle of them. You deleted it, typed it again, deleted it. Your face felt hot, and you did not want anyone nearby to glance over.

"You okay?" Thục asked from the next desk, eyes still on her screen.

"Fine."

"Your face is saying not fine."

"I'm typing my congratulations."

"Right. Taking a while."

You smiled thinly, and the two of you were quiet for a bit, listening to the air conditioner humming overhead.

First, one thing I want to say: you are not a bad person. That tightness in your throat does not prove you are petty, and it does not prove you are being treated unfairly either. It is only a tightness.

Two questions were arguing in your head. One voice asked: do I even have the right to feel envious? The other asked: then am I actually glad for him? Both wanted to win, and you were trying to find out which one was the real one.

I have sat with this all week, and here is what I see. Both are real. Khôi is someone I like, and his being recognised is good news. I also felt a drop, and the drop was not about him. It points at something I had not named: that I too want to be seen, and I have not said so to myself for a long time, so when someone else is seen first it hurts.

You thought the envy had to be hidden or chased away. It is closer to a signpost: something I want is here. Once you have read the signpost, there is no need to hate it.

Here is how I handled it afterwards, in order, so next time I do not have to think:

The first time, I felt a bit embarrassed to name a feeling I would rather treat as not existing. A week on, several people told me they felt less need to hide it, and others said the feeling stayed right where it was and they simply knew better what it was. I am not sure which group I belong to. The short version for a day crammed with work: both hands on your lap, name one word, one breath out. Ten seconds.

Here is where I slipped that afternoon, and where you probably will too: typing a long, flowery message straight away to prove I was not envious. It is tempting because it sounds grown-up. But a message like that sounds hollow when it reaches Khôi, and it does not make the drop go away, it only pushes it somewhere harder to see. The opposite also crossed my mind: hunting for some flaw in him so I would feel better. Neither road is needed. One short line: "Congratulations, you deserve it." If you cannot type it yet, leave it until morning. Congratulations that arrive a night late are still congratulations.

That afternoon the ride home had the smell of grilled pork patties at the mouth of the alley, the smoke making a white streak under the streetlight. I wheeled the bike slower than usual and could hear the woman's charcoal fan, a sound I never hear on ordinary evenings.

If you try this and the feeling will not budge, there are two common reasons. One is that the drop is pointing at something that really does need looking at: perhaps you want to talk to your manager about where you are heading, or you want to learn something new. In that case the sheet of paper in step three is where it starts, not where it ends. The other is that you are being treated unfairly in a way that is real, and not only envy. Then this is not something to breathe through: write down what happened, tell someone you trust, and find the right person or department at your workplace. If the tightness, sadness or tiredness lasts for several weeks in a row, talk to someone with professional training, such as a doctor or a psychologist. This letter does not replace that.

If you want to read more, there is a piece on a one-minute mindful pause during work hours, and one about three breaths after being criticised in front of everyone, for the times your face goes hot in front of other people.

The next morning I typed my message, short, and Khôi replied with a picture of a cat giving a thumbs up. I laughed, and meant it.

Sleep well. Tomorrow I will look at that signpost once more.

Me, on this Thursday night