Exactly three weeks ago today, I left the job I loved.

I remember it vividly—it was a Tuesday morning. The day before, I made the difficult decision to voluntarily leave Project NOAH. The inconsistencies at work had grown heavy, and the future felt too uncertain.

The very first time I entered DOST-ASTI, I walked straight to the Research and Development Department, looking for Ma’am Jeng. A former colleague had recommended me for a major project under the Department of Science and Technology.

I thought it would be a formal interview. Instead, we found ourselves standing in front of what would soon be my future desk. Ma’am Jeng asked, so casually, “When will you start?” The next thing I knew, I was signing a contract to be their Information Officer—with one little request: that they let me rest for a week because I had to fly to Indonesia for a GOT7 concert.

It was such a smooth transition. I felt right at home. I was surrounded by cool and dependable supervisors, a kind department chief, and workmates who made me feel like I belonged.

That was in 2018.

Looking back, the workload at ASTI now feels like a blur. But I’m so thankful for the years I spent there. I had the honor of working closely with then DOST-ASTI Director Joel Marciano Jr., who would later become the first Director General of the Philippine Space Agency. Much like my time in Project NOAH, I represented the agency at media events and was part of the Department’s Information Officers’ pool.

My work was everything I loved: media coordination, public speaking engagements across the country and abroad, stakeholder management, web and social media content creation, editing, and pretty much anything an Information Officer could do.

I was genuinely happy.

It had always been my dream to have a job that allowed me to travel and paid me well. And with Project NOAH and DOST-ASTI, I lived that dream—without even realizing I was fulfilling the silent prayer of 16-year-old Nikki.

Eventually, my DATOS teammates started leaving the agency—one by one—for greener pastures. I was happy for them, but it was bittersweet. Still, my professional life at ASTI continued to thrive.

I was regarded as the Senior Information Officer of the agency. I led content creation and handled most of the agency’s communications. I became the go-to girl for science communication, especially in planning and branding.

I conducted workshops and eventually became Editor-in-Chief of the agency’s Annual Report.

It felt like a full-circle moment—the high school Editor-in-Chief in me was on cloud nine. But sometimes, life humbles you in ways you don’t expect. One day, a single email sent to all employees shattered my confidence. That’s a story for another time—but no matter how I try to downplay it, that moment broke me.

Still, I had people by my side. My supervisors supported me wholeheartedly. Our new Institute Director – Dr. De Leon– and my colleagues reminded me to keep my head high because they believed in me.

With their encouragement and support, I managed to host three more science communication workshops for the agency; and I would like to believe that it led to a better system for the agency’s Corporate Communications.

It led to something more valuable than titles: trust. 

The management believed in my abilities. They allowed me to communicate authentically; encouraged conversations where my voice was heard; and gave me the chance to contribute meaningfully to decisions—especially in areas I once doubted myself in.

I handled the administrative side of the agency’s first-ever large-scale internal event. I led national and regional stakeholder engagements. I was the main project manager for national training workshops and webinar series. I represented the agency—and our country—at science-based conferences and workshops.

And it made me so, so happy.

DOST-ASTI became my comfort zone. My safe space.

But I’ve come to realize that growth doesn’t happen in comfort. It was time to leave—not just to focus on law school, but to truly rest. The stress had built up. The loneliness crept in. The fear of not doing enough started to erode my self-worth.

Still, I showed up.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

So when the opportunity to leave came, I took it.

I resigned. 

No backup plan. 

No next job waiting.

And for the first time in forever, I am unemployed.

But I’m happy. I’m resting. I’m healing.

I left the job I loved so much. 

But maybe that’s the thing— we have to leave the places that once felt safe to discover who we can become next.

I was scared. I loved the job. But I left anyway.

If there’s anything I owed myself—it was the courage to finally choose me.