Being a CESO, Now

It was most tiring, this year's convention. But it was the most dressed-down, casual, comfy, warm one, looking back five years past. Our community is growing, slowly but surely. Our family in our department has also grown, we had three new friends who graduated from the programs, conferred with rank. My yardstick every year is the number or length of table/s we all use to eat, eat and eat, hosted by a collague local to the convention location. This year, the table is longer than usual, which made me glad. We were also louder, not only because we had more mouths chattering, but because we have done this each year, it felt like it was more and more becoming natural to blabber with our mouths full. We never ran out of stories to tell, and time was always short. We were to be stiff and formal for the opening ceremonies in our Filipiniana, then change for the less formal in the afternoons. Taking pictures seemed to be unending. In-between, our minds were fed with both the cerebral and not, the sessions ranging from the nosebleed-inducing, self-analysis, organizational-psyche, anchored on the theories and principles of Carl Jung; to destressing sessions on flower arrangements and finding one's inner Juan Luna through painting. 

Of course Maan and I would not let the fact that our hotel is in a mall. So no matter how long our days were during the three-day convention, we made time to check the boutiques, and have our quiet time sipping coffee and looking at our phones. We do talk, actually, but not while having coffee. The gossiping lulls us both to sleep back at the hotel room. 

We heard good news of salary standardization from our keynote speaker,  Secretary Butch Abad of the Dept. of Budget and Management. Before he spoke, one of our colleagues, Eric Tayag of the DOH led us to a group dance. That role is only his. Then the convention was officially closed. 

My boss danced awkwardly in front of me, and I glanced around the whole area to see other executives doing the same. Our kids would probably get sick with the sight of us strutting, trying to do the wave, jumping and what-not. However, to me, it was such a delightful sight. These are the people who have dedicated their lives to government: those who started young, those who worked unpaid overtimes, those who worked their way up, those who opted to become weekend parents and full-time government workers, those who filed loans here and there to make ends meet, those who are subjects of malicious gossip, those who are called names behind their backs, those who despite of all, chose to stay. 

My favorite theme among all was two years back, 'Taas Noo, CESO'. Those three words spoke of the pride we must have, not only because we hurdled the most excruciatingly difficult ladderized assessment process (I remember giving the office building of the Board a mental middle-finger after one of those examinations, I was absolutely sure I did not pass it, or so I thought.), but because we all chose to stay. Despite all. Inspite all. On a personal note, I take pride in being part of the community because my Lolo Panieng was one among those in the first batch of graduates of the Executive Leadership Program, his name etched in those bronze plates posted on the walls of the Development Academy of the Philippines. Although I am quite certain I will never achieve his rank until I retire, I know I did him proud. But more, I am proud of being part of the community because the thought validates my sense of goodness, which others mock for reasons I do not comprehend. I believed again, in myself, after a period of anxiety, uselessness, and insecurity. The dynamics of fair play versus politics, influenced by the disappointing absence of empathy and compassion, has only reinforced the honor there is in being a CESO. So yes, I am proud. And I will hold my head high, because I chose to fight for the privilege to stay. Shoot me.