Leaving

I started working early, right after school, fueled by a quiet hunger to learn and do stuff. I didn’t really know what I was looking for back then, I just knew I wanted to grow, understand and become something more than I was. I thought I would find skills, experience and maybe a clearer resume. What I didn’t expect was to find a place that would shape me as a person.

Over time, this job stopped being just a job. It became a rhythm, a constant, a place where days blended into years, where routines formed, broke, and reformed again. A place where I learned not only how to work, but how to exist alongside others. How to listen. How to wait. How to care.

I found friendship here, real friendship, the kind that grows slowly, almost unnoticed. I found patience, given to me when I didn’t yet know how to give it to myself.
I found people who inspired me without trying to. People whose work ethic, kindness, resilience and quiet intelligence left a mark on me, even if we never interacted directly.

I found love here too, and that alone feels surreal to say.
So much of who I am today, so much of what I have built, traces back to this place. This job didn’t just pay me: it gave me a life, a place to belong, a foundation to stand on.

The long journey

It has been a long journey. Longer than I realized while I was living it. There were days of repetition, days of boredom where time felt frozen. There were days of joy, of shared wins, of laughter that made everything lighter. There were moments of anger, frustration, misunderstandings. Moments that required patience. Moments that required forgiveness. Sometimes forgiveness of others. Sometimes forgiveness of myself.

At times, it feels like an entire lifetime passed here. Or maybe several smaller ones.

And now, standing at the edge of this change, I feel something strange and heavy in my chest. A mix of gratitude and grief. Excitement and fear. Relief and nostalgia. Leaving is never just leaving. It’s letting go of versions of yourself that only existed in that space, with those people, at that time.

Thank you

I want to say thank you. Truly. To everyone. From the first person who welcomed me, to the last conversation I’ll carry with me. Thank you for your time, your patience, your trust. Thank you for the moments you probably forgot, but that stayed with me. Thank you for making this place human.

And I also want to say I’m sorry. If I ever hurt someone. If I ever disappointed someone. If I ever made anyone feel unseen, misunderstood, or unappreciated. I was never perfect. I still am not. But I always tried to give the best version of myself I could at that moment. Sometimes that wasn’t enough, and I carry that with me.

What I hope you remember

If there’s one thing I hope you remember about me, it’s that I cared. About the work. About the people. About doing things properly, honestly, with intention. And if there’s one thing I hope you remember for yourselves, it’s this: never settle. Never lose the fire that made you start. Protect it fiercely.

I’ve had the privilege of knowing many of you, each in your own way. And I can say this without hesitation: you are extraordinary people. You have depth, talent, and an infinite potential. Don’t let the darkest moments convince you otherwise. Don’t let routine dull your spark. Don’t let fear make you smaller.

Making a place home

There’s a quote from The Office that has been echoing in my mind lately:

“It all seemed so very arbitrary. I applied for a job at this company because they were hiring, I took a desk at the back because it was empty, but… no matter how you get there, or where you end up, human beings have this miraculous gift to make that place home.”

That’s exactly how this feels. It was arbitrary. Accidental. And yet deeply meaningful. Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, this place became home.

Leaving it feels like leaving a piece of myself behind. A chapter that I will never be able to rewrite, only remember. And I hope that, in some small way, I leave behind a positive trace too. A good memory. A kind word. A presence that mattered.

I hope I was enough for you. I hope I added something good to your days. And I hope that, even as our paths diverge, what we shared continues quietly, invisibly, shaping who we all become next.

This is not a goodbye filled with certainty. It’s a goodbye filled with gratitude.

Thank you. For everything.