The hustle is sold separately
It’s probably not what Meta developers envisioned when they rolled out Instagram Notes, but I shot my shot anyway: “Side hustle, please, please, please.”
I typed and hit share all in one go, without flinching.
To make it catchier (and kitschier), I added a snippet from that Sabrina Carpenter earworm. Maybe when this pops up on my mutuals’ radars, someone will have a lead and find my plea less desperate.
Except—spoiler alert—I am desperate. I’m just too proud to admit it outright.
As a public high school teacher, I earn less than a virtual assistant—something my friend casually dropped into conversation like a grenade.
So why not try my luck? I logged into my LinkedIn and Upwork accounts, crafted a flawless CV, highlighted my portfolio of published articles, and applied for every copywriting, content writing, and social media strategist position I could find. Surely my credentials would speak for themselves.
Right?
Wrong.
Rejection central
So far, my inbox has been nothing but rejection central:
“Ryan, thank you for your interest in the English copywriter position at _____. Unfortunately, we will not be moving forward with your application. We appreciate your time and interest in ______.”
Or: “Thank you for your submission. Your score and resume will be evaluated. Shortlisted candidates will be contacted. If you do not hear from us within two weeks, it means no open jobs match your profile, or you did not meet the minimum qualifications.”
Repeat this ad nauseam, and you’ll understand why I dread checking my email every morning.
Still, I hold on to the slim hope that maybe—just maybe—it’s not about me. Maybe my qualifications, no matter how lofty they seem in my head, just don’t align with what they are looking for. Accepting that you don’t measure up takes a certain maturity. All you can do is smile, hope for the best, and move on.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m no stranger to rejection. As someone who writes and submits prose to countless publications, I could fill an entire book with “No, thank you” responses from places like The New Yorker and The New York Times. I’ve developed a thick skin; the sting of rejection is practically my baseline.
But job hunting is a different beast altogether. It’s personal. It’s tied to survival. And every “no” feels like another weight dragging me down.
Some people say, “Why not apply as an online tutor?” Sure, I could—but I won’t. Personal preference. I contain multitudes, thank you very much. This is a public service reminder: We are allowed to be more.
Long list of payables
Senator Risa Hontiveros once told a batch of University of the Philippines graduates, “Rejections can be turned into redirections.” It’s a comforting thought.
But comforting thoughts don’t pay the bills.
When I look at my sorry sheaf of pay slips and the long list of payables, the world feels like it stops spinning. Back when most of my high school classmates were taking up nursing, I proudly chose education, convinced that the government would eventually prioritize salary standardization to make teaching sustainable.
Sixteen-year-old me would not be impressed with how that gamble turned out.
Life, of course, presents myriad choices. TikTok is full of testimonials from people who’ve pursued alternative paths: joining Japan’s JET Programme, teaching abroad with lucrative packages, or even becoming apple pickers in Europe. All tempting in their own way.
But I’m the teacher who can’t be moved.
I still cling to the hope that one day—soon, I pray—Filipino teachers won’t need to seek greener pastures abroad just to survive. That we won’t need to stack side hustles to make ends meet. That the government will finally honor the dignity of labor with fair wages.
In an ideal world, the phrase “you have one job” wouldn’t be a punchline—it would be a source of pride.
With the surprise appointment of Senator Sonny Angara as DepEd Secretary, maybe—just maybe—that hope doesn’t have to rot and die in the rubble. As the new school year approaches, I can’t help but dream of a future where teachers feel revitalized, respected, and valued.
Meanwhile, one of those teachers (read: me) spent the entire vacation marketing himself, spreading himself thin, and shooting his shot with companies who might need a writer, thinker, or strategist with 15 years of classroom experience and a stack of published articles.
So far? Nothing. No callbacks. No acceptances.
But I’m not giving up. Not yet.
Dreams, as they say, are free. But the hustle? That’s sold separately.
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Ryan Leyco Faura is a senior high school teacher at a public high school in Antipolo City. Last year, he reached a career milestone of 15 years of teaching.
