Work has always been a sensitive topic on my blog that I tried to steer clear of, only briefly mentioning my first job after I left the company because it was so heartbreaking for me to walk away from what I truly loved. I'm letting myself break down here right now because I have nothing to lose — I already am nothing. I've burned out. Beset with a never-ending avalanche of self-doubts, I catch myself neurotically wondering, once too many times, when will I succeed — if ever.
I toyed with the idea of leaving my job for a while now, but never found the courage to tender my resignation — till recently. When I graduated from Mass Comm last year, I was a wide-eyed optimistic girl who saw myself as the ever-present sun. Now I know I'm just a candle, one that's easily burned out in the hands of the wrong people, and I'm on the verge of collapsing.
I went through the motion in 2017, allowing society to mellow my personality. I worked for the sake of a pay check. I turned into one of the sceptical adults I swore to never be, the kind satisfied to be stuck in the 9 to 6 life as long as my wallet remained filled. Initially, I buried myself in even more work. I thought by keeping myself busy and with more money, I could numb myself.
The ominous signs became increasingly, glaringly obvious. Spinning a web of bureaucratically impeccable lies, the malevolent mastermind concocted a perverse wedge of hope — an alluring dream to the ignorant and repulsive to the knowing. I watched my greatest source of motivation reduced to nothing but a pernicious illusion. I must add that this beguiling catastrophe, the epitome of ostentatious and expedient, might actually make a great episode of a cliche reality TV show. If it wasn't happening to me.
These multitudinous challenges led me to believe that life just has an unhealthy obsession with ruining me, and everything I had and loved. Tearing me down. Breaking me apart. There's nothing more corrosive than the dense, blanketing malaise that continually reminded me, time and again, money doesn't make the world turn round. Sure, I had a comfortable amount sitting in my bank. In fact, I had more than I needed even if I were to quit and travel for six months, but I was also miserable. Utterly miserable.
I took my first break a couple of months back. I travelled to my favourite country, Taiwan, with one of my closest friends. We partied, drank, laughed. But the nights after she slept saw me in a befuddled state, stifling, on the verge tears. Leading to the Kaohsiung trip, I was constantly stressed out. I didn't reply messages for days because I couldn't stand picking up my phone to face a deluge of work messages. I grimaced at the thought of work; I've always been one to push myself but I knew I haven't been giving my all because I couldn't work anymore.
With the recent occurrences fuelling and affirming my decision, I went against the decision of my mom the first time since stepping out of my rebellious teenager phase, and I did the unthinkable: I left my second full-time job without another job lined up. I threw in the towel because I couldn't see myself working there another second. I stopped believing in the work I was assigned to, long ago. I was burnt out, my mind insolently blank. For the sake of my sanity, I let go.
For once in my life, I don't have a plan in mind. What do I do now, after the waves of relief and adrenaline have washed over? I am completely clueless. Maybe a little foolish too, and definitely terrified. My life has come to another standstill; a crossroad which either decision will bring me to very different places. Literally. Should I abruptly stop my stable income in an attempt to pursue my childhood dreams of relocating to a country I love, or continue on with life as it is?
