Sharmaine’s Recognition, Haribons on the Waiting Line

In the chaotic brilliance of TikTok humor, even the most ordinary things are no longer allowed to stay ordinary. An orange suddenly develops standards and insists on being called Sharmaine. It sounds ridiculous, yet it is exactly why it works.

Because beneath the absurdity lies an unsettling truth: if TikTok can normalize calling an orange "Sharmaine," why do some institutions still hesitate to recognize the names people actually live by?

Not just your basic citrus

Sharmaine, the orange with main-character energy, is done being reduced to color, category, or snack status. She wants an identity that feels intentional and feels like her true self.

And honestly, that feeling is not just about fruit.

People are often reduced to the easiest version of themselves. One trait becomes a permanent label. One's first impression becomes a lasting identity, as though people can be neatly summarized by a single word.

Not everyone sees themselves in the name written on their birth certificate. For many, a lived name is simply the name that reflects who they truly are—the name by which they are known, accepted, and recognized by the people around them.

When jokes hit too real

Part of why this trend resonates with many is that it disguises real emotional experiences in humor. It is easier to laugh at an orange named Sharmaine than to directly talk about feeling misrepresented.

But beneath these jokes, there is a shared recognition that names shape perception. They influence how people are treated, how they are remembered, and sometimes even how they see themselves.

That is why lived names matter. So no, she’s not just an orange anymore; she is Sharmaine. And she serves as a reminder that identity should not be reduced to mere convenience.

Can we keep up?

In PLM, the conversation on lived names has moved beyond humor and into an institutional action.

The PLM Supreme Student Council has recently conducted surveys among students, guardians, and parents on the recognition of lived names for upcoming graduation ceremonies. This progress, however, follows years of advocacy and institutional resistance.

The call to recognize lived names during graduation was first raised in 2023. Although the petition was denied that same year, the administration had previously allowed LGBTQIA+ graduates to wear gender-affirming attire at commencement under Pamantasan Administrative Order No. 21-ACA, s. 2022. As a result, this advocacy had now surpassed the halls of campus.

Last June 22, PLM SSC President Jahna Par took part in a mobilization and submitted a collective position paper to the Commission on Higher Education and other higher education institutions, urging the recognition of lived names, self-identified honorifics, and pronouns across universities.

Concurrently, during the Pride celebration in UP Diliman, PLM Propaganda Supremo Tristan Ramirez delivered a speech calling for the consistent use of lived names and the creation of genuine inclusivity in academic spaces. He emphasized that graduation ceremonies should be meaningful for all students, regardless of identity, and the need of recognizing transgender and gender non-conforming students through their lived names.

However, years of student-led advocacy mean little if the institution itself refuses to listen. Recognition carries its greatest weight when it comes from the very university that confers the diploma. Calling students by their lived names at graduation is not a privilege, rather it is the institution's acknowledgement of the person who earned that moment.

So, what do we call you now?

Imagine being known to everyone as “Juana,” the name tied to your hard work and achievements—only to be called “Juan” at the moment meant to honor you. Instead of pride, the recognition feels misplaced. Acknowledging a person’s lived name costs institutions nothing, but it means everything to the person being recognized.

It hurts. Worse, it is humiliating. In a space where you should be honored, you risk becoming a spectacle. A laughing stock. A reminder that despite everything you accomplished, your identity was still negotiable.

Students have already fulfilled their responsibility. They studied. They endured. They served their communities. They embodied what it means to be a Haribon—not just academically excellent, but deeply human.

Now, the responsibility shifts. Haribons have done their part and they have earned the right to be celebrated as themselves. Yet, they are still waiting to be recognized. It is time for PLM to meet Haribons where they are and acknowledge lived names not as exceptions, but as acts of humanity. Because acknowledging someone’s name is not political, radical, or excessive—it is humane.

And that is the real lesson hidden behind Sharmaine. Not just that names matter—but that being called right is being treated right.