At 10 years old, my aunt filled me with glamour stories of the stewardess. Bitter tales of unfair compensation would always find its way in the course of talk . It was an issue for her that an HRM grad of no less than UP Diliman would be earning twice less than a “high class waitress” was. I got the impression that this stewardess job is “groovy”. So I told myself that I would be a stewardess when the time comes. The dream went on until high school, I even have proof of it in my yearbook’s class prophecy.

When I became a part of UP, I chucked the dream to the bin. Being with “intellectuals”, I placed myself high and told myself , “ Who wants to be a well paid waitress anyway?”. I got myself a fun job in marketing. I partied, dined with the bosses, enjoyed company perks and most of all, I saw myself on press releases and lifetsyle columns. I loved the job until I realize that I was going nowhere financially. Money was spent on corporate outfits, party get-ups and worse I was turning 23. Successful yet bankrupt.

Then like a cue from above, my bestfriend was having a lay over in Manila. She had been prodding me to join her in the airlines since day one of her training a year before. At that time, being high and mighty as I was, I would spew discouraging remarks for her not to pursue the job. I would spat that she will waste her “Best in Thesis” recognition and relegate herself to a menial job but on that fateful day, she was amazed how calmly I responded to her. In a span of two months, I was declining a promotion and turning over my accounts.

In the months of February and March, I felt like an aspirant for a beauty pageant. I was shocked, to say the least, at the crowd of ladies wanting to be stewardesses. There were recognizable faces, starlets and competition finalists, the stuff that made me wince and say “What the hell am I doing here?” and there were those who were plain janes like moi. The ladies went in for the interview, and each one came out with a different drama to show. Some were smiling ear to ear while others would run to the ladies’ room crying.

Yikes and gulp. It was my turn. Thank God, UP made me so confident that even if the previous scenario intimidated me, I slid in the room, head up high. Two foreigners asked and asked. I answered and answered with the “I hope my lips aren’t quivering” thought at the back of my head. I was told to walk with my skirt held above the knee thinking to myself “What the**?!” . I was asked to proceed to another room where I was asked to roll my sleeves while I was being spotlighted. I felt like being interrogated by no less than the CIA! That was only the first day in the series of interviews and tests I had to succumb to.

Half of the ladies whom I met in the course of application didn’t make it to the initial class for training and a third of those who made it to the initial class didn’t make it to pre-graduation.

Finally, I was booked for my last training. I was elated to be a psuedo-light attendant. I was taught that there is a difference between a FLIGHT ATTENDANT AND a STEWARDESS. The latter is an obsolete title. The airline crew industry discarded the term when first aid and safety training modules were injected as a prerequisite to graduate as a licensed FLIGHT ATTENDANT. I was almost done with my pre-departure formalities. I was ecstatic when I read and signed my contract. It read “upon completion of your initial training and upon issuance of license…you are to receive a basic salary of (converted to peso at that time) “35,000 pesos” . W-O-W! and I wasn’t even finished going through the benefits. For the sake of poise, I contained the urge to dance the “dance” and exuberantly say “YEEESSS!”.

Five years in the airlines, gave me more than what I had bargained for.

In the Philippines, I always wanted to live the good life. I lead that as a flight attendant, my accommodation is not modest and is well kept by a chambermaid. I am chauffered to and from work. I get to stay in the best hotels in the ugliest and prettiest places in the world. The pay is big and my travel is free and in some cases discounted. I get paid while sleeping or shopping. Some people sigh whenever I say the perks that goes with the job. Others remark that the lifestyle is a pay off for a physically but less intellectually demanding career.

Younger, I wanted to be a hedonist. A Cartier on a wrist , an LV on a shoulder, a Ferragamo on a foot, a Max Mara on a body, Clarins for a face, nightlife in Ibiza, caviar on melba, a sleep at Sun City, a drive along the Riviera.

When things become at arms reach, it makes you stop and ponder. When there is money to buy your wants, When there is ready access to any part of the world you want to see, When there is a comfortable space sans the burden of maintaining it, Would that quantify happiness and contentment?

Thank God, I saw others live the life I wanted for myself before I even lived it. I saw a never ending spiral of wants that never seems to be satisfied. I saw ambitions soar while friendships and people break. I saw emptiness.

I realized that my childhood ambition is an epiphany.

A need to break away from good merchandising arose. A longing for the basic things in life enticed. A want to satisfy the soul beckoned.

Happiness and contentment wasn’t packaged in a mall, in a velvet box or in grandiose venues, after all. It is found in a small quarter within yourself.

Now I find pleasure in the morning breeze, the smell of moist garden soil and the quiet hours of dawn. I find satisfaction in things acquired through striving. I find contentment in prayer. I find happiness within the company of true friends, babies and my partner for life.

This is what I can truly call, flying high.



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