Circuit Breakers

Chapter One: Unleashing the Best in You

"f**k!"

I cursed a little louder, causing people from the other table to glance at me. I turned to them, gave an apologetic nod and mumbled a quick apology before returning my gaze to the laptop screen. It was a habit of mine to subconsciously bite my nails whenever I was nervous and this was one of those instances. I tried sipping from the straw of my iced coffee, but my throat felt locked up just from reading my editor's comments regarding the publication materials I submitted for one of our campaign projects.

'Are you sure this is the right color scheme? Please explore more combinations. We're running a beauty campaign, not a town fiesta event.'

'Why are the concealer shades camouflaged in the overall background? You are highlighting all the irrelevant elements in the pubmat.'

'"Unleashing skin luminescence," "hiding your impurities," and "bringing the best in you" are bad and potentially DISASTROUS ways to showcase what our new products do. The concealers we would launch aim to highlight Filipina's natural skin tone. "Unleashing skin luminescence" to "hide impurities" low-key suggests colorism. Beau Cosmetic's tagline is "Unleashing the best in you," not "Altering the best in you." Please use words that you really know the meaning of. Revise!'

A deep sigh escaped my lips. I rested my neck at the headrest of the sofa before looking at the ceiling. I have been working on this goddamn campaign proposal for a few days now, even working overtime and taking all the deliverables home to work on them overnight. Our editors had said that they are counting on us to answer immediately, especially when the revisions are of high importance, yet here I was, grilled by my editor regarding my poorly made campaign proposals.

It took me a few seconds to open my email account, clicked the create email button, then typed:

'Hello Miss Jean!

All comments are noted. Will send revisions in a few.'

Then I clicked send. I tried shooing my attention away from work, so I took my phone out to check the time. It's already 10:54 p.m., almost a few minutes before 11, and I was still outside. I still needed to wake up by 7:30 in the morning to go to our office. I was about to insert my phone inside my pocket when it rang. It was Sophia, a co-worker of mine.

"Hi, what's up?" I asked, trying to lighten up my tone to hide my dampened mood.

"Hi Aiah! I don't know who to talk to about this, but Miss Jean gave the green light to my proposal!" She said excitedly. Oh, wow. She did? I bit my tongue while listening to her. "Two months ago, I had to revise my campaign materials two or three times. I feel like I am slowly getting the hang of it." Her tone seemed very proud—too proud.

"Well, good for you!" I said, forcing a job-well-done remark to lift her up even further. "I'm happy for you. I saw what you were working on last time. It was really nice," I said, containing the whispers within the periphery of my mind telling me that I was being left behind.

"How about you? Have you received the comments already?" Sophia asked, which, for some reason, has irritated me internally; it was as if she were rubbing salt in the wound. I was not in the mood to talk about it, anyway.

"Miss Jean gave a few comments, but it was all minor revisions," I lied, obviously trying to save face.

"All right, I asked because Miss Jean said in the email that we should look out for each other and even commented that we should have a biweekly meeting with her in a peer-to-peer evaluation where we can freely critique and comment on each other's proposals." My eyes widened and, in a snap, I lifted my back to sit properly.

"What? Really? She said that?" I asked, trying not to sound too nervous. It's one thing to get critiqued by your editor because, in that way, comments remain between me and her. But with my fellow newbies?

"Yes, especially because the evaluation for regularization is fast approaching. She said there is a need to 'accelerate our skills to meet the requirements' or something like that. I forgot. It was a corporate euphemism for people within the team who are struggling and doing badly with their tasks." Sophia's words were banging against my head, adding to the headache already building up. My free left hand began massaging the temple opposite to it while closing my own eyes. "Do you think it's Karina?" Sophia asked again.

"What? What about her?" I asked.

"Well, the people who are doing badly," she hinted malice in her words. Karina was our office pet peeve. Always smiling, always in her goody two-shoes façade, always trying her hardest to please the editors and higher-ups. One time, she even gave everyone a treat from her Baguio City trip during our first evaluation. She said it was to try to lift her scores up, and even though it was as if she was going, we all knew it was half-meant. "Hey, are you there?"

"Y-yes, I'm here!" I said, coming back to my senses. "Yes, I think it's Karina, too. She always whines about getting a lot of comments, but when we ask if those were major revisions or whatnot, she's acting as if it's off the record." For some reason, comments in our earlier months were always off the record. I didn't even give out mine because it was too embarrassing. "I bet it's her. I bet she's the one doing badly," I said, again, forcing a fake tone and convincing myself that other people have it worse.

"Anyway, see you tomorrow? Maybe the peer-to-peer evaluation would be a nice activity to do. Maybe it would separate the boogers from the heathers," Sophia laughed from the other line. I did too, except that my heart was racing two times faster, as if it was caught up in an impending doom.

"Yeah, see you. Night!" I turned the call off and began burying my face on the table. A peer-to-peer collaboration? Regularization coming up? My latest campaign proposal still hanging by a thread? What do I do now? I feel trapped, but Beau Cosmetics was the dream. What would people say if I don't do well here?

---

It was past midnight when I got home. I pushed the door of the cab closed before facing the gates. The lights were already dim, which signaled that everyone was probably asleep. I took my keys from the bag and opened the gates myself. After entering quietly, what I first saw was Anna, my younger sister, studying late at night.

"Hey," I called out before resting my arm around her shoulders. I did not even need to peek at her tablet to know what she was doing, as the tablet itself was projecting a 3D hologram in midair of what seemed to be the muscoskeletal system of the human body, as if she were memorizing every part of it. "Aren't you sleeping yet?" I asked gently.

"Not yet, Ate," she lovingly responded, looking me up with a big sigh. "We have a long quiz for AnaPhy tomorrow," she continued. AnaPhy, according to her, was the shortened name for Anatomy and Physiology. "I hope I pass." She murmured.

"Of course, you will!" I answered, reassuring her to shoo away any worries. Two years ago, Ana decided to take up Medical Technology as her college program because she was keen to follow in the footsteps of our parents, who work as doctors. My mother's a pediatrician while Dad's a cardiologist. My attention suddenly got caught up in the big family portrait hanging on the wall opposite where I stood. It was taken five years ago. My sister and I looked much younger. I was a then-freshman who rebelled against the wishes of my parents. They wanted me to take a healthcare-related course so that I could become a doctor like them one day, but my heart was far from what my parents' vision of my future.

I can still remember and hear the long-winded arguments we had in this house when I chose Advertising Arts as my main program in college. My parents being mad was an understatement—I even made a pact with them. If I get a grade of 2.00 from any course, I will immediately shift programs. It was four long years of a battlecry to prove my parents wrong. My gaze then shifted to a portrait of mine four years later, in a black toga, happily smiling. That was me five months ago after graduating as a summa c*m laude of our batch and was given a job invite to Beau Cosmetics, one of the country's premier cosmetics and beauty lines. I thought that the battlecry ended the moment I obtained my degree, but I never knew it was far from over.

This constant pursuit to prove to everyone that my life choices were right is quite draining, because why can't I just drop all my shields for a moment to at least breathe, and even whisper to the world, that I, too, sometimes get caught up with life's detours?

I went upstairs and noticed that my parents' room was already silent. They were probably asleep. I sighed as I walked into my own room. I carelessly threw my bag on the bed before sitting on the swivel chair. Soon after, the silence was interrupted by the sudden ringing of my phone. I took it out of my pocket and saw that Adrian, my boyfriend, was calling. I quickly answered it.

"Hey," I said, smiling from eye-to-eye. "How are you?" I asked.

"Hi baby," his gentle yet strong voice eased my worries. "Sorry for not texting earlier. I was busy reviewing," Adrian said briefly. I heard squeaking, which I thought was the springs from his mattress.

"It's fine. I understand." I smiled, humming in between our conversation. I met Adrian in college when we were in our sophomore years. Back then, he took Civil Engineering, and we met at a university-wide club recruitment. I was a member of the university's digital network production, and we needed students who were familiar with the know-how of technical sound systems. Luckily, Adrian was interested in the vacancy. When he got in, we usually teamed up to produce several variety programs; he handled the sound systems while I worked in the arts and marketing department. He and I graduated in the same year, and he's now reviewing for the upcoming board examinations, so let's just say that we barely talk long hours these days. "Have you had your dinner?" I asked, trying to open up a conversation.

"I did, baby. I ordered online, though, because I didn't notice that much of the time had passed already." He chuckled before whining like a child. "I missed you already. I'm tired of reviewing 24/7. Maybe we can see each other at the weekends?" Adrian asked in a childish tone. I chuckled, knowing that he only shows this vulnerable yet raw side of him.

"Of course. Don't worry. I'll make sure to free up my weekend for you, all right?" I said reassuringly.

"How about you, baby? How's your day?" Adrian asked curiously. Then all of a sudden, everything came flashing again: the harsh comments, the upcoming regulation, the peer-to-peer evaluation, the pressure, and all the constant burnout. "Baby?" His voice made me come back to my senses again.

"I-it was fine," I stuttered, and I just knew he caught it.

"Are you sure?" he asked, the worry in his tone was very apparent. "Is something bugging you?" He seconded.

"Nothing," I said, acting toughly. There was a long pause in the line, which signaled to me that Adrian was not buying it. "It's just that..." I paused, sighing. "I feel a little pressured. Regularization is fast approaching, and campaign proposals assigned to me are piling up," I explained, redacting the fact that I am failing at my job.

"I know you can do it," he said. "Our summa c*m laude wonder girl."

Summa c*m laude wonder girl. I smiled bitterly at that thought. True enough, everyone treated me like a wonder girl when I graduated from college, except for my father, who, from the get-go, had told me that I was to prove that I deserved that academic merit. Yet here I am, on the brink of a meltdown because I feel like I am in a slump. Which is why, these days, I often wonder: Did I peak in college?