Yesterday was my last official day at work. It’s been a whirlwind adventure, and it swept me up in a tornado of things. There was a certain sense of autonomy but also a great sense of responsibility which crippled me.
I told myself to look at it as a challenge, but I realised after fighting for it that it wasn’t me. The industry that looked so enticing at first no longer excites me. I can only the disappointment in that discovery as if I figured out the trick behind the magic.
I was constantly on the lookout for the nearest escape route. I could be a librarian. I could be a barista. I could help in the family business. I could do anything I wanted, and live ten thousand different lives. The world was huge and there are other things to explore and learn.
So I decided to leave.
It was difficult because I felt like I owed it to everyone to make it work. But it became easier after I realised that it was the most responsible thing for me to do.
In Singapore, it feels like success is measured with a ruler. Being someone, somewhere, doing something big and important.
I remember writing in autograph books when I was in primary school that my wish was to be successful when I grew up.
What does that look like? I’m still searching.