Reminiscence of an Old Soldier

Student activism in the fiery brand of the 70’s was never heard of in our old high school when I was a student of the then Central Negros Institute (CNI). Being young, and therefore typically restless and adventurous, many of my peers and me were also activists in a way. We were activists yet in a different way as we were not inspired nor were we part of any of the many leftist student groups that were organized on a national scale at that time. We only wanted to find expression of our sometimes radical ideas, albeit simplistically, about local issues such as high tuition fees; unnecessary and expensive examination booklets; unqualified and inefficient teachers; and inadequate school facilities, among others. Bureaucrat capitalism, imperialism, colonialism and other “isms” that were shouted on the streets in the big cities were strange concepts that we hardly understand nor were we interested to know about either.
The most common expression of our objections to the ills of the school was to boycott our classes especially of those teachers who cannot or did not do justice to their jobs of “educating” the students. Each time this scenario happens, the school authorities would reluctantly meet us for a dialogue. The school director and the principal would then be placed on the “hot seat” and forced to listen and respond to the students’ issues. The boycott would eventually fizzle out when the school administration gives assurances of preferential action on our concerns. Most often, those promises were repeatedly forgotten and remain without any action. Thus, we also resume our mass actions especially during their periodic collection of fees that were conveniently camouflaged as the school periodical examinations.
On many occasions, my father, who was a part time teacher in the school’s night high school department, was advised of my “misbehavior” and role as the leader of the many class boycotts. In return, he would caution me about my actions but always without success. Hence, he threatened that he would not send me to college if I continue with what I was doing. He told me that he was not willing to invest his hard earnings on a rebel of a son whom by all indications would do nothing in college except joining mass actions and demonstrations instead of preparing himself to become a teacher, an engineer or even a lawyer. Moreover, sending two children (my elder sister was already in Silliman University then) to college at the same time was a gargantuan task.

To end my story short, I ended up entering the Philippine Military Academy as a full government scholar. I also learned that I could have the chance to earn a baccalaureate degree for free as long as I pass the competitive entrance examination. While studying, I would also receive a stipend amounting roughly between the pay of a master sergeant (the highest ranking non-commissioned officer) and that of a 2^nd Lieutenant (the lowest ranking officer) and other allowances for my meals and my military uniforms, among others. The best part of it was that I was assured of a well paying decent job right after graduation with great chances of promotions over other military officers who did not go through this military institution.

As a young teenager of 18 summers at that time, becoming a soldier was farthest from my mind. I wanted to become a lawyer but I was forced to embrace the profession of arms due to economic considerations. Moreover, it not only saved my father from the parental obligation of giving his prodigal son a good education but also solved the problem of swaying him away from becoming a full pledged rebel later on.
Many summers have passed since I first stepped into the hallowed grounds of the so called premier military institution of the Philippines. Yet, I didn’t take even a little time for reflection as to how I did as a cadet and later on as an officer rising through the hierarchical ladder until I retired. I believe that I have not done anything extra ordinary that is worth crowing about. I simply played a role that fate has assigned to me ever remembering that each one of us has a specific but equally important role to play in life which is incomparable with that of others.
As a young boy, I also role play-acted as a soldier as many young kids do. I was also fascinated with guns and smart men in uniforms. I loved to watch war movies, too. In reality though, I did not want to be a soldier when I grow up. I did not like to die like a hog and sometimes buried in unmarked graves, the way it happens in the many war movies that I watched. Yet, fate had its way. One day, I woke up and found myself as a soldier.
They say that the life of a soldier is not an easy one. It is true. The life of a soldier is not difficult, too because it is VERY DIFFICULT! It is the difficulty that one encounters during entry and training to become one and later on in coping with the day to day rigors as a regular soldier. However, it is also the difficulty that one experiences that makes it rewarding after hurdling the challenges at the end of each day. I can not nor will not claim to be more nationalistic than others because I was a soldier. I would rather say that I am proud to have been a soldier who was given the rare opportunity to serve our country in a difficult and challenging way!