A TERRA COTA OF DREAMS

i never wanted to be a soldier.

that's why in high school, i chose to be a sergeant only in the cadet corps. after checking the attendance, i stayed in the shade while they drilled. better that way. i never wanted strategies and tactics to be confined to formations and phalanxes but to blossom in spontaneous combustions.

it too, had its advantages. during fiestas, where the school cadet corps joined the parades, we (eugene and i) after checking the attendance, were now scot-free to roam around in civilian clothes while our classmates toiled and sweated it out in the afternoon sun marching.

but there were those of us who liked soldiering: roberto catubig, the roderos twins, nelson ludovice and other in the lower sections. i know rogelio would not like such a career but he was our corps commander.

but deep in my heart i knew that military training instilled discipline in us. leadership craves for it while success presupposes it. what with the top echelon of the cadet corps being composed of the intelligentia of the fourth year.

true to form, some of us became generals; others were tested in the battlefields of mindanao and the hinterlands. others now sit in swivel chairs in some airconditioned offices.

now, they have become the leaders of our batch.

in a situation where there are others who need us, we need little sparks of initiatives and direction from them to see us through.

or, are they just terra cota warriors recently unearthed?

THE WHISPER OF THE AGOHO TREES

there is always sadness in the whisper of the agoho trees be it in october or april in old albay high school.

i always hear them sigh as the wind passes by. perhaps, they had been a witness to many loves lost. or many dreams broken and unfulfilled.

promises and dreams were made under its shade, but many times fell like cones and needlepines; successes charted and planned yet continued to flounder on the shoals.

perhaps, the birds on its branches have travelled far and brought back tidings of failures and forebodings: of those of us who wallow in poverty and misery, those who still hug the coastlines in fear and temerity, those of us who hid in shame and oblivion, and those of us who have triumphed and have forgotten others along the way.

in the fourth year, in our class prophecy, i was written to be the boy most likely to succeed.

by society's standards, yes. but my definition of it goes beyond. i can only claim it, when i am able to share it with my batchmates.

or when i can see the agoho trees sigh with contentment.

1971

it was a year of living dangerously.

it excited the young, steeled the hearts of the brave, and wrought havoc and fear in the hearts of the old.

change was in the air, being fashioned in the streets and barricades. in the open, one sniffs at the fresh breath of freedom amidst the acrid taste of cordite from m-16s. sometimes, molotov lit the streets, often times flash and strobe lights in search of protesters and fugitives.

we were torn between our studies and protest rallies, between our classrooms and the streets. but the wiser of us chose to pore over our books while keeping the fire of freedom within our hearts. there will be time, we told ourselves, and it is never too late to be a hero.

we promised ourselves never to be dead heroes, because the dead never tell their tales. but we never dishonor those of us and of our confreres who fell along the way before the break of dawn. comrades like luisa and rebecca.

by the way, until now, we still await the breaking of dawn.

THE BOYS OF IV-I

we were a rare breed.

borne out of two traditions, the laboratory school and the pilot school there were differences among us. the former spoke the bicol of old albay, the latter daragueno. we were a little sophisticated, reserved and proud of our heritage, the other was outgoing, straight-forward and down-to-earth.

but, there ends our differences.

we excelled in academics without exception. in fact, our boys belonged to the top five of the class. no matter what we do after class (parties, drinking sprees, etc.) we were up the next day ready for the rigors of our studies.

it seem to be an unwritten code among us that we never courted our girl schoolmates even if they were the prettiest among all the fourth-year batch. there might be a few exception, but we chose to annul our manhood beyond the borders of our institution. this is not a case of familiarity breeding contempt, but perhaps the thought of the grass being greener on the other pasture.

in sickness or in health, for richer or for poorer, for goodness or mischief we were united. talk about suspension of classes and you find half of the IV-I boys in a nearby theater watching "bomba" films for the fun of it. we were never perverts, but we were undergoing the rites of passage to adulthood.

we had grown salty and daring as graduation was near. our mentors were secretly proud that we have grown out of their hands to become independent, responsible and conscious of our destinies and goals.

at the advent of the summer of '71, we were taking divergent paths.

but we knew that, we the boys of IV-I, one day our paths would cross and converge.

MY LABORATORY SCHOOL

it has given me the best education i have, my laboratory school.

we were introduced early to books. by the time i was in grade three, i was devouring fairy tales and raiding the library of miss duka for the tales of robin hood and of king arthur and the knights of the round table. slowly but surely, i was becoming interested in classics.

once a week, we listen to radio broadcasts from radio australia. they were, as it were our introduction to mass media learning. then, there were already the semblaces of multi-media instructional materials we enjoyed.

our girl schoolmates were much taller than us and seem more emotionally mature. while they indulged in their crushes, we played baseball under the sweltering heat of the noon day sun. afterwards, we filed in silently in our afternoon class under the withering stare of our critic teacher in grade five.

we had our weekly play fest. we produced, directed and acted out our parts in those plays. the girls were better than us. they can easily shed tears while we played the parts of cowboys and indians. sometimes, even bandits and terrorists. it was the showcase of the best in us, even if we were only kids.

the english campaigns taught us straight conversational english. we did have student patrols nabbing classmates who speak in the vernacular. it was tough but it was good.

christmas was memorable. agoho christmas trees inside our classrooms; home-made christmas cards to be given to parents; exchange gifts; the traditional school christmas program that signal the end of classes and the burdensome take home essay exams - "how i spent my christmas vacation".

my laboratory school taught me that learning could be both demanding yet fun.

truly, they were the montessoris and learning centers of yesteryears.

HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL

there were no nano ipods, apple iphones and mp3s in those days.

nor even videokes and karaokes.

but we had fun.

we were content to strum second-hand guitars aping the voices of the beatles, spiral staircase and the falsetto voices of the beegees. of course, to sing the songs of eddie peregrina was too much and too "baduy".

impromptu concerts were held under the agoho trees during class breaks by our music freaks. of course, in school programs, one is expected to belt out the latest tunes and beats. thus, the proliferation of song hits and guitar chordbooks.

but, we, too were not oblivious of the songs of the time. times were a'changing. "cruel war", "blowing with the wind", "where have all the flowers gone", "eve of destruction" and many others continued to haunt our consciousness and idealism. the woodstock festival, three days of peace, music and love solidified our commitment that we have do something for our country even through our songs.

we loved the beatles but so were our protest songs. they have become for us lasting memories and legacies of what we are now today.

this high school musical of many decades ago.

BEGINNING MEMORIES

in high school, my school was not my first choice.

nor was it my second. i dreamt of hitting it big. it was not selfishness and vanity that made me long for manila schools. rather, it was pure idealism. in a quarter storm that offered sacrifices of pure nationalism and patriotism, i wanted the best that education can offer me to serve the best for my beleagered country.

i thought my school would never offer me that.

but dreams are not always clothed in silver and gold. oftentimes, the path is a constant cycle of emptying and filling, of dying and rising, of accepting and letting go. there's a part of me that always wants to be filled, to feel good, to have life go well and to have any pain and discomfort. yet, i know that how noble my dreams are, a cup that is always full does not have room to receive, as joyce krupp once said. it would never have a space to contain anything more than what it already has.

emptying asks that we have a willingness to try and go. to trust.

if you trust absolutely, you will always be receptive enough to the signals that life and god and yourself - your deep self - will be giving you. you will always be given the clue, the information, and the inspiration to carry you through (a. harvey).

i have never lost my faith in all those years.

true, it has carried me through.