The Position I Couldn’t Reach

I remember the first day I stepped into the office, hopeful and eager, carrying nothing but my resume and the belief that hard work would be enough.

I started as a Job Order.

No benefits. No security. No assurance of tomorrow. But I didn’t mind, I told myself this was just the beginning.

Every day, I showed up earlier than everyone else. I learned the system faster than I expected. I finished tasks that weren’t even assigned to me, and helped others when they were overwhelmed. I made sure my work was clean, accurate, and always on time.

I thought that if I kept proving myself, eventually, someone would notice.

And they did.

They would say,

“Magaling ka.” “Ikaw na lang gumawa nito.” “Ikaw na bahala, kaya mo ‘yan.”

At first, it felt like recognition.

But over time, I realized, it was just responsibility without reward.

The more I proved myself, the more they gave me. Workload kept increasing, but nothing else changed. My contract remained the same. My status remained the same.

I wasn’t complaining. I kept going.

Because deep inside, I believed that one day, I would earn what they called an “item”, that permanent position that meant stability, benefits, and finally, recognition.

But as months turned into years, I started noticing something.

It wasn’t always about performance.

I saw people come in, new, inexperienced, but somehow, their path was faster. Their names were already known. Their positions already secured. And I couldn’t help but hear the quiet whispers in the office:

“May backer kasi ‘yan.” “Anak ni ganito.” “Kilala niya si ganun.”

That’s when it slowly sank in.

Sometimes, no matter how good you are, no matter how much you try, it still isn’t enough.

Not if you don’t have connections. Not if your name isn’t familiar. Not if you don’t know the “right people.”

I stayed quiet, like most of us do.

Because what else could I do?

I needed the job. I needed the experience. I needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, my turn would come.

But over time, the silence became heavier.

Each time I saw another “item” filled, I felt a small part of me let go of that hope. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just quietly, the way reality settles in.

The hardest part wasn’t the workload.

It was knowing that no matter how much I improved, no matter how many times I proved myself, I was still standing in the same place waiting for an opportunity that might never come.

The appreciation was never loud.

No recognition, no official acknowledgment, just more work, more expectations, and another contract renewal with no guarantee of permanence.

And still, I showed up.

Because that’s what we do.

We keep working. We keep hoping. We keep proving ourselves, even when no one is really watching.

Working in the government taught me a lot.

It taught me patience. It taught me resilience. But more than anything, it taught me a reality I didn’t expect to learn so early in life:

Hard work is important, but in some places, it’s not always the deciding factor.

And maybe growing up is realizing that sometimes, the system won’t change for you.

So you have to decide whether to keep waiting or finally move forward on your own.