to live, to love, to learn, to leave a legacy… and to laugh along the way
Before the Academy, my life was a jumble of momentary thrills, lacking any definite path, lacking a purpose in life. The Academy nurtured something deeper: a profound sense of discipline and a maturity that I hadn’t known I possessed. It was as if a door had cracked open, and light began to spill in, revealing a landscape of golden possibilities I had never dreamed of. I walked in a boy looking for an exit; I walked out a man who had found a calling.
Fifty years have lapsed in a heartbeat, yet I can still smell the pine-scented air of the Academy, and feel the frantic thumping in my chest as we marched down those “51 steps.” We were just boys then – naive, unsure of ourselves, and miles away from the families who waved us goodbye at Camp Aguinaldo or elsewhere. We didn’t know that we would be stripped of our civilian antics and molded into the leaders we would later be. Today, the echoes of those barking orders still reverberate as cherished stories of old men, but the fire lit that fateful April Fools’ Day will never waver.
Manoy Cesar taught me what it means to carry myself with dignity; he challenged me to pursue excellence for its own sake. And most of all, he inspired me to believe in myself.
Life doesn’t need to be complicated to be fulfilling; it just needs a dash of adventure, a bit of competition, and a creative mind to capture it all. My playing days may be over. As my Papa used to say: I used to be an all-around athlete, but now the only athlete left in me is my athlete’s foot! But the passion for the game – and the stories behind it – will remain as strong as ever.
I was an accidental soldier. Never really intended to be one, but I was lucky I had a cousin who was going to take the PMA exams. My Papa forced me to take the exam with him. The rest is history.
Looking back, my childhood was a series of wacky disasters and adventures that were actually the perfect rehearsal for plebe year in the Academy. Whether I drank fish sauce like fine vintage wine, or played barbarian barber on my own eyebrows, or pulling off a “Mission Impossible” adventure in downtown Sta. Cruz, I was inadvertently training for my future in the Army. These escapades weren’t just mischief; they were early masterclasses in audacity, self-reliance, and the art of the calculated risk.
Color My World 