Scratching off the Labels

I remember overhearing an argument between two people and for the lack of physical bravado, I bet, they are using power trips in place of arms:

“Don’t you know I am the nephew of the former mayor of ____?”

“ Oh yeah, I will call my Ninong who’s the congressman of _____.”

“Well, I’ll see you in court! I know a very good lawyer who’s gonna wipe you out!”

“Huh!? Pray that the judge won’t be our neighbor!”

Okay, okay. So that’s really exaggerating it. But to me, it felt like that. My last job as an employee was at a hotel and believe me, I have witnessed a lot of ass-kissing, name dropping and all that stuff. It frustrates me, really. It’s like branding yourself to someone. It’s like power given to a parasite on top of whale.

So, what is up, really, to these labels?

my last nameplate

Well, there’s a certain ring to our egos when labels are concerned. At work, I was very careful when it comes to designations and putting it in someone’s nameplate. I, for one, was very proud when I got hold of my nameplates. I started out as an HR Officer, then rose to HR Assistant Manager, then finally to Standardizations Manager. It was recognition beyond anything I could dream of. I was so proud of those nameplates. And when I finally resigned last November to focus on my family (I was pregnant then), it took me a lot of courage to let go of my nameplate. It bore a lot of meaning to me. It spoke of years of hard work, stress, a lot of adversities, and all those corporate stuff. In the end, I took it with me and I just told them to deduct the amount from my final pay.

So, upon resignation, I felt like I lost a very big part of me. It’s like I was stripped of my label. The resignation was abrupt also, and quiet because it was doctor-recommended. I wasn’t able to say goodbye properly to my friends. Most of them didn’t know I was leaving. They thought I was on indefinite leave. One time, I was window-shopping at the mall and a former colleague of mine from another company saw me. She said, “Miss! Kumusta?? Asa na man diay ka ron??” (Miss, how are you? Where are you now?) And I wasn’t able to answer straight. I just said, “Housewife, taking care of my husband”.  And she said, “Good for you”. The reply I got from her felt robotic from my end. It didn’t feel good.  I’m sure she didn’t mean anything from it but I felt like a nagging subconscious was telling me I was on top of the ladder and then bam, I am now just a housewife. Stripped of my corporate name, stripped of my job title, I felt like I was nothing. I cried in the CR of the mall, alone and awfully bitter.

I didn’t want to succumb to that feeling and let it overpower me so I just kept it to myself and tried not to mind it. But it’s still there, like a heavy lump in my chest. Not until I had this casual phone conversation with my Mom, one of the many things that we do. She just said, “Day, blessed kaayo si Lito nimo noh.. Dili tanan babaye igive up ilang career para sa pamilya, ug para sa ilang bana.. Ang uban ana, walay paki.. Pero ikaw, imo gigive up tanan..Proud kaayo mi nimo” (Lito is blessed to have you. Not all wives give up their careers for their family or for their husband. Others do not care. But you gave it up. And we are very proud of you). I said a meek thank you and told her I had to put down the phone as I need to do something. And that something that I need to was, well, crying as I digest her words. I hid in the CR again and cried my heart out. My mom, who always says I owe my brains to my dad, doesn’t know that I owe my heart to her. Her wisdom is beyond words and again, she has helped me see things in a clearer point of view. I could never be more grateful for that big heart of hers.

I realized that labels are just that. Labels. Written in nameplates or thrown carelessly when name dropping and ego tripping is at hand. It can wear out, it can be forgotten. It doesn’t define us.  It is such a sad life to define one’s self and one’s worth in a brass template.

Labels define how we want to be recognized.

Well, I don’t want to be recognized.

I want to be remembered.

So, how do I want to be remembered, then?

I thought about this and I realized I don’t want to be remembered through my position titles. I don’t want to be remembered as that “manager or department head or something, I forgot who she was!” I want to be remembered as “Ara-HR” the one who added to her job description her daily rounds to all departments, not to scrutinize, but to talk to them and really see how their day was going; “Miss Ara” to the owners, heads, and those who’d like to call me that—the one who went out of her duties to market the true marketable asset, our employees, through the first ever Hotel Station ID’s. I would like to be remembered as “gat”, the one who feels like she was one of the Sales team when she was just an adopted one, “Richard” to Clare, “Ex” to Chef Armand A., “Miss A” to Barbie and Ervina,  “lamoy”, “poy” to Charlie, “classmate” to my OJTs, “classP” to Ian, “eww” to JB, “Mysis” to Vianney, “Mommy” to my HR girls, "Mother" to naknak Anna and Prince, extended anak to my 2 Mommy Annabelle’s, Chefie’s “palangga”, Jaybee’s “Ara Mina”, Kuya Joward’s “Ara Girl”. You see, those endearments or even name phrases are way better than name dropping or nameplate etching. For it defines not just my work, but how I work and how I value my work and the people that surrounds it. And wherever I may be, wherever those people are, whatever I may become in the future, I will always be that to them, someone who, once in their lifetime, has become a part of their lives. As they are to mine. 

In my personal life, I could make peace with having no labels and not being recognized. I just want to be remembered not just as a plain housewife, but as a strong partner and wife who was there for her husband in sickness and in health, a good sister who helped the family, a good daughter who treats her Mom like her best friend, and her dad as the best man in her life still, a good granddaughter worthy of my Mama’s favoritism (ahem ahem), a friend who takes no bullshit and who values real friends, someone who held on to hope and faith, and someone who makes her dreams come true, by making a career out of writing.

In our final call, I’m sure our Lord Friend wouldn’t ask for our job titles.

And with that, I wanna say, hey, I don’t have a name or any position etched somewhere but I do believe I remain in the hearts of those who I believe whose lives I have touched along the way.

And you could never put a label into that.

****

 Snippets of my life in my last job: 

Chefie Armand, Mommy Pearl, Imelda, Ate GM, me and Kuya Joward

me and my most fave Exec Chef in the world, Chef Armand!

me with Chada Dagway during the Hotel Station ID shoot. murag korek noh?

crazy fun during an outreach activity with Ervina, Imelda and Krizzy

fooling around with my "classmates"

me and my best est est est gat... Emyat!

my closest friends-- Mysis Vianney and Eww JB

me and my Ate Sharon, Imelda!

the original Igats of the Sales team (absent: Joanna and Emyat)

my gurlies, yes including those 3 who look like guys

partying with my old colleagues

F&B ProductioN!

HR and OJTs

with Diego Salvador, Melther and Marky Mark

with the ever dynamic Housekeeping team!

Hotel Station ID, the 2nd one

full credits and bloopers

P.S. To all my ex-hotel friends who remained my friends, resigned or not, from Front Office to HR to Housekeeping to F&B Production, Service, Engineering, Finance, IT,  Sales, Security, Marketing and Executive Office: this is my long overdue goodbye. My 4-years there did not go to waste as I was able to meet you and have you in my life. I will forever treasure the memories, I'm sure there will be more.  I miss you all.  Salamat sa tanan.