Why I Left My High-Paying Government Job: A Personal Story of Privilege, Integrity, and Choosing Simplicity

📌 Editor’s Note:

This post was written in August 2025, during a time of intense public discourse in the Philippines around government corruption, political dynasties, and ongoing lifestyle checks on public officials and their families. It is a personal reflection anchored in the national conversation—one that continues to evolve.

I don’t usually talk about politics. But today, I will.

More than two decades ago, I worked in a large government agency. I was 24-29 years old, earning a salary most people my age could only dream of. My position was high, my pay was even higher—equivalent to that of a VP or top-level manager.

How did I get there?

Nepotism. Someone in power—my own relative—got me in. That’s how the system worked. I did my best, I worked hard, and eventually I was absorbed into the regular ranks. But even when my job title changed to something lower, my salary grade—thanks to a policy made by those in power—remained the same. I was still getting that executive-level pay.

At the time, I told myself I needed to earn it—to prove I was worth that number on my payslip. So I joined a 6-month management development program. Out of a thousand who applied, only 40 of us were accepted into this rigorous training led by my favorite Ateneo professor, the late Karen dela Cruz. I graduated Top 9.

I told myself—if I work hard and rise the right way, maybe I can justify the privilege I was given. I thought I could really stomach the culture. But over time, I realized… I couldn’t. Something didn’t sit right. And it only got louder.

I don’t have hard evidence now. My memories are fuzzy. But the feeling remains crystal clear: I witnessed how the system protected itself. I saw how public money, the contributions of ordinary Filipinos, partly padded the pockets of insiders.

Eventually, I couldn’t stomach it anymore.

I took the early retirement package and walked away. I left behind the prestige, the high salary, the security—because I couldn’t unsee what I had seen. I chose a simpler, quieter life. And I’m grateful I did.

Maybe I get this from my mom. She worked for the Commission on Audit for decades and retired poor—but with her integrity fully intact. She refused bribes. She stood firm. And even though it left her in debt, she never gave in. I’m proud to say I inherited that part of her.

Here are some older blog posts where I shared bits and pieces of this journey:

That’s why, when I see what’s happening now—how blatant some of the corruption has become—I can no longer stay silent.

I know personally people who hid their wealth under relatives’ names to dodge SALN declarations. I know people who benefited quietly while others suffered loudly. It’s not a secret. Many of us know this. The question is: What do we do now?

We talk. We post. We share. But that’s not enough anymore.

It’s time to act.

It’s time for those in power who still have a conscience to lead this revolution—not of violence, but of accountability. It’s time to clean the system from the inside out.

For most of my life, I’ve been apolitical. But now? Now it’s too much.

The theft is too bold. The injustice is too glaring.

We’ve hit rock bottom.

And I believe this is where revolutions are born.