Category: Mayday Musings

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.

I quit my job with no backup plan. No next gig lined up. Nothing waiting in the pipeline.

I quit because I was tired—and maybe my brother, Papa, and partner were tired, too. Tired of hearing me cry, of watching me juggle law school and a full-time job like my life depended on it. (Because it kind of did.)

Don’t get me wrong—I’m incredibly grateful. These days, I no longer worry about work deadlines. My biggest dilemma now is deciding what time to hit the gym, head to Pilates, or go swimming for recovery. And honestly? For someone who’s been working her whole life—this is the dream.

It’s the kind of life I used to daydream about. The “princess treatment.” The breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.

But I want to be clear: I know this is a privilege.

I can take this break because I have a safety net—my family, my partner. I can rest because they are holding space for me to do so, emotionally and financially.

And I will always, always be thankful for that.

But I also know this isn’t a reality for everyone. So if you’re reading this, and you’re not in the same boat—I want to remind you of something important: you still deserve rest.

Even if it’s short. Even if it’s stolen in between classes, or squeezed into a hectic work week. Even if it’s imperfect.

You deserve to breathe.

Read that book you’ve been putting off.

Go for a run—or a walk, if that feels better.

Visit your hometown.

Book that flight if you can.

Do that one thing you’ve been meaning to do but keep postponing for “someday.”

And if you do have a support system behind you—whether it’s your parents, your partner, a friend who always checks in—I hope you stay grounded in gratitude. Because being able to rest shouldn’t be a luxury, but for many, it is.

So today, rest if you can.

Dream a little if you must.

And remember: you are allowed to take up space—not just to work, but to heal, to grow, and to breathe.

Have you ever had those days when you don’t know where the sadness comes from so you stare at your walls and ceilings trying to pinpoint what’s causing your dread? Or those days that people are inviting you over for gatherings, but you chose to stay alone at home?

How about those days that you don’t feel anything at all, but there is this intense pain that’s eating you alive?

Yes, those days.

I would like to believe that this is still an extension and a manifestation of my grief, but I’ve mastered the art of sleeping when I get sad. I get silent when it hurts a little too much.

I deactivate my social media accounts; I don’t respond to messages unless work-related; I become indifferent towards other people; and I don’t go out at all.

I can find all the excuses in the world to just not go out and deal with other people– but then I become way too hard on myself for not doing anything for me to feel alive.

I don’t even entertain romantic relationships anymore, because I feel like any guy doesn’t deserve a mentally unstable, emotionally wrecked little girl, because it is not his job to make me whole. The slightest sign of affection makes me anxious. No, don’t do that.

But I get sad if they stop; and I get sad a lot.

So I get silent when it hurts too much.

Not that anybody cares.