It’s not the easiest thing in the world to leave your job at age 50, and then go look for a new one. But back in March of 2016, I told my superior that I was resigning. She understood why, and signed my terminal leave form. 30 days later, I was officially out of a job.
As early as May 2016, I started checking out jobs from other ASEAN countries. This was right after the elections. I didn’t mind being away for a few years from this circus of a government. Months went by, nothing. So towards the latter part of 2016, I started applying for jobs in and around the neighboring areas (hello, Clark!) of the metro. Belatedly I realized that the “-er” months aren’t the best time to look for a job.
But when January 2017 rolled in, I suddenly had several replies to my applications. And now, a few weeks before I turn 51, I’m happily employed again.
In the process, I had to move back to the house I grew up in. D and I couldn’t afford the condo unit where we were staying. Besides, D was also helping his mom and sisters with their payments at the apartment they were renting. So it made economic sense for us to move back to our mothers’ for the meantime.
It’s a good thing that I never felt the need to “be a millionaire at 30 years old” or “have my own company at 40.” I have my ambitions, but they were more along the lines of “learning more things” or “being happy and proud of what I do” instead of what businesses regard as clear, concrete, measureable goals: amount of money in the bank, position of power, status, etc.
Oh, and once in a while, safely hook up with a daddy loving, no-strings-attached insisting 20-something.
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