I want to leave my work. I want to resign. I want to start over.

I stare at the file on my laptop containing the business plan I've been working on for a month with years of pondering what I will build and planning on how it will succeed in this competitive and growing market.

"Hey, I've been calling your name five times now," a familiar voice snapped me from my reverie as I felt the warmth of the hand of my best friend, Mabel, on my shoulder. "Are you alright, Cy?"

"Yeah, I am," I respond with a smile on her, reassuring that I'm alright when the truth is I honestly don't know what I'm feeling; my heart is beating fast and unsteady, and the voices in my head started to win.

Working in the accounting field has always been my choice, the moment my eyes opened to the reality of this world and how hard it is to earn money. It became my practical choice, abandoning my lifelong dream—to make clothes and sell them, because in where I live—Philippines—it's not practical and it's hard to build a business when you don't have loads of savings.

Over the four years of college, I learned to love and learn to accept accounting as my profession for the rest of my life, and even after graduating as Cum Laude and passing the CPA licensure examination and working for big companies in the Philippines, I was elated about my journey.

When I decided to leave my country and decided to reside in London, I was over the moon but these past four months altered my life when I found myself slowly losing interest in this field, and the voices in my head started to grow louder—to start over, to build the business I always dreamed of ever since I was a child.

"Mabel," I called her name softly, her gaze locked on mine as she sat across from me waiting to leave the area so we could have lunch. "What if I just quit my job? I can't stay in this place anymore; I'm no longer happy and I feel lost."

Mabel widened her eyes and stopped toying with the pen she'd been holding a minute ago, her lips shut close as she gazed at me in a mixture of confusion and shock; I never told her about quitting my job; both of us dreamed of working together since we were kids.

"Cy," Mabel said, her hand squeezing mine, giving me a reassuring smile, the smile she always flashed on me every time I was worried about my grades in academics or worried about my future in general. "I'm always here for you and if you really want to quit, then I support you because I really want you to be happy. You're my best friend; your happiness means the most to me."

"But what about the plans we make?" I asked softly. We have tons of them for the both of us; we've been scribbling them down since we were kids and aside from working together, we also plan some work trips together—we've been on a couple of work trips together and there's no dull moment with Mabel—and now, work trips together are impossible. We've been daydreaming about scenarios when we finally have work trips during our college years.

"Cy, we can still travel and go on a work trip together even if you don't work here anymore; we'll find a way for that to happen," Mabel answered, never leaving my hand. "If you quit, we're always going to be best friends; nothing is going to change that. I'll support you in whatever you want to do. You can put me in your resume and I can give you a reference if you want; I'll be happy to do it. Any company would be so lucky to have you as their employee."

"But the thing is I don't want to apply to another company," I answered truthfully. I no longer see myself sending out resumes; I want to have my own company. "I want to have my own business, Mabel. I spent a month finalizing my business plan and months designing and making clothes. I have savings that could aid me to establish my business and I really want this but I'm scared to fail."

I'm now twenty-five and having a career crisis doesn't do good to me as someone who's an only child that comes from a middle-class family; I couldn't afford to fail, or else I'll be a big disgrace and all the efforts and sacrifices my parents did will be one big waste.

It's hard to breathe, especially when the society expects you to have a stable job in your mid-twenties but here I am on the verge of giving up my job to start over on a new one that there's zero guarantee it will succeed.

"You're going to succeed, Cy. I believe in you."

And after every doubt, worry, and dilemma, her words soothe me and it's the only thing that I've been yearning for—someone to believe in me and my gaze landed on the folder on my desk where it's been sitting for two weeks now, my resignation letter. I have been contemplating giving it to my boss because of the possibility of failure and having no fallback plan in case everything fell apart.

It's incredibly terrifying to start again with no clear path. It's scary to fail, especially when you are known as an achiever, a smart one, the gifted child—I never wanted to be labeled as such; I just want to be happy, rich, and successful, but damn, it's hard to reach when your dream is not considered practical.

However, I'm taking a risk, a leap of faith in the name of my dreams, because I owe this to my younger self, a young girl who dreamed of having her own clothing line in the future, a young girl who wished on every star in the night sky to succeed, a girl who wanted nothing but the best for her future.

New beginnings are terrifying but regret would always linger if I didn't try, if I only continued dreaming and never put in action. I will take a risk even in the midst of chaos; I will take a leap of faith for my dreams that I put on hold for so long.

It's finally time for me to start over at the ripe age of twenty-five. It's scary but I have to try; I have to at least try to fight for my dreams.