Vapor Clouds

Today was a quiet day at work.

There were still as many people as in any normal working day. In fact, more people this week and last week since there are more planned activities. But everybody was quiet and they kept to themselves more than ordinary. The phones rang once in a while. No one was laughing at jokes in the hallways.

I woke up late this morning because I had trouble falling asleep the night before. I slept at 3 and woke at 7. I spent an hour in front of the TV, dazed and somber.

Usually whenever there is an incident the day before, big or small, I would make the effort to go to the Morning Meeting in the Control Room. Even if it means having to make myself small to fit behind the crowd of spectators and actors, getting crushed. It would be something I would not want to miss out.

Not so much because it is exciting to see the red faces of the Managers being wiped out by the General Managers, but because there is always big lessons to be learned from things that went horribly wrong.

Today, I skipped the Morning Meeting - because I know what those lessons are.

They are hard lessons, and very bitter. They are costly, and they cut you deep.

I buried myself in as much work as possible this whole morning, not answering calls, not replying emails, just trying to forget those images that I saw yesterday, of shouts and panicked cries and vapor clouds.

I guess it's okay now to talk about the incident here, in public.

Now that Petronas Corporate has issued a press statement signed by the President. You can find it in the corporate website under the Press Statements section. Some news portals have mentioned it, too, if only respectfully, in brief.

A colleague at work has died from an unfortunate accident in the plant. He was leading the work with another two more junior colleagues when a leak sprang from a highly pressurized line. Immediately, the entire area was enveloped by natural gas vapor. When the rescue team arrived at site, they were found lying on the ground. Fiirst aiders tried hard to revive them. But for him, it was already too late.

Al-Fatihah buat saudaraku, Jamaludin.

I did not know him personally. But he was always the quiet young man sitting behind the Process Tiga panel, smiling at silly jokes thrown at him and his friends by the neighboring panels. I remember sharing a moment of breakfast in the pantry with him once or twice, talking about things that did not matter. I had trouble digesting his Sarawakian tongue, and he was uncomfortable opening up to an Executive.

At around 10 AM, all of us at the office gravitated towards the pantry.

We sat around the table, arms folded tight across the body, slowly and pensively sipping our morning coffee. One of us started talking, short burst of sighs in between words, voice hushed and trembling.

"He has a small boy, just turned one year old."

I remembered how his body was pulled out of the vapor clouds by the rescue team. Everybody looking at the CCTV in the Control Room fell silent. The walkie-talkie channel was crackling with shouts for CPR.

"He was with me the day before, we were getting briefed on another job."

One by one, we started talking. Trying to come to terms with the loss of a good friend in our own ways. Everybody quietly listened to what each had to say, punctuated by long silence and self contemplation.

Deep down, we promised ourselves that his death would not be in vain.

This was originally written at my Facebook notes as I tried to process the grief. The events stated here are true. The investigation is still ongoing as at this date.