11 April 2009
Tomas Morato
Quezon City
In a small secluded site in Makati, 13 maharlikas silently gathered around to make an accord, while the downtown Manila was in its usual fashion of making both ends meet. Under the scorching heat of March, they were firm to their resolve to go along the course of feat. Though vision was still hazy, one thing was sure – they were out to make a difference. Armed with a little knowledge and with a big heart, they started to unleash the limited but extraordinary power they have, under their chain-smoking, yet very able leader.
For these maharlikas, failure was never an option; so they worked their ass off to put the glory to the republic they envisioned. Soon, they realised everything was falling into place, even without their erstwhile leader who chose to leave them.
The tribe increased exponentially, with the addition of four batches of maharlikas who had similar vision and mission in life. Even if differences cropped up from time to time, the entire tribe was able to work on together to continue what was started. The small tribe soon blossomed to make a name out of their idealism, and instantly became the apple of the eye of the gods and goddesses.
As with the other tribe, the budding republic was also stricken by plague – known as PIP – which cut a swathe through half of the population. Instead of being cast down, the maharlikas picked the pieces together and renewed their vows of making a difference. This was the time when the republic was piloted by a pseudo-leader who fancied himself of a rastaman or of Bob Marley, spending more time in the parlor to ensure his dreads were still in perfect shape than in his station cramming for the performance deck.
For several months, since Mr. Rastaman was preoccupied with how to perfect his dreads, there was no eye watching every move of the tribe, so the maharlikas were free to do whatever they wanted. They friendstered and weboggled until their eyes popped out, alternately doing eggroll or answering quizzes which in no way connected to their work. They pictured themselves as cast of That’s Entertainment or stars of Kapamilya. To everyone’s surprise, this paved the way to the creation of sub-tribes and to other line of work.
Like the first leader, Mr. Rastaman also left the group. This did not at all surprise the tribe, as they deserved someone with a sharper brain, stronger guts and bigger balls. Until Mr. Dictator came along.
During this time, most of the original members of the tribe were given bigger responsibilities. Still tightly sticking to the commitment, they worked together to bring a brand new leadership. They were the new breed of leaders the gods and goddesses molded them to. However, they were shocked by the way Mr. Dictator wanted them to be. This difference created hubbub across all sub-tribes, which led to the resignation of the key persons whose love, dedication and sense of ownership for the tribe could hardly rivaled.
But the tribe kept on going, exerting themselves too much effort. They never got tired, because for them, they were doing everything for the love of the republic they put up. Soon, another tribe flowered, courtesy of the all-green performance of the original tribe. Much to the relief of the tribe, the dictator focused on the new tribe as it was totally different from how the original tribe has worked. This gave way to a series of reflection, which brought the tribe back to how it was working without the guidance of any external forces.
The freedom however was short-lived. While the tribe was on track again of reaping green smileys and numbers, an alien from Indiaputra invaded the place who has thought of himself as the knight in shining armor. From the simple structure, he moved the world of the tribe upside down, placing layers of responsibilities to the maharlikas who were already drowned to piles of undertaking.
The maharlikas were all became alipins of the alien out of the blue, the tribe developed into serfdom. The freedom and contentment were taken away from them. Every move was calculated, every output measured based on the paradigm designed by the alien. Rules and regulations were implemented without consulting the maharlikas, breaking them would mean expulsion to the tribe. The land the maharlikas were tilling and toiling turned into barren and arid, with the once all-green smileys and figures becoming bloody red.
Soon, the prolific civilization turned into nothing but a black hole. Population became worn and torn. All of these miscalculations and major lapses were being blamed to maharlikas, whose voices have become unheard of as soon as the alien arrived.
The tribe is currently struggling to go back to where it should have been. But the alien still persists, adamant on insisting on his version of “right thing to do.” Day in day out, more and more maharlikas have rapidly become despondent to where their well-loved tribe is leading to. However, they are resolved to cling to their commitment.
They are out to rip up the root cause that has become the quandary of the growth of the tribe. They know that in the near future, they would regain the freedom they have been fighting for.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
With A Smile
05 April 2009
Tomas Morato
Quezon City
Dear Always Smiling,
You greeted us with a smile that was full of hope and verve about a year ago. You flashed it as if it could launch a thousand ships and could materialise every hope we are pining for. Easily, we have gotten carried away, as this was what we were seeking out for two years; a smile that made us to believe would change the fate of our account.
This would be the same smile that would definitely painted on your face on Monday, when you would learn that my dear friend for three momentous, historical years would submit his resignation letter. Your sweet smile cannot disprove the fact that you would be celebrating, no matter how you try to appear as a victim of a crime you have actually committed and pulled off.
You have always tried to act as an innocent, even if your only purpose is to mess up everything that we have painstakingly built out of our idealism on how to run this industry. You’re a master of looking above suspicion, courtesy of your smile that can cover up everything you have in mind.
You have categorically denied us of the fruits of our labour, have never given any importance to roles we have played and mastered for three years. For you, ours is a style that is already passé, our idea already outmoded.
We have never complained about that for the longest time, even though we have known you are playing a dangerous game. We know we are flexible, so we have welcomed all the possibilities you have instilled us to be working, in the guise of Six Sigma and other call centre patois. We have thought you were better than our previous boss, because you were very approachable, and you made us smile. You have pretended to be the hope of this account, in your hands is our future.
We have entertained your notion, and version of leadership, management, call centre, sense of responsibility and ownership. We have tried to emulate you, because you have wanted us to be cloned to how you work.
It is still fresh to me when you said that our team is like a Stalin’s horse. Amid the thick of the agents, you told me in full blast that while we have freedom to roam around, our team’s vision is only one-dimensional or two-dimensional, perhaps to make the blow softer. You said we have a narrow horizon. I have just shrugged my shoulder then, because it was a feedback from our internal client, even if it seemed very subjective.
I can still recall how you looked like the time you have shouted at me when I have tried to reason out in behalf of our team during a meeting to iron the brewing tension out in the account. Rather than listening, you have opted to call for kicking me out of the team, because for you, I am not a good leader for I am very emotional, although I was just trying to salvage and uplift the morale and drive of the quality specialists that were going directly down to drain. You have put the blame on our transfer to our current site, as you believe that the friction has just appeared during the relocation.
Not satisfied with my firm resolution to stay, you have talked to agents to survey if they could replace me as the Quality Supervisor. For you, they are better than the way I perform. You have even informed the client about that during one of the business reviews, in front of my colleagues I have worked with for three years. I have never groused about that.
Most of the time, you have bypassed me, pulling out the Quality Specialists in the middle of performing their primary tasks. You did not hear any complaints from us even if we have always been subjected to escalation, because you were just taking ownership of this account.
When we are able to do something good, to produce something that has a sense, that has a huge impact to the entire account, we have never received any pat on our shoulders. Maybe, you’re just a perfectionist. That’s why, we have never expected any commendations from you, for you have instilled us that our work is mediocre compared to what you have accomplished.
For you, we are doing no good. For you, everything we are doing is but futile.
Thanks to you, our team has become somewhat robotic. We are trying to cover it up in our mantra “for the love of eBay UK,” even if this has only meant for your satisfaction. We have tried to forget everything that has happened, withstand the barrage of nuclear insults and the onslaught of unending criticisms, which are packaged as an objective feedback. But you have never taught us what to do.
Now, the wind has suddenly blown into different direction. You are wearing a totally different shade of smile. We have realised that to you, even the Ops people are doing nothing, even if you see how some of them have tried to turn the world upside down, just to please you, just to make a difference.
You have resorted to lambasting us one by one, lashing your sharp tongue to anyone you have just thought as an expense to the company. Even to my friends, who have stood by you during your darkest moments.
You were smiling when you have given us 30 days to make all queues green. You said it’s a matter of life and death for us. But how about you?
I would like to remind you, it was during your time, when you were directly handling the account, that these queues became not only red but bloody red. Do not try to argue with me, I have a copy of all pertinent data in my PC.I have once blamed my team for this, more so myself, for this was the first time this happened. I have acquitted you of this even if you had a direct hand on the queues, because I have believed you were good, because you could still smile despite everything.
Unlike me who you have hated deep into your bones, my friends have never bothered to answer back to you. They are far more objective, trying to understand every single mistake you have incurred. Instead of giving back something they deserve, you have exploited them, until they have decided one by one to just leave the account they have taken care of for a long time.
I have realised that after all, I am right. You are no saviour.
Now, another great person would leave the company because of you. What tactics you would want to employ against the person? I have heard you are opted to do the dirty tactics, even trying rumor-mongering just to save your ass, just to get what you want.
It’s about time to pack up your bags now, AS. It’s your time to go. Do not be pretentious anymore; we have borne the brunt of your incapacity and we have suffered a lot. If something has gone wrong, you would easily point your fingers to our team, or to others you think are vulnerable and tame. It could not be you, because you are good, because you are the only one who is thinking creatively and innovatively in the team, for the team.
Sorry but we have already discovered your modus operandi. Do not try to cover your ass, because in your entire stay here, we have not seen nor felt any improvements at all. Your promises are empty, you actions very doubtful.
You have to go now and bring your fake smile with you; otherwise, everything would be too late.
Tomas Morato
Quezon City
Dear Always Smiling,
You greeted us with a smile that was full of hope and verve about a year ago. You flashed it as if it could launch a thousand ships and could materialise every hope we are pining for. Easily, we have gotten carried away, as this was what we were seeking out for two years; a smile that made us to believe would change the fate of our account.
This would be the same smile that would definitely painted on your face on Monday, when you would learn that my dear friend for three momentous, historical years would submit his resignation letter. Your sweet smile cannot disprove the fact that you would be celebrating, no matter how you try to appear as a victim of a crime you have actually committed and pulled off.
You have always tried to act as an innocent, even if your only purpose is to mess up everything that we have painstakingly built out of our idealism on how to run this industry. You’re a master of looking above suspicion, courtesy of your smile that can cover up everything you have in mind.
You have categorically denied us of the fruits of our labour, have never given any importance to roles we have played and mastered for three years. For you, ours is a style that is already passé, our idea already outmoded.
We have never complained about that for the longest time, even though we have known you are playing a dangerous game. We know we are flexible, so we have welcomed all the possibilities you have instilled us to be working, in the guise of Six Sigma and other call centre patois. We have thought you were better than our previous boss, because you were very approachable, and you made us smile. You have pretended to be the hope of this account, in your hands is our future.
We have entertained your notion, and version of leadership, management, call centre, sense of responsibility and ownership. We have tried to emulate you, because you have wanted us to be cloned to how you work.
It is still fresh to me when you said that our team is like a Stalin’s horse. Amid the thick of the agents, you told me in full blast that while we have freedom to roam around, our team’s vision is only one-dimensional or two-dimensional, perhaps to make the blow softer. You said we have a narrow horizon. I have just shrugged my shoulder then, because it was a feedback from our internal client, even if it seemed very subjective.
I can still recall how you looked like the time you have shouted at me when I have tried to reason out in behalf of our team during a meeting to iron the brewing tension out in the account. Rather than listening, you have opted to call for kicking me out of the team, because for you, I am not a good leader for I am very emotional, although I was just trying to salvage and uplift the morale and drive of the quality specialists that were going directly down to drain. You have put the blame on our transfer to our current site, as you believe that the friction has just appeared during the relocation.
Not satisfied with my firm resolution to stay, you have talked to agents to survey if they could replace me as the Quality Supervisor. For you, they are better than the way I perform. You have even informed the client about that during one of the business reviews, in front of my colleagues I have worked with for three years. I have never groused about that.
Most of the time, you have bypassed me, pulling out the Quality Specialists in the middle of performing their primary tasks. You did not hear any complaints from us even if we have always been subjected to escalation, because you were just taking ownership of this account.
When we are able to do something good, to produce something that has a sense, that has a huge impact to the entire account, we have never received any pat on our shoulders. Maybe, you’re just a perfectionist. That’s why, we have never expected any commendations from you, for you have instilled us that our work is mediocre compared to what you have accomplished.
For you, we are doing no good. For you, everything we are doing is but futile.
Thanks to you, our team has become somewhat robotic. We are trying to cover it up in our mantra “for the love of eBay UK,” even if this has only meant for your satisfaction. We have tried to forget everything that has happened, withstand the barrage of nuclear insults and the onslaught of unending criticisms, which are packaged as an objective feedback. But you have never taught us what to do.
Now, the wind has suddenly blown into different direction. You are wearing a totally different shade of smile. We have realised that to you, even the Ops people are doing nothing, even if you see how some of them have tried to turn the world upside down, just to please you, just to make a difference.
You have resorted to lambasting us one by one, lashing your sharp tongue to anyone you have just thought as an expense to the company. Even to my friends, who have stood by you during your darkest moments.
You were smiling when you have given us 30 days to make all queues green. You said it’s a matter of life and death for us. But how about you?
I would like to remind you, it was during your time, when you were directly handling the account, that these queues became not only red but bloody red. Do not try to argue with me, I have a copy of all pertinent data in my PC.I have once blamed my team for this, more so myself, for this was the first time this happened. I have acquitted you of this even if you had a direct hand on the queues, because I have believed you were good, because you could still smile despite everything.
Unlike me who you have hated deep into your bones, my friends have never bothered to answer back to you. They are far more objective, trying to understand every single mistake you have incurred. Instead of giving back something they deserve, you have exploited them, until they have decided one by one to just leave the account they have taken care of for a long time.
I have realised that after all, I am right. You are no saviour.
Now, another great person would leave the company because of you. What tactics you would want to employ against the person? I have heard you are opted to do the dirty tactics, even trying rumor-mongering just to save your ass, just to get what you want.
It’s about time to pack up your bags now, AS. It’s your time to go. Do not be pretentious anymore; we have borne the brunt of your incapacity and we have suffered a lot. If something has gone wrong, you would easily point your fingers to our team, or to others you think are vulnerable and tame. It could not be you, because you are good, because you are the only one who is thinking creatively and innovatively in the team, for the team.
Sorry but we have already discovered your modus operandi. Do not try to cover your ass, because in your entire stay here, we have not seen nor felt any improvements at all. Your promises are empty, you actions very doubtful.
You have to go now and bring your fake smile with you; otherwise, everything would be too late.
Work Stoppage
o5 April 2009
Tomas Morato
Quezon City
Temporarily, I’ve stopped writing. The decision is piercing - I have been craving to weave words for the longest time. It’s like turning back to something that is already within your reach. Or depriving yourself of something you have been hungering after without a break. For a moment, it has caused to break the masochistic surface in me.
But the judgment is a necessity, the verdict final. I can’t go on writing without giving fair dealing to words and metaphors and allegories. It’s all about upholding justice to any prose I am carving; it is a matter of integrity.
While writing for others is just clacking away vowels and consonants from their keyboards, it is a painstaking and scrupulous piece of art to me. Most of the time, it takes me three hours before I put 30 at the end of every article I write, for I would not stop from poring over word over word until they have complied with my taste. It is a vicious cycle of butchering my brain until it has hemorrhaged, tiring my eyes of rummaging around apt words, and going back to base one to check if the article has a sense at all.
Writing is my last resort – to bring me back to reality, to keep me sane. When I’m down in the dumps, I make sure to put everything into paper, without missing a detail, for I believe it is capturing history. It is my own version of photography. It is the thing I am looking after when I am lost (particularly in work), when I am submerged to haggardness, when I am haunted by the spectre of weariness.
I have written numerous articles, but I have settled on bringing them to a standstill as they are not sufficient to raise even a single strand of my hair. They are not up to snuff to exceed my first criteria – the sense of impartiality to all concern. They could be a disgrace to the writing community.
These are the reasons why I hibernate from my pen and paper. These are the very same reasons why PWB – Pseudo-Writer Block – keeps on floating up in my brain. I have no idea when I would start to write again. But since I am in a limbo of being sad and not in my work, I have no choice but to go back to jotting down a piece of crap.
Tomas Morato
Quezon City
Temporarily, I’ve stopped writing. The decision is piercing - I have been craving to weave words for the longest time. It’s like turning back to something that is already within your reach. Or depriving yourself of something you have been hungering after without a break. For a moment, it has caused to break the masochistic surface in me.
But the judgment is a necessity, the verdict final. I can’t go on writing without giving fair dealing to words and metaphors and allegories. It’s all about upholding justice to any prose I am carving; it is a matter of integrity.
While writing for others is just clacking away vowels and consonants from their keyboards, it is a painstaking and scrupulous piece of art to me. Most of the time, it takes me three hours before I put 30 at the end of every article I write, for I would not stop from poring over word over word until they have complied with my taste. It is a vicious cycle of butchering my brain until it has hemorrhaged, tiring my eyes of rummaging around apt words, and going back to base one to check if the article has a sense at all.
Writing is my last resort – to bring me back to reality, to keep me sane. When I’m down in the dumps, I make sure to put everything into paper, without missing a detail, for I believe it is capturing history. It is my own version of photography. It is the thing I am looking after when I am lost (particularly in work), when I am submerged to haggardness, when I am haunted by the spectre of weariness.
I have written numerous articles, but I have settled on bringing them to a standstill as they are not sufficient to raise even a single strand of my hair. They are not up to snuff to exceed my first criteria – the sense of impartiality to all concern. They could be a disgrace to the writing community.
These are the reasons why I hibernate from my pen and paper. These are the very same reasons why PWB – Pseudo-Writer Block – keeps on floating up in my brain. I have no idea when I would start to write again. But since I am in a limbo of being sad and not in my work, I have no choice but to go back to jotting down a piece of crap.
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