How I feel about leaving my job

If you’re expecting a sappy farewell letter, I wish I could say you’re reading the wrong post. It cannot be avoided!

Four years ago, I bagged a job that put my then yuppie career dreams to shame. At 23, I was chosen to lead an organization with a regional following of more than 30,000 and a global following of over a million–that’s one-sixth of Tom Hanks’ Instagram followers. But I knew I could handle it. What I didn’t expect was that I was slowly dipping my feet into something more than just a job; and before I knew it, I was paddling toward what would eventually become a vocation.

World Youth Alliance is a global family. We grew from a small yet brave team who was led then by a young lady who believed that her actions could sway minds and put international negotiations (at the United Nations, no less) to a halt. Way before Greta Thunberg, there was Anna Halpine–without the braids, dramatics, and social media mileage. Her reaction of conscience to defend the dignity of every person brought WYA to life and, fortunately for me, kickstarted my career in the development world (you’re the best, Anna!!).

Being the Regional Director of the Asia Pacific office of WYA was never in my plans. In fact, back in 2012 when I was an incoming college senior completing an internship at the WYAAP office, my mom told me I would make a great Regional Director and that I should consider applying for the role someday. I remember scoffing at her remark, partly because I didn’t want her to relish in the satisfaction of knowing she was right to decide what was best for my future (Asian problems), and partly because I didn’t want to be known as this idealistic youth advocate of human rights. But, surprise! Life lesson #1: Mothers are (almost) always right.

Four years later, I can snugly say that being an RD was one of the best things that ever happened to me. 

This role helped me understand the value of a person. It helped me realize who I am and who I could be. And although I didn’t have to be employed by WYA to realize that every person deserved respect, basic human rights, opportunities for holistic growth, and love–genuine, non-compromising love, being at the helm gave me the unique opportunity to share the experience of self-discovery and realization with others. 

This role also gave me the chance to impact systems, policy, and culture–big feats I never thought I could do at a young age. Plus, I loved doing all of these with people who were equally or more passionate, fun-loving, skilled, and knowledgable about development than I am. This is WYA. WYA isn’t an org obsessed with teaching kids how to articulate a 400-page manual on the philosophy of the person. WYA is a community that celebrates people. Truly, we are WYA.

What I am most thankful for in my 4-year leadership experience is the people. All the WYA Members, WYA Friends, alumni, donors, partners, allies, colleagues, and mentors I encountered prompted me to write this sappy essay. Thank you for trusting me. Being RD was all about what we could do together.

I’m leaving because I am ready to solve other, maybe bigger, problems. WYA trained me well enough to believe I can do more. I wish I could say I have a clear roadmap for my next adventure without lying, but as I look for new opportunities, I would still choose to stay in the development sector. Where exactly? I have yet to find out. I am terrified of the uncertainty that came with this decision but at the same time curious enough to dive in headfirst into the waters.

I learned how to better understand different types of people. I met people I now identify as my lifelong friends. I multiplied my knowledge of the world. I traveled to unique places I didn’t even know existed… I could spend hours enumerating the ways WYA changed my life, but that might bore you. I hate boring. This org hates boring. So to put a cap on this beautiful experience I was fortunate enough to call my job, here’s a little poem I wrote that articulates my sentiments about what this org taught me:

If happy people were bright stars in the night sky,
then I would tell the sun to rise less often. 
I would map out the stars and make sense of every constellation.
I would get lost in the patterns of astrology (they never made sense to me anyway).

If broken people were dim lights in the night sky,
then I would beg the sun to take a break much longer,
until I could make the faintest star feel like its mysteries deserved my gaze.
I would steadily linger.

I would run away from every sunrise,
bargain with the moon to stay awake,
protest against electric companies on Earth,
write Elon Musk, “please pick me for your next expedition to space.”

If people were stars in the night sky,
then I would be the last person to say goodnight.
I would close my eyes and wake up the next evening
And I would do it all over again until the sun surrenders its light.

As a parting message to everyone I engaged with on this job: never lose hope in humanity. No matter how difficult people might be, remember that we are all just trying to make sense of this life. Be kind. Treat one another as persons with infinite worth and remind others of their potential for growth.

My last day is on September 30, which falls on the first day of the week. Thank you, WYA. I’ve never been more excited about coming to work on a Monday.