So
there I was with my newfound friends, all dumb (no pun intended), all confused.
Except for the turn(ed)- back (repeaters?) cadets who seemed to know their way
around, we fumbled in almost everything we did. There was of course acclimatization
-getting used to Baguio weather as quickly as we can. We started with army
dozens- a bunch of physical conditioning exercises, followed by up and down the
road runs. Some of us were physically- gifted and naturally stronger than the
others. Some who anticipated everything, took extra effort and prepared
themselves physically before entering the PMA. And of course there were plebes
like me who just got there without so much idea of what was forthcoming.
I
neither lagged behind nor got ahead in any of these activities especially during
runs. I was always in the middle of the pack. Early on, I realized that in
order to survive that period, nobody should take so much interest on you. If
you were (super) strong or (super) weak, you would easily be under the eagle
eyes of everyone especially the yearlings. If you are so intelligent and outspoken,
and you can't hold your horses, you'll surely end up doing something else while
everyone is already snoring. If you pretend to be really dumb, you will have
your share of extra viand. No, not the ulam!
I also realized that the morning rituals-the army dozens and runs were not just about developing plebes physically. It was about inculcating different values to us such as the essence of being a follower first, the importance of obeying legal orders, the virtue of loyalty among others. It was not just about preparing us physically for more challenging tasks ahead but it was also about teaching us to accept the rigors of military life. Waking up at about 3 or 4 on a very cold morning was one of the most difficult adjustments all of us had to do. It took me a couple of weeks to synchronize my body clock with that of the academy, having been used to doing things at my own pace. My fellow plebes shared the same sentiment. Others were even close to resigning (quitting) simply because they hated waking up early. We were advised not to fight it but instead, to discipline our body to cope with the demands of the training. That's exactly what we did to survive.
Back in college, I joined the NCO
Corps of the ROTC. It was a sort of personal crusade on my part to pursue
soldiery in whatever form. I do not recall why I did not join the Vanguards even
though they also had certain benefits such as discounts in tuition fee, and
beautiful sponsors. Maybe it was because my friends back then were not really into
it. Soldiery wasn’t exactly the most popular profession in the campus.
Actually, most of the students I knew then despised the course not only because
it disturbed their precious Sundays but because they thought it was corny and
useless. They also hated being bullied or being shouted at by other students
especially those they thought were inferior to them intellectually.
My ROTC experience wasn’t of much
help. Indeed, no amount of preparation- be it physical, mental or emotional,
will ever suffice to survive the beast
barracks. Yes that’s exactly how they called it then. That’s how we still
call it now although there are other lighter, friendlier terms like “summer
camp”. But that’s exactly what it says. You become a beast –in a positive way.
Summer camp drives you to the boundaries of your physical and mental
capacities. It could bring out the best and the worst in a person. When a
person is driven to the limits of his being, his true color comes out. That’s
what the beast barracks wants- to expose a plebe’s weaknesses and develop his
strengths. The camp gradually hammers each plebe into a better individual by
subjecting him under intense heat and pressure, so that he will have the physical and morale courage to be expected and demanded from him in the future. The process is a slow but
eventually, the plebe forgets about his civilian antics and becomes a renewed person.
This is the foundation of soldiery. This is where all aspiring Cavaliers begin.
The summer camp continued until June
of 2002. We learned the basics of soldiery through a basic military training.
Our days went like this: Reveille was at 3 or 4 in the morning. Upon waking up,
we would fix our bunks to look like nobody slept on it at all, and polish the
area so that not a single infraction is visible to the Tactical Officers and upperclassmen’s scrutinizing eyes. Then we would have series of physical fitness
activities including road runs (taebo was not yet popular then). After that we
ate our breakfast but not before a very lengthy accounting procedure. Then we
would have our class or training. During lulls in classes, we did exercises (mase- mase) to keep us awake. Before mess
time, we would have another round of mase-
mase. Lunch is not what it is though the food had always been sumptuous and
abundant. We only had our meal once we were able to comply with orders or
recite the menu or the complete names of the senior cadets’ names (including
the names of their parents, addresses, birthdays and what-have-you). We also
recited lengthy, wordy and confusing Plebe
Knowledges which all sounded like tongue twisters. My memory was pretty
sharp back then so I could easily blabber out poems like Loyalty, Beyond Forgetting, My Mistaken Ecstasy, Desiderata, How’s the Yearling or Cow, Don’t Quit and How Many Days. And who would ever
forget the perpetual Do You Have a
Sister and Are You Resigning. Mase- mase resumed after lunch and
before the start of the afternoon’s class- proving that “jumping or running
immediately after eating would cause appendicitis” was just a myth. After
class, we were taught how to march properly, handle basic firearms, do manual
of arms, and then some more marching and drills. We did a lot of long marches,
bivouacs, firing, rappelling, mountaineering and more mase- mase.
Dinner time or evening mess is just
like breakfast and lunch except for the menu. Comply first before eating. Earn
your bread. Be worthy of a drink. Condiments like soy sauce and vinegar
were off- limits to dumb guards. It was a privilege enjoyed only after
recognition.
Once in a while, our squad leader
would bring us down the so called Flirtation Walk, facing the Mt. Sto. Tomas,
to pray and meditate. He would counsel us and inquire about our problems and
concerns. Then, mase- mase again
before returning to the barracks to fix and fix and fix and fix until there’s
nothing to be fixed. Alas, we never ran out of something to fix. Everything
seemed not to meet the standard of our squad leader and buddy.
Our life went on like that for two months.
Our battalion commander would always remind us to simply live one day at time.
Everything will end at the right time. Don’t quit. Don’t resign he said.
I almost thought of resigning in the
middle of summer camp when I got sick. At first I thought it was just ordinary
cough and colds but after a few days of just ignoring it, my squad leader instructed
me to seek medical attention. I was immediately brought to the PMA Station
Hospital where I was diagnosed with Pneumonia. It was a common illness among us
plebes. It might have been because we were not yet used to the cold weather,
and we usually slept with sweaty shirts. I stayed in the hospital for more than
a week and I thought I was going to be discharged or put on a sick leave. Fortunately,
I was able to recover and rejoin the training in time.
We were finally incorporated into the
regular corps in June 2002 ending the two-month beast barracks.
