On hold

I recently returned home to the Philippines after six years of living abroad. On paper, I had been living the life I had always wanted—I had a stable 9 to 5 job, a decent apartment, and a wholesome community. I enjoyed the independence and thrived on the routine I had curated for myself, but most importantly, I knew who I was, and I liked how my life was progressing. Nevertheless, there was always an itch to return to the Philippines because no matter how ideal I perceived things to be, one crucial part was missing, my family.

Although I am returning to the place I grew up in, it felt like I was starting over. And in a culture where there still exist certain expectations, I was worried that age was no longer just a number but a force to be reckoned with. I was overwhelmed by thoughts of being left behind, but at the same time, I knew this was where I wanted to be, and if I didn’t do it now then when?

In the months preceding my flight home, I had envisioned how my new life would play out: I’d get a job, and everything else would follow. A few days after arriving home, I hear back from one of the leading stock brokerage firms in the country. They invited me for an interview, and I was extremely excited as they had been my top choice.

In over two months, having done two interviews, answered two pre-employment exams, and one personality test, I was given positive feedback regarding my application. They told me to just give them “a couple of days to complete the offer,” and even asked for my Viber contact information.

A few days go by with no official offer or any kind of communication.

Over a week passed and I finally buckled up the courage to follow up.

Still no response from the human resource team.

I followed up again and later received a formal rejection letter. (They sure needed a couple of days to complete such a lengthy, and dare I say sympathetic, letter justifying their decision!)

I fell terribly sick a few days after receiving the news. For nearly a week, I had body aches, fever, chills, and even numbing sensations. I took a COVID test twice, but they were both negative. My parents claimed that it was a lack of sleep, but I am still convinced that it was the rejection bug that got to me.

During that time, it hit me all at once. I was so far behind everybody else. Since coming home, I had lost my independence and my routine. I lost who I was, and I was now disappointed with how my life was turning out.

Looking back, I had placed the trajectory of my life in the hands of a select group of people who knew me merely by the outlines of my resume. Every action became conditional on receiving an offer from the company I had been applying to. I will fix my bedroom once I start working. I will begin working out once I get the job. I will rebuild my routine once my job starts. I will meet someone at work and life will truly be magical. All this, as though, that job is some sort of fairy godmother ready to grant my wishes.

I recall moments where I had begun regretting the decision to return home and projecting this anger toward my family, which I now bitterly regret as they have been nothing but supportive.

I remind myself now that it was not regret that I had been feeling.

It was a loss. A loss for who I was, as well as who I thought I would be.

My life since being back home was essentially put on hold; I was on autopilot, constantly waiting for a job offer. In hindsight, yes, I should have actively pursued other career opportunities, but I was blindsided by how my application had been progressing.

In a broader sense, I was also so naïve as to believe that once I had managed to secure a corporate job, the rest would follow.

It’s a dangerous gamble to hinge our lives on a single event, or even a single person. It distracts us from, well, life. The life that’s here right now, in front of us. Since being home, I failed to rekindle with old friends, and even in keeping touch with existing ones—I was so preoccupied with hearing back from the company. I had refused to partake in or make plans, believing my life could only move forward with that job. I think I missed out on the mundane, everyday, little joys, I used to get lost in.

I often reflect on the choices that brought me here. I will never know what my life would have been had I not returned home. And perhaps I ought to quit wondering what if and what could have been and instead just keep moving forward.

At the end of the day, we all seek purpose, but even in our quest to find it, I don’t think our lives should be placed on hold.

Seeing friends thriving in corporate roles, old classmates becoming entrepreneurs, cousins figuring out their passions, siblings finding themselves, it’s difficult not to feel defeated by what I see around me. But I remind myself, we’re all still writing our stories.

We each have our own battles and we’re all just trekking together along this mountain of life.

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Isabelle Atienza, 25, writes to calm down.