Snippets of 'Military Secrecy'

The original version of my submission for UP High/UPIS: 100 years of Basic Education in the University of the Philippines (2016), the centennial coffee table book.

I graduated from high school only eight years ago, in the year 2008, but already I've forgotten much of what I swore to always remember. What comes back are now just images, like photos, of what had passed and the reasons behind them. The stories, the unfolding of events, are blurred. Most of them about the Corps.

The Corps of Cadets composed of fourth year students (class '07) called an orientation for COCC (Cadet Officer Candidacy Course), the training of the higher CAT officers, in front of the Corps office one afternoon. My friends went so I did, too. They taught us the basics of what was expected of us, what we needed to prepare if we chose to join, and they let us try out following the commands after demonstration. I got in trouble for making my mother wait in the car that afternoon when she came to fetch me. I also got in trouble for letting one of my upper batch guy friends accompany me home (because I didn't know how to commute) when she left to fetch my sister first. But somehow, I managed to convinced her to let me join, even if it required a lot of adjustments not only on my part but also hers and my sisters'.

COCC required us to be in school as early as, I think, 6 am for morning physical training. It required us to stay after school until, I think, 6:30pm or 7pm for afternoon training.  This was a problem because I was almost always late for the 7am flag ceremony and my mother brought me to and fetched me from school. The rest of the changes were fun; there were a lot of unusual rules. The COCs (Cadet Officer Candidates) of each section were supposed to stick together all the time, even when going to the bathroom. We had to go by pairs at the very least. We were not allowed to step out of a room without following certain procedures. We had to run in formation to get to places. We were allowed to bump students who stand in our way. The girls had to wear a white bandana on their heads, the boys had to tuck their polos. These did not go well with some of our teachers, and I now understand why. But back then, it was everything to us. The looming threat of being made to quit surely stirred tears.

We were set apart from the rest of the school, enough to blissfully feed the adolescent ego, and yet, it was the first time I ever felt I belonged. Morning, lunch and afternoon trainings taught us to move as one through obedience to commands. We learned to look out for one another while being punished as a team for a few's mistakes. But best of all, we made new friends. Our officers weren't as scary and strict as they  are expected to be. In fact, training was almost mostly play. Sure it was physically tough, but we weren't miserable. Some of the most entertaining training sessions included three tall boys bopping and arguing to the lyrics of Datus Tribe's Lakambini Bottom, and being made to scream “HOTDOG!” Sometimes, we'd even hang out outside school premises, or after school events.

Older alumni would probably frown at what the Corps had become during our time. We didn't have a corps commander. When we finally became officers, we were given a faculty adviser. And eventually, if I heard correctly, they've removed the program altogether. The truth is I'm not sure it really mattered. We prided ourselves to be the best flag raisers in school, better than the scouts. But that was all. We didn't learn how to dismantle and put together a rifle. We were not equipped with skills aside from marching. I can no longer even recall the precepts and roster we were made to memorize. And the friendships, they didn't really last long after graduation from training. But that's just high school. It's not really about what you learn or what you keep. It's how you spent it. COCC was fun but I don't want to go through it again.

Rethinking

The line and the book that made me take philosophy and kept me there.

I'm re-reading Sophie's World and have been seeing things with fresh eyes, although these lines still share my sentiments. These are value statements, though, and I can't help wonder if we have the right to claim universality. But then again, these are indeed age old questions that have transcended time and culture. Although. . . are they the only ones?

Jostein Gaarder does admit that these questions appear after we have satisfied our basic needs. So then, maybe that's why it's so difficult to get absorbed in them. Most of the world is still struggling with these basic needs (yet, circles that have attained theirs, do not automatically go philosophical, but that is another matter). But... well, maybe the book never claimed this, maybe I have formulated this impression on my own... but... can we really say philosophical questions are more important than concerns about making a living? Or than social and economic issues? Or than current events and politics?

In my 4 years in the discipline, I kinda thought so. And I believe those in the department did so, too, most of them. Which explains the apathy and isolation, the nonparticipation. We took pride in being so... up there, so distant from what the worldly others thought important, so aloof and esoteric in our tower of abstractions, in the end, turning useless. All thought without action. All theory without application. Irrelevant and, eventually, mistaken. Because ultimately, thoughts, ideas, theories, beliefs, severely detached from reality and the world end up as hallucinations, delusions, illusions... mere speculation grounded on nothing. In the end, we become what we accuse of others. We become what we believe we least are... and not realize it.

Break

It's been a while. I have forgotten how to write more than quick one-liners.

There had been an increasingly waning interest in introspection and documentation, probably secondary to the pressure from the truckload of things needed to be accomplished, the overwhelming cascade of events that are yet to continue, the demise of an audience, and the undying longing to eliminate the green-eyed gremlin.

Before long, no thought would stand still enough to translate into words. Ideas, feelings, and memories would all melt away as soon as they are conceived. They would not be touched. They would not be exposed. As delicate as an uncovered wound that sting with the gentlest breeze, they would leave blank notebooks to thin from the tearing off of leaves that attempt to reveal them.

Today, I want that to change.