Surviving this breakup
Redundant: no longer needed or useful; superfluous. Other synonyms: unnecessary, not required, and inessential.
Dec. 11, 2013, is a day I’ll forever remember as “doomsday”—or, to put it mildly, the day I grew up and realized that the real world is not a bed of roses. News had been circulating among my colleagues and me that structural changes in our company were going to take place. There were no specifics, only hints that it could just be a few movements in terms of products or territories, and maybe an early retirement option for those who wanted to leave the corporate world.
I had all the confidence and the feeling of invincibility that the young are blessed (or cursed?) with, so I wasn’t concerned at all. They couldn’t possibly pick me, right? I was hitting my sales targets, and those who usually get offered early retirement were those who were much older.
That confidence was crushed within a few days through a phone call. I can still remember how everything happened and how I felt. It was past 8 p.m. and I was having dinner with my boyfriend in a busy restaurant. I discovered one missed call on my phone—I was on leave, so I wasn’t expecting calls from the office, especially at that hour. Then I realized: It was the day they would supposedly call the people on their “hit list.”
The possibility that I could be on that list dawned on me. I pressed the call-back icon with shaky fingers and put on a fake cheerful voice. The secretary informed me that I had to go to Manila the next day for a “meeting,” but she couldn’t tell me the agenda. I felt like the floor had given in beneath me. My hands went from slight shaking to nervous tremors; my chest started to feel tight and I couldn’t breathe.
I calmed down after a few minutes. But when I started to grasp the gravity of the situation, I began crying over my pasta. It was the first time I had cried so openly in public (cinema tears not counted), and I could hardly finish my meal. My boyfriend had to take me home because having a crying girl with you on a date does not look good at all.
So off to Manila we went the next day. I had braced myself for it mentally and physically: I already knew deep down the purpose of the meeting, after all.
So I psyched myself for a few hours, downing several cups of black coffee for that happy high. I practiced my resting witch face in the mirror. And just in case things didn’t go as I planned, I prepared what I call the triumvirate of “burol” props—a pack of tissues, a trusty handkerchief, and a pair of oversized shades. And as a final act of defiance, I wore a pair of faded ripped jeans—my way of saying to management: “You can kiss my you-know-what. Go ahead and fire me, I don’t care!”
Indeed, things didn’t go as planned. I was in a meeting room with the national sales manager and an HR representative. The room was cold, and those two didn’t exactly help warm up the atmosphere. Pretentious pleasantries were exchanged, which I ironically wished would not end, because, I admit, I was not yet ready to hear what was written on the contract they presented to me.
Finally, Mr. NSM said: “Are you ready?” I nodded. He read: “Dear Miss Vito, this is to formally notify you that as a consequence of organization optimization intended to streamline our operations, the Company is undertaking a redundancy program that will render several positions superfluous.” Who knew “You’re fired” could be said in so many fancy words?
Redundancy. That word had been on my mind for the last few hours. But hearing it being said out loud was a lot different from just having it float around in my head. All the mental preparation I did was of no use. As soon as they finished talking, out came the hanky and sunglasses. Thank you, burol props, for saving me some face. The next few moments were a blur. I remember them pressuring me to sign the contract immediately, or the early retirement offer would be taken away and I would leave with nothing.
So that was the end of it. Three years of toiling and being faithful, only to be deemed “unnecessary to the company operations.” Panic started to set in; I realized that I would be starting the coming year jobless. For three years I had not updated my resumé, in the hope that I would forever be employed there. But, alas, nothing lasts forever. I realized that a career is a lot like one’s love life, and the pain of getting laid off is even, dare I say, more traumatic than getting dumped.
I went through “DABDA,” the stages of grieving. Stage 1, denial: I thought it couldn’t happen to me. I’m too young and they could’ve made a mistake. The union will do something about it. Stage 2, anger: I was bitter and I wanted to punch someone in the face. I collected all the company properties I had to return (uniforms, modules, etc.) and the thought of setting everything on fire occurred to me a few times. Stage 3, bargaining: We delayed the signing of the termination papers in the hope that the negotiations we were pushing for would come through, but no luck. Stage 4, depression: I spent two weeks feeling totally useless and futureless. I cried myself to sleep at night and would even cry suddenly at random times, like when driving or doing chores. And if “One More Chance” is the movie of choice for the brokenhearted girl, “Up in the Air” is the laid-off girl’s pick.
And finally, the end stage of the grieving process: acceptance. It took the longest time to get to. For months I questioned myself and my work ethic. I wondered what I had done wrong to deserve being declared redundant. Over time, I learned that situations like this are an inevitable and necessary part of the growing process. I just had to learn to let go and accept.
That was the first major nightmare of my adult life, and I’m proud to say I survived it. I was able to rest, think, and reset my priorities during my five months of joblessness. I made a list of all the lessons learned, all the friends and connections I made, and all that I’m thankful for. I spent time with family and friends, and did my best to rebuild relationships that I had neglected while I was working. Because in the end, when your company decides it does not love you anymore, guess who will be there for you?
My greatest treasures were just around me all along, but I got too busy chasing fleeting things to pay much attention to them. With the help of my support system, I slowly gained back the confidence I lost—but this time, it was well-placed confidence. I convinced myself that I was not merely a number, not just a means to make the corporation money. I don’t need to earn a huge salary to feel important or needed. In my own way, through words and acts of kindness, I can contribute something intangible and meaningful to this world.
Francine Alessandra “ChinChin” Vito, 25, is from Iloilo City. She says she is now back in the corporate world and maintains a blog at www.chinchinchronicles.blogspot.com.
