"This isn't working out, so I'm letting you go. I understand you have questions and are likely surprised, but we're ending this employment relationship because we've witnessed that it's not the best fit. The decision we've made, while tough, is final."
Her words echoed like a broken plaque—empty and rehearsed. Seriously? After giving this place five years of my life, this is how it ends? My ego couldn't handle it. I couldn't process it—refused to. Without another word, I stormed out of the CEO's office, my mind racing, and headed to my desk to pack up my things. Gosh, it really sounded like she just copy-pasted it off the internet.
But as I stuffed my belongings into a box, the real problem hit me like a freight train: I don't have a job now.
Five years. Five years of late nights, skipped vacations, and putting up with coworkers who thought "teamwork" meant dumping their tasks on me. All gone with a scripted speech and a cardboard box. Stella Almazan, Cheer up!
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. Probably another email or notification I didn't need anymore.
Walking out of the office for the last time felt surreal. The office smelled of stale coffee, and the muffled chatter of my soon-to-be-former coworkers blended into the background. Nobody even noticed I was leaving—no goodbyes, no awkward "we'll miss you" exchanges. Just me, my box, and the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Outside, the midday sun blazed mercilessly, and the heat wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket. Manila's usual chaos greeted me: the honking of jeepneys, the chatter of street vendors, and the distinct scent of grilled meat from a nearby barbecue stall. I squinted against the glare and made my way to a shaded bench under a mango tree.
What now? My savings might last a couple of months, but I wasn't exactly swimming in cash. Updating my résumé felt like an insurmountable task, let alone applying for new jobs. I felt stuck, like I was standing in quicksand with no one around to pull me out.
Then a memory surfaced—my grandmother's house in the province. The lush green rice fields, the distant mountains, and the calming sound of crickets at night. It had been years since I last visited. Back then, life felt simpler. Less suffocating.
Maybe that's what I needed: a reset. A break from the city's relentless pace and the weight of expectations.
I pulled out my phone, scrolled through my contacts, and dialed a number I hadn't called in years. It rang a few times before a warm, familiar voice answered.
"Hello? Anak, is that you?"
"Hi, Lola," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Is it okay if I come and stay for a while? I just... I need some time to figure things out."
"Of course, hija," she said without hesitation. "You're always welcome here. When will you come?"
"Tomorrow, Lola," I said, a small smile breaking through the storm in my chest. "I'll see you tomorrow."
For the first time that day, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe I didn't have all the answers yet, but I knew where I needed to start.
The next morning, I packed a small bag and boarded a flight to Taytay, Palawan. My heart was heavy with uncertainty, but I knew I needed to be with Lola and Lolo, the people who had always known how to calm my nerves. Palawan was home in a way that Manila could never be—a place of peace, where time seemed to slow down, and the weight of the world felt far away.
The flight was quick, just over an hour, but as the plane descended, the lush green of Palawan's mountains and the brilliant blue waters below calmed me instantly. This was the land of my childhood, where I had spent summers running barefoot through rice fields and listening to the soft hum of the jungle. The landscape was as familiar as my grandparents' faces.
