“D-nim, you’ll need to move to the Memory Division.”
A few days before the Lunar New Year break, I walked into work feeling light and relaxed — and that’s when I was told about my transfer.
Did I expect it?
Not even a little.
“Excuse me…?”
“It looks like some people from our division are being reassigned to Memory, and D-nim, you’re on that list.”
After talking for about five minutes, I realized this was already a finalized decision. I had barely completed two years at the company — still couldn’t even fully shed my new employee label — and there was nothing a rookie like me could do to reverse it.
This wasn’t a discussion. It was an order from S 상무님. Actually, he must’ve been promoted around then… so S 전무님.
“Is there… any way to reverse this?”
I said it carefully, watching his expression. His face hardened.
“So… there isn’t, right. Okay.”
Knowing When to Swallow It
‘Huh.’
I was stunned, but my head stayed calm as it assessed the situation.
The S 팀장님 in front of me would eventually become just another middle-aged man. Anyone who’s been to the military knows — during service, officers feel like generals. Once I’m out, they’re just your neighbor with a belly.
But until the day I take off that uniform, they’re still the person you have to be extremely careful around.
So I searched for the softest way possible to express what I was feeling.
“That’s… disappointing.”
His stiff expression loosened. Maybe he hadn’t expected that answer.
“I really worked hard here. When I applied for LSI, I could’ve applied to Memory too, but I chose this team because I wanted to accomplish something here.”
(Yeah, this sounds like bragging. It is bragging. I reapplied to LSI after my master’s even though I already got in as an undergrad — that’s how much I wanted this. And now you’re just throwing me away?)
“I really didn’t see this coming. If I’d known, I honestly would’ve just gone to Memory from the start.”
(This part isn’t bragging. This is real regret.)
When I looked up, his eyes were red.
“I’m not used to having conversations like this either… but it’s already been decided.”
We talked for less than fifteen minutes. At the time, I was so heated I didn’t realize it — but looking back later, I felt bad for showing my emotions so openly to someone so high above me. Still, in that moment, what noble thoughts could I possibly have had?
The moment I left the office, I went straight to ㄱ그룹장님 and requested a meeting.
The Power of Pretending Not to Know
Even now, I still feel a sense of respect toward ㄱ그룹장님.
Not because he’s some perfectly righteous person — but because surviving for over 20 years inside Samsung takes a level of political skill that’s honestly impressive.
I still remember the perfectly natural, almost innocent look on his face when I asked for a meeting.
“What’s up? What’s going on?”
For context, most of the meeting rooms at DSR Tower were glass-walled. The lower half was covered with frosted film at eye level, so if you wanted to check inside, tall people had to rise up on their toes, and people like me had to bend way down. Sometimes we’d write directly on the glass with board markers. I still remember the quiet tension of those rooms — the slightly stifling air, the faint noise leaking in from outside.
“Why was I chosen?”
His face showed pure confusion.
Seeing that, I just started explaining everything in a rush.
“I guess it was decided at the S 팀장님 level. I wasn’t aware.”
There was nothing left to say. If he didn’t know, then what else could I argue? I nodded, exchanged a few more words, and left the room.
Much later, I realized the truth:
There was no way someone at the group-leader level didn’t know about a subordinate’s transfer. I simply didn’t understand how the company actually worked. I had a narrow mindset — just focused on doing my own job well.
And strangely enough, I’m now grateful for that short-sightedness.
Why a Clean Break Is Sometimes Kinder
The longer a goodbye drags on, the worse it becomes. A clean break is easier for both sides — the one leaving and the one being left behind.
No matter how much you talk about why you were chosen, whether there was another option, or if things could be changed — in the end, you still follow the decision made at the top.
He was someone who had climbed all the way to group leader inside Samsung. He had built a level of experience someone like me — who quit after three and a half years — could never touch. And the choice he made to “pretend not to know,” when I look back now, was probably the best decision for both a clueless rookie and a manager who had to let him go.
It took me a long time to accept that. I moved from naïvely believing he truly didn’t know, into shock and betrayal when I realized he probably did know — and only after hearing various stories inside the Memory Division did the bigger picture slowly come into view.
At the very top, there must have been a simple equation:
One division bleeding massive losses. Another riding a “super cycle” of profit.
Same type of roles in both. One side short on manpower.
So you take a small slice from here, move it there.
Loss decreases. Profit increases.
A completely cold, rational decision.
What Still Feels Regretful
Even so, regret lingers.
Was that really the best option?
In other teams, they apparently took volunteers and chose from them. At the very least, I wish they had spoken with the people involved to confirm their intentions.
But S 팀장님 came from an Apple, Silicon-Valley-style, American mindset — where people only find out they’re fired when their badge stops working the next day. For someone from that culture, even having a conversation with a junior employee like me was already generosity and compromise. I understand that now.
What Others Said — And What Time Revealed
I went back to my desk and told my coworkers, teammates, and acquaintances.
Some said, “That really sucks.”
Some said, “Isn’t that actually a good thing?”
Some even said, “Wow, I wish that were me.”
At the time, hearing that made my blood boil.
Why send someone who’s doing fine and not someone like them instead?
But with time, I realized they weren’t mocking me — they were being sincere.
Going from a loss-making division with uncertain PS and PI to a profit-driven division with solid bonuses and even special incentives was, financially speaking, a good move.
That’s why ㄱ그룹장님 once joked,
“It’s like sending a kid from a poor home to a rich family.”
What Felt Like Hell Back Then Became a Gift Later
Back then, it was miserable. I was angry, irritated, and stressed to the limit.
But life really is 새옹지마 — misfortune and fortune constantly trade places.
Looking back, that transfer gave me exactly the experience I needed most.
In the Memory Division, the careless and naïve things I said piled up until I earned myself a solid reputation as an outsider who didn’t belong. For the remaining year and a half, I was treated like a rolling stone that never settles. But those mistakes — the ones I made while trying to adapt to that new environment — later became a massive help when I had to adjust to workplace culture in Sweden.
I can’t deny that at all.
That’s why life is so fascinating.
What feels like the worst moment can later become the best choice.
And what feels like the best moment can later turn out to be the beginning of pain you never want to remember.
If you would like to see the original post in korean click here
An Engineer’s Memoir in Another World is prequel of Forgetting Arc
