THE NOT-SO ABCs OF HEADHUNTING

Headhunters are in it for the money. They are overpaid recruiters who don’t care about the candidates they’ve placed. They are a glorified group of modern day slave traders armed with corporate buzz words they don’t even understand.

Familiar? It shouldn’t be. But it should be alarming that, unfortunately, clients and candidates think of some of us this way. One rotten tomato spoils the whole bunch, let me tell you. I haven’t been in the business long enough to see how much has changed since it was first done. But I could deduce as much as you do, and here’s my two cents. The influx of information and engagements has delegated us as automatons whether we like it or not. We see a pipeline of pending jobs, what’s next? We call people, endorse to clients, and wait. Waiting for judgment day, for the almighty job offer to come, and have our candidates sign on the dotted line. But, then again, is it that simple? What happens in between?

In my almost six years in recruitment, I have abided by three simple rules: Prepare, Proceed, and Politeness.

Prepare. Know your clients. What do they do? They’re not simply cash cows we’d milk! Don’t go barging in, prospecting for new clients to service, brandishing your firm’s name to drift onto the laps of approving officers to sign your proposal. Know their business! Never speculate about what they do because their company’s name sounds like something you’ve heard before. Research! With multi-faceted means to gather pieces of information, what would keep us from knowing? Only ourselves, I tell you. After knowing about the company, are we prepared to meet head on with what their requirements are? If we’re not, we’re majorly screwed and dipped in God knows where! Excuses should not matter on why were not able to send candidates. I know I’m guilty of that from time-to-time. But, it should be farthest from our minds and vocabulary. We can do it! A hefty check year-end for a job well done, how’s that sound? A good thing about what we’re doing, we’re segmented into specializations. The assumption is industry expertise. How much of an expert are you if you start learning only when a job order comes. Mind you, it will only be worth too much that it doesn’t even matter. Be your clients’ partners. They’re need is as pressing as yours. What if we turned the table? You’re in this together.

Proceed.  So, you got a new client? A new headache perhaps? Challenge anybody? What do you do with this new pen pusher? Go back to the first one: PREPARE! Do you have people in mind to tap or people in your network who could assist you in the search? Maximize your connections. Don’t ever, ever approach a candidate you’re not prepared to meet, they’ll eat you up and spit you out! I learned it the hard way. Noob. The relationship you build with your candidates will be beyond the requirement. Your candidate is your gateway to the industry and his job family. What you establish as a common ground between the two of you will never bog or fumble. It is a gold mine of opportunities.

Politeness. I know you have some client in mind you’d rather forget who pressures you to send a whole shortlist of candidates you’ve pre-reviewed only to be caught up in the quagmire of red tape and then everything’s held up, fumbling blindly in the corporateness of the whole engagement left with nothing or that persistent candidate who follows up even in the wee hours of the night and early hours of the morning. Guilty? Guilty? So am I. But that is how it is. This is something we’ve agreed to unconsciously when we took the job. But eventhough this sounds so much disinteresting or something that will drive you to the edge of sanity: KEEP CALM! It’s part of the job. Maturity kicks in when you think of how to manage it beyond how much you think you could hurt these people. Smile and know that tomorrow’s always another day. Deal with your clients professionally. Get back to your candidates who haven’t been shortlisted, you owe them that much. They entrusted you with their time and effort. Do the same.

I wrote this simply because we might forget it in the long run. I committed this to memory as well because I too sometimes forget. And deep in my heart, I know, we will always prevail and emerge best.

In 15 minutes I'm off to work again

my watch says 12:45pm.

thoughts crowd my mind and burden my heart.

so let words populate this space and let it mean or not mean anything

father time is the greatest thief of them all

in a blink of an eye, you're too old to even realize how old you are

so, take time:

to appreciate the things that matter and live with those that don't

imagine what happiness means and swim in it

never ever think of drowning

imagine what times were painful to even be remembered

learn from getting hurt, and never forget that there were times when you've also caused injury

never forget what your childhood was like

for what you are now is because of that

remember old and new friends, they were and are the comfort you've sought for

in your otherwise boring life

imagine the first book you've read

remember the story it has told you

and how much of it you still love to read

imagine the people you love and loved

surrounding you

imagine the people you hate and hated

and how they've made you stronger

imagine yourself being loved and hated

never forget how that feels

and surely, you'll never hate again

if there is one important thing

that one should never forget:

never cease talking to God

or with any being that floats your religious boat

always converse likewise with yourself in silence

remember the things you did, things you should've done, and the things you will do

see if it has, could have, or will change the world you live in

and make a smile break across the room or beside you

never forget how much love you've given and how much love you should have given

always remember being loved, as a consolation even for your imperfection, even if you don't deserve it

never forget anything

never forget anyone

even the feeling of hatred, pain, sorrow, despair,

but learn how to love, heal, smile, hope

it's not about what has weighed you down all your life,

it's about the things that made you think you could fly.

my watch says 1:00pm. i ought to start working.

(April 26, 2011 / 12:58 pm)

…and then it strikes you

There is nothing standard about how we understand it. It’s always different depending on who’s explaining it. It is a biased emotion, as all emotions are. Nihil est in intellectu quod non prius fuerit in sensu. But, then again, it is, they say, a universal language. It engages you. Consumes you. Encompasses what you are and what you want to be.

I have to warn you, though, it is a double-edged sword. I can’t quite remember who actually said this, but, yes, it truly is. Your pains and joys are in one constant flux. It hinders you from understanding it fully; the incomprehensibility of it pushes you to the limits but there is no way, no way, that you can escape the hymn of triumph when you’ve conquered the murky waters that prevent you from realizing that it is worth every doubt and fear. You discover, in the process, that your character is measured within the journey and not when you have arrived.

It will be your undoing, your failure, if after the long journey you decide that it is not worth it, that it was merely an objective assurance to say that you have conquered a very adamant feeling, and you will feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Yes, only then will you fail. People of now revel on its bleakness, that its very meaning has been spun to mean nothing more than what is physical. It has been whispered, passed on from ear to ear, what it is. It has been lost. But let it then be, as things lost can still be found, a small covenant between what it was and how I see it now of what I can say about this lost word, far and beyond, and that word is: ______.

(August 9, 2012)

Scribbles (for Mariez)

I suddenly felt a stinging jolt. I sat up on my bed, surveyed the surrounding, thinking what happened. I tried reaching out in the dark feeling the sheets, checking the cold under-pillow. What if a snake bit me? Am I just wasting the last minutes, even seconds, of my insignificant little life fumbling through my bed? What if it was a pesky mosquito with that familiar virus strain? What if it was all a dream? That I was simply giving meaning to an ordinary circumstance of late night wake ups. I whispered a curse. Now I can’t sleep.

I tried to lay flat on my bed again, with a yellow sheet and a blue pillowcase, closed my eyes over and over again. But once you’re wakened up, it is doubly difficult sleeping again. Against all the revolt of my tired body, I sat up, stood, and flicked my light open. I rummaged for a pen and an old notebook on a table at the foot of my bed. Why not do something just to pass the time. Something I often do when I can’t sleep. Scribble.

Then, as I flipped open the pages of my battered notebook, I read the things I’ve written for the past days even months or years on end. What the hell! I had thoughts of doing some grammatical doublechecks on the things I’ve previously written but then thought otherwise. It is a welcome development that I for one no longer cared about what I wrote or tried to write. Yes, I get lost sometimes. Upon reaching a blank page, I took the cover off my pen, and made a dot on the upper right hand corner just to assure myself that the pen won’t leave me hanging after a few words have been written.

I suddenly felt that it was a hot evening, my shirt was sticking, and I felt the air was getting heavier. I decided to max-out my fan’s strength just to make it seem as if it was the most comfortable room, ever. It did help a bit; got me distracted from feeling the evening musk. I thought of what I could write.

The moon was a brilliant orb, peeking at my window, maybe this is the inspiration I need, or maybe not. Then, as if it was a planned correspondence, I thought of writing about you.

The days I spent with you were not ordinary days. I have them etched in my mind with permanence. If I could use the most permanent ink there is, I’d ink it on my being as well. I always thought, during those times we’re together, that it couldn’t get any better. You always prove me wrong. Every single time. Because you make the next plans better with your imagination, coupled with your laughter and puns, and spontaneity. We’re a happy bunch. Something I never thought I could still be. But, you know, you turned everything around. We danced a different beat and we’ve concocted the best damn symphony with our contrite laughter. We never cared about how people see us when we laugh our asses off or when we make fun of each other every outing. We had our own world and we’ve made it real.

I thought of how it was then, the guarded moments, when we’ve measured each other up as to how society thinks we are. But we’re just two kids, who found this encompassing happiness in each other’s company. I tried looking back, some months ago, when we first went out. It wasn’t the best impression of me. I was awkward, and had nothing good or interesting to say, so my recourse was poetry and the lame jokes I carried in my sleeve. You laughed at most of them, perhaps out of pity or because of how awkward I looked that it almost seemed funny. It wasn’t a perfect day, but it seemed it was a perfect moment to know what we’re made of. Skin and bones like everybody else.

What I’m pretty sure of then, there wouldn’t be a second time. After that fateful evening things will be pretty weird between us. It did a bit, with the awkward silence and conversational degeneration, but it didn’t escalate as I thought it would. And then the second movie came. We exchanged texts, swapped music. We had breakfast, lunch, and dinner every now and then. We even ventured into jogging around the oval which to our overwhelming surprise and dismay, surprised at the length we traversed and dismayed that at our tender age we failed to accomplish it in commissioned strides, all we had to do then was laugh at our trying, that although we gave our best, and failed horribly, our gentle screen to mask us from the eyes of those looking was our happiness at this at the start of an inevitable failure of our first jog. And what then did we do after? We ate. Because we got hungry laughing.

This has been the normal course of our days together which is not as often as I could’ve wanted. But these are unique experiences each and every time. I always long for the look in your eyes or the scent of your cologne. It marks up my days, the days when I’m with you.

I always long for the touch of your hand that, at times, I even feel my hand lacking when not locked with yours. I always, from time to time, seem to hear your laughter even though you are miles away, I think I’m beginning to be crazy, mad, but I don’t care, I long for your laughter just as much. The intensity never wanes. Every time I say “I miss you”, it is true each time, even more now than before.

So, yes, I was writing with a beat and rhythm I can’t hear, but when the heart remembers, it is always music. I had much to say, much to write, but the day was gently perking up. I closed my notebook because I know there are more memories to make and more time to spend with you.

This was how my scribble ended with a remembrance and a dream. And as I slowly closed my eyes, I had one prayer, that I dream of you and be with you that same moment.

(August 28, 2012 / 8:48 pm)

Thoughts while waiting for my lunch (for Mariez)

I woke up at 5:30am, fifteen minutes earlier than my alarm yesterday. With blurry eyes, I sat up on my bed, trying to digest what activities I had. I stood, put off the fan, and with staggering steps, made my way to the loo to take a piss. After which, I thought of maybe making breakfast but being kind of lazy that morning, I just decided that I’d take my breakfast at UP prior the jog.

I went to our living room, took my bag and prepared everything I needed to bring for the morning jog. I brought 3 shirts, walking shorts (just in case there are plans after), a belt, my camera, and iPad. The plan was to meet up at 7am. It was close to 6:20 already. The evening before, I had dinner with you. A very memorable evening indeed. As it always is when I’m with you. I thought back. Decided to call you just to check if you’re already awake. One, two, three missed calls. Not one was answered, so I decided to check on you when I arrive at UP, after all, it’s just a few minutes away, and for sure, the 7am meeting time won’t be met. Then, you texted that you’re awake already and were concerned about the morning drizzle. Even one of our running buddies texted me with the same concern. It’ll pass, we decided. I then took a bath, taking in the cold water that morning, refreshed and awake, got ready, hailed a tricycle, and went to the terminal. Got into a cab just as quickly. It was a breeze, the travel. Never got held up. So in 20 minutes, I was at UP already. It was around 7:10am. No one was there yet.

I decided to strike a conversation with the security guard at SOLAIR, then, I eventually decided to just read as I know she has much to do as well. I was so excited to see you. Palagi naman. Long story short, I read as much as I can while waiting. In strides all of you arrived. By 8:15am, though drizzling still, we made our way to the Oblation.

I am always fascinated with how light plays on you, with shards and beams, of how leaves fall as if it was a planned music video. Also, the raindrops played their part as well, how they provide the beat to each step. I always remember how you run, how you hold off laughter, and how uncomfortable you are while we were then looking for a loo. You have a distinct smile for each and every occasion. And I won’t forget that. We battled strides with Andi and RJ, Pam and Dionne. It was a happy morning; stories were shared here and there. You threw me reminders along the way of how healthy I should be, being conscious about the food I eat, alcohol intake. I listened. I want to be with you for a very long time. So, I promised. There was something about yesterday I won’t forget, that eventhough we forged all lines at the oval, made our mark at Mang Jimmy’s, and Starbucks at Technohub with Andi and RJ, I am always happy you’re there. With all your jokes, reminiscences, reminders, and countenance, I wouldn’t exchange it for anything else. That moment, that instance, has been solidly written up. That after leaving Starbucks and taking a cab ride to accompany you home, I would have wanted that ride a few minutes more just to be with you.

I don’t know. I miss you all the time. And I enjoy missing you because, this much I know, come the time I see you again, my joy will be complete. Thank you for caring for me. There are more runs and episodes ahead. 

(September 3, 2012 / 12:32 pm)

A story for the 1st of November (for Mariez)

“Looking back at many things that happened in my life before you came, I know I’ve never been this happy, ever. You just had that quiet way around you that keeps me sane and hopeful of the best version of my life will only be with you. I don’t care how many worlds exist at a given point in time; all I’m contented about is that, in this world, the here-and-now, I have you.”

                “There you go again with your mushiness. I think you’ve tricked me into liking you, dear sir. We’re just having breakfast, where did that monologue ever come from?”

                “That just broke me up. I just had to say it. Maybe it’s because our order’s taking too long, or, I’m just so overwhelmed that I’m here with you. Either way, I’m happy with chances I have to spend with you. Oh, gee, here I go again. Bind me up, will you?”

                “You, smooth-talker, you. I never thought of you this way, ever. You were always too serious, as if you were trying to solve all the world’s problems. You’re not Superman, you know. I’m just reminding you that. But now, here you are, flushed and seemingly in love, saying these things to me. Has the world been overcome without me knowing it?”

                “You know, I don’t know how you do it, but that just made my heart skip a beat.”

                “Well, I always have my mysterious ways locked-up. So, don’t you go asking me implicitly what my secrets are. Mind you, I could make your eyes pop off your sockets with just one look. It all starts with making your heart skip a beat.”

                “That broke me up even more.”

                “This is fun. It’s our morning. I could go on all day.”

                Both of them just found themselves laughing all throughout the morning, with stories to tell and silent whispers.

                This is how all good things start, with laughter and stories. It was an ordinary day when the two of them meet. No fancy fireworks, a figure from old romantic flicks, or a spell-bound relationship that broke the witch’s curse. They met. They became friends. That’s that.

                But sometimes, you know reasons start from moments, and moments from multiple memories. Something always stands up above everything. A trough not even the smartest person can explain. But you also know that sometimes you don’t need to label explanations to each and every thing. You need to drink it up as they are. It may sound weird and all, but, in this world, what isn’t anyway?

                They always met up that way: over breakfast, lunch or dinner; over coffee or even just over an unplanned hang-out across the vastness of the university. First things first. You might ask who I am and why I am telling this story. I don’t care if you don’t, I just assumed you do. Let’s just say I have this story in my pocket, I want it said just for the heck of it. You don’t need to read through, if you like. I suggest you stop at this point and go on with your life. For those who choose to stay, get bored at your own risk. No blames on me, please. You were forewarned.

                I won’t give any names or places. Let’s just focus on the stories. This will be a short one. Around three pages if you copy and pasted this on MS Word, maybe even less. It’s about two star-crossed lovers. No, not really. I was just messing with you. But nevertheless, I admit, this is a short story, for now.

                It’s about two students who had all the time and reason in the world not to find each other but eventually did. And maybe, just maybe, depending on them, they couldn’t have been any happier. Another caveat before I delve into the story. You won’t find conversations here, I’m just telling the story. The conversation you read above is just a sample, a situationer, if you will. But they talk this way, most of the time. With the guy mushing things up like an overnight boiled potato. And the gal, always had the sweetest words to say, and the most beautiful smile, ever, as far as I’m concerned.

                 The world is, fortunately, not flat. Chesterton once said that there were two ways how to get home: first, never leave, and second, walk around the whole world until you find yourself in the same place. He was an emo, too. He just didn’t know it. Why? Go figure.

                So there are two individuals, a girl and a boy. The girl, an outspoken, introverted, intellectual with the most beautiful smile, ever. The boy, an extroverted, pseudo-philosopher who thinks he has all the answers. Simply, a know-it-all, who gets on your nerves sometimes.

                These two had their own lives to run and own concerns to agonize on. But, of all the things that couldn’t have happened, they met. And of all the places they could have met, they met at the university. The boy, extroverted and irritatingly noisy, always had his way. In meeting people, making people laugh out of sheer pity of his lame jokes. The girl, exceedingly serious, oftentimes quiet, that maybe even Freud can’t read into her, but with a very developed perspective about many things. She pieces off arguments to get to the core of the problem, and, with ease, understands the most complex of things in this life. But at times, she doesn’t have a clue, as did the boy, when their paths cross.

                Over the following days, weeks, and months, they got to know more of each other, they shared a group of friends who were seemingly as crazy as them, may be even more, they always found an excuse to celebrate the smallest things just to share a drink or two, or three, or four.

                Again, many things could have happened otherwise with these two, but what happened was unexpected. They became good friends. They talked over the phone hours on end but not touching on personal things, they just enjoyed endless conversations. Laughter was their guard. But when the phone call ends, they go their separate ways. They seldom texted. It started that way.

                Eventually, they would share a moment or two, talking in person, about a few personal things. But nothing too deep, they are too safeguarded for that, especially the girl. The boy seemed to be an open book.

                Many things happened in between with their personal, individual lives. Things that have no place to be said here. They became closer, the conversations lasted long, and their laughter was louder. He missed her from time to time, until each and every time he does. The boy can’t wait for the next moments he could spend with her. Music has always been part of their interactions, even poetry. The boy was a nerd. Remember, Mr. Know-it-All?

                They talked about everything and anything. It was more complicated now. They debated on many things. And they thought, against every qualm from their bodies, to diet and exercise. Talk about going against nature. They shared a bond, an unseen one initially, that connected them. They were happy with each other. Something they never expected consciously to happen.

                Eventually, they went out, watching movies, eating together with more frequency. Visiting places together, planning places to visit since. They always found time for each other in spite of the schedules they have. They exchanged SMSs every time. They were just only a phone call away when they’re not together.

                Eventually, you’d always see them together. Almost everywhere. With hands held or hooked. Once, they even planned to go on a picnic. At school, of all places! And they did. The audacity of these two! They braved the muddied quadrangle, with a camera in tow, and two slices of cake and two chocolate bars, it would seem as though they owned the place. But they were happy. They still are. Even happier than before.

                 They’ve been to many places, some places they frequent more every once in a while. And if you see these two, always remember, fairytales come true even if you don’t wish them, sometimes you don’t have to.

                This is the story I have in my pocket. It isn’t as complicated as I thought it would be. But what’s good about this story, it goes on and on and on. It doesn’t end. The days just go on to seem brighter and happier. And they have more than a few smiles to share, pictures to take, and stories to tell. And I will always be there to, sort of, tell their stories.

(November 1, 2012 / 3:24 pm)

After Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast” and Poe’s “A Dream Within a Dream” (for Mariez)

Hemingway had his Paris to boast and revel; what I have is UP Diliman, a sullen ground of green and brown, a silent witness to hearts breaking, razed to ash from which, like a Phoenix, a stronger self arises shrugging old memories in exchange for new, happy ones.

I could almost feel the teasing coldness of the wind, venturing through each branch, a nook of my sensibilities foresees a beautiful day in the midst of the hustle and bustle, the tremors, of city life. And yet this patch of land, surrounded by olden green and a flower that rises with the sun, is a whisper of half-forgotten lore, the sincerity of each passing day, an assurance of days ahead.

I travel hours on end just to be here, with nothing much clear to see or expect, other than the scent of nature and an escape from marred existence. There is something more to life other than the toils and chaos that envelop my waking moments.

I search each corner, a temerity to expect something beyond what I think I know, not knowing what to expect or what to hope to see. Only then did I realize I do not know what I am looking for. It was as if part of me has gone beyond, leaving my mortal existence, a feeble, meaningless life, to the realm of dreams. And yet has never really gone farther than the nearest tomorrow I wake up to. What is this place? Why am I here?

I have been here countless times before and todays and tomorrows since but, like a little child, I grope for each stride as if lost, my eyes circling wide, tears almost filling the corners of my eyes, the blackness of my own shadow leading me nowhere, I stumble and fall into the abyss of longing and seeming desperation. The sun offering no guidance or light or warmth, under which, I lose myself, blinded, cold.

I see each passing jeep with eyes blanketing my tired self, a wisp of grass a touch on my cheek, what then am I to do?

I mouth these words, thinking faster than I can dare to write, this feeling grasping the very heart that dares to believe and rise from the nothingness it has fallen into, with eyes intently, intensely, fixed at the roads forking in and out of everywhere, I am lost. And I can never be found.

I forged on, feeling my way against the vastness of the moment, and then, with my soul aching and parched, my legs gave up. With nothing to hold onto, I close my eyes. All I could think about was you and that perfect day.

I could hear from afar your sweet laughter and feel the warmth of your smile that placates me battling against the wind of distress that subjects me to a vacuum of emotions. Your bright eyes a light upon my steps and a source of my renewed self, a fountain to cure, refresh, my tired, dry soul. I could feel your hands reaching out to me, you are my hope, and new life. The perfect day has arrived.

And then, I open my eyes. You weren’t there. I pray you’re not a dream that vanishes in the morning or is lost forever from memory, that what I have now are but fragments of reminiscences of a hope I’ve always wanted to own.

But I know, deep in the heart of this banal road, I will find you, and my life will be complete, my heart will beat once more...and then, silence, I open my eyes, waking from a nightmare my demons created. I see you, beside me, I could hear the rhythm of your heart coincide with mine. And I knew then, as I have known, my life is complete.

I could think of nothing more, nothing since you’ve completed my life, other than:

I love you, Mariez.

(March 12, 2013 / 6:14 am)