I was lost, yes, but it didn’t mean I was irresponsible. Despite the seeming indifference I had for college and a career path, my grades were ok – well, average. Plus, I was a working student too, believe it or not. I scheduled all my classes in the morning, and by lunch time, I would rush to the former IBM Building along Paseo de Roxas and work there in the afternoons as a marketing assistant. Deep in my heart, however, I knew I didn’t want to sell computers or networks for the rest of my life. I was lost and directionless, but at least I knew what I didn’t want. So that was kind of a start.
One day, to be more specific, on January 2, 1988, I went to Tarlac to attend my aunt’s birthday celebration. While I was there, I learned from my aunt that one of my college blockmates, Bong Zamora, lived a few houses away. So I went to visit him. We had a nice chat and we talked about our upcoming graduation which was two months away. And then he showed me a UP Law Application form. I asked him, "What’s this for?" And he said, "After graduation, I’ll be going straight to law school." And I said, "What?! After four years of studying and working your butt out in college, you want to study some more?! You must be out of your mind. I can’t wait to get out of college." Bong replied, "You know, it’s hard to go out there in the corporate world with just one degree. You have to have a competitive edge, a distinct advantage to set you apart from the rest." And I said, "Fine, have a competitive edge, take some nice seminars or something, but really, four more years of studying? We’re talking about law school here man! Books, books, books!" And he said, "Yup. That’s fine with me. Also, you have to think of the title. Iba pa rin kung attorney ka. "
On the long trip back home, I sat in utter silence –just thinking. I thought to myself, "Hmmm…. Bong is right. I must have a competitive advantage. I mean, what sets me apart from all the college graduates? Apart from a few grade average points, we’re all the same anyway." And I kept on repeating in my head – "Atty. Nepomuceno, Atty. Nepomceno – Atty. Rodrigo Nepomuceno…I like the sound of that!" From then on, I got hooked on this whole "title" thing. I wanted to have a title. As Bong said, "Iba ’pag may title." And I was bent on having one.
So the next day, I went to Ateneo Law School, got myself an application form, filed it, took the exam, and swoosh – in four quick years I got it – I officially became Atty. Rodrigo Nepomuceno.
You know what’s funny though – once I learned I got the title, I whooped it up for – hmmm, let’s see – maybe 10 minutes? Then, after that, I felt normal again. I felt like old "Mr. No Title Nepomuceno" again. Why? Well, simple. I had the title, yes – but heck, I hadn’t done anything "lawyery" yet. I mean, sure, I passed the Bar. But I hadn’t officially stepped in a courtroom; I hadn’t filed a complaint; I hadn’t appeared in court. I was just lawyer in name. I wasn’t a lawyer – yet. I had this empty feeling. In my heart, I couldn’t really call myself a lawyer until I really practiced and did something that lawyers normally do: work day in and day out.
In my early 20s, I was really very fixated on the whole "title" thing. I wanted to have a "kick-ass" title. And it goes for everyone I think. Most of us want a great title because it "defines" us. It gives us self-esteem. We like to have titles such as – "Corporate Affairs Director" (the one in charge of the love affairs that happen in the office) or "Vice President for Sanitary Engineering" (the one who designs the system on how to get rid of the garbage). We have this notion that a good title gives us the power. And to a certain extent, that’s true. When we meet with top dogs of clients, you certainly don’t want to present yourself as "Assistant to the Assistant Accounts Executive" – or "Senior Receptionist/Xerox Machine Guy." At the very least, we want to have the word "manager" in our title – so that it would look as if we’re managing something. Even if what you’re managing is merely the number of sugar packs that goes in your boss’ coffee.
But you know what, over the years, I have come to realize that a title is merely that – a title. What’s a book if it’s just a title? Nothing. What’s an article like this if all you see is a title and it doesn’t say anything? Nothing. The essence of a worker is not in the title, but in what he brings in the organization. I know a friend who was the "gofer" in a bank (a.k.a. as the "go for" guy – go for this, go for that – in other words, the utusan). He was like the messenger and overall "make sure everything works out" guy. He was in the bottom of the food chain. But yet everyone loved him. Everyone was dependent on him. During Christmas parties, he was everyone’s favorite. And he had the most friends. And I bet if there was a popularity poll, he would come out with higher votes than the President. And in everyone’s eyes – he was the "top dog."
Ok, I am not saying we should all aspire to be gofers now. What I am saying is – what makes a man is not what title he carries – but what he does. You could be a doctor but if what you do is "nag-do-doctor ng medical documents" to get a bigger fee, then you’re not worth your title. You may be a lawyer, but if you bribe and do under the table stuff, then you’re a bigger crook than the person you’re defending. And I don’t care if you’re a senior partner. You are not a lawyer. It’s not what you’re called that matters – it’s what you are to people – especially the people whom you work with everyday.
You know, I meet a lot of top executives, most of them, owners of their own business. And yet, when they give me their card, most of the time, it’s just their name – no title. Why? Well, I guess they know exactly who and what they are in their company. Especially if the company name carries his/her family name. "Hi, I am Jun Cruz – I am connected with the Jun Cruz Group of Companies." Yikes.
The thing is this, I realized that as you go up the corporate ladder, your importance to an organization is not measured by your title. It’s how you work with your peers, your industriousness, your resourcefulness, and your creativity. It’s what you do, not what you’re called, that matters.
I still enjoy being called "Atty." every so often, but really, it doesn’t give me that big a thrill anymore. Attorney can sometimes refer to a ballroom dancer. And that wasn’t my life-long dream – to be called a ballroom dancer. But if someone tells me, "Hey, Rod, good job!’ – aah, I get chills down my spine. Because, in the end, it’s our deeds that count, it’s the deeds that are remembered. Our title only ends up in our obituary. And eventually into the grave.