Lessons Over Lunch

(18th of ‘My Story” series)

The most important writing lesson of my life wasn’t learned in a classroom or from a book. It was learned over lunch.

In early 1990, the smoke of the bloody December 1989 coup attempt had barely cleared. The nation was on edge, and the atmosphere inside the Philippine Army was heavy with tension. It was during this volatile period that I was designated Administrative Officer for the Office of the Commanding General, Philippine Army (OCG, PA).

One morning, the Commanding General, General Manuel Cacanando, needed a speech on short notice. His speechwriter was not around then, so I stepped up and wrote it. Upon returning from the engagement, General Cacanando called me into his office, thanked me, and expressed his satisfaction over the piece. Then, he surprised me with an order I never expected: “Henceforth, you will eat lunch with me every time I’m here in the office.”

At the time, I thought I had simply been invited to lunch. It would dawn on me later that I was being invited into the mind of a leader.

I didn’t realize it then, but those lunch dates – sometimes with senior commanders or G-staff members, often with just a few of us among his office staff – would change the trajectory of my military career. My writing skills had already been honed with technical research work under General Fidel Ramos in the Committee on Research and Evaluation (CORE); but General Cacanando wanted something deeper. He wanted me to observe him in his most casual, unguarded moments. He gave me something few junior officers ever receive: access to the inner workings of his mind.

Sitting across from the Army Chief day after day, sharing meals and watching him navigate the complexities of command, the rank simply disappeared. He allowed me to see his truest personality, his grandest dreams for the Army, and even his vulnerabilities up close. Very few junior officers are ever permitted to see what weighs upon a Commanding General after the meetings end and the visitors leave. Over lunch, I wasn’t just observing the officer; I was observing the man.

By letting me glimpse the heavy burden behind the stars on his shoulders, he transformed my writing from simply efficient to deeply authentic. I was no longer just ghostwriting official correspondence or crafting strategic speeches; I was learning to articulate the heartbeat of the leader. That was when I found out that good writing isn’t measured by eloquence. It is measured by authenticity. Before I could write a leader’s words, I first had to understand the leader’s heart. This deep dive into character-driven communication would later open doors for me across the upper echelon of command.

When General Cacanando retired, I expected to move on. Tradition dictates that incoming Chiefs handpick their own inner circle. Instead, General Guillermo Flores chose to retain me. Then came General Lisandro Abadia, followed briefly by General Arturo Enrile, before General Abadia brought me up to the Office of the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces (OCSAFP) in late 1991. By then, I had served as Admin Chief for four consecutive Army Chiefs. To this day, I look back to that chapter of my life with a quiet, profound pride. I believe I am the only officer to have been granted such a rare privilege.

Four Army Chiefs. One young captain. Looking back, I have often asked myself why. It wasn’t because of my rank, and it certainly wasn’t regional affinity. Neither had I served under any of them prior to that assignment. I’d like to believe they found a strong anchor who could manage a dynamic, fast-moving office. In the military, dependability is a silent, yet real asset; and I strove to prove mine every day. They trusted my dependability; and equally important, they trusted my pen.

During that time, I believed General Cacanando was providing me the opportunity to learn how to write better speeches. Years later, standing before a group of Muslim children in the conflict-ridden villages of Central Mindanao, I would discover that he had really been teaching me something far more enduring: before you can change people’s minds, you must first learn to listen to their hearts.

Cover pic courtesy of WordPress AI.