Cureless

I missed our training days. Those days when you had to wake up as early as 4 am. When you yelled at your classmates to form at the count of 10. When you performed the dozen of exercises. When you stayed tough and strong in front of your classmates because you’re the marcher. When you faked some of the exercises when you’re not. When you dreaded running after the exercises. When you had to stop in the middle of the route back to the camp because you ran out of breath. When you felt guilty after you found out that your classmates are being punished for what you have done.

When you did your personal necessities at quickly as possible. When you dressed up in battle dress attire with suspenders and closed collars. When you dressed up in BDA with athletic clothes underneath to prepare for sudden dress rehearsals, changing from one attire to another at the count of 10. When you shine your combat boots painstakingly, making sure that it reflects your face upon looking at it.

When you ate with your classmates on a long mess table, spines stretched and hands on the lap when not used. When your classmate helped you finish the food that didn’t appeal much to your taste. When the marcher tapped the table when everyone was ready to leave the mess hall. When you had to recite the prayers before and after meal together. When you brushed your teeth together and washed the dishes with your buddies.

When you took short naps in the office, exhausted of all the physical activities done in the early morning. And when you even got more stressed when Major B began his long talks about Java and God. When you reported snappily at your officer although a bit worried with your salute. When you talk with them with a straight face and without a blink. When you scramble to your feet and yell “shun” when a high-ranking officer enters your room. When you performed regular menus for other senior personnel and wondered if they just did it on a whim or were indeed concerned about improving your physical performance.

When you experienced doing everything you never considered doing before - cleaning toilets, unclogging the drainage and inhaling hydrochloric acid vapors. When you had to suffer a week (or two) of broken fingers and bleeding knees because of a dress rehearsal stampede. When you called your classmate a very nasty name because you cannot stand his attitude. When your hair was cut like a man, everyone thought you were a real tomboy and worse Aiza Seguerra’s twin. And then when you began to enterain everyone with Aiza Seguerra’s hit song, Pagdating ng Panahon. When your commander and his wife complimented that you already sounded like the real vocalist of the song.

Everything happened from January to March of 2005. It was such a short time since then. It’s hard to believe it’s almost my second year at work.

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I suddenly reminisced about our training days because of yesterday’s activities. We had TaeBo and jogging. In the afternoon, my girls (the juniors) brought me along their volleyball competition and invited me to some badminton game since they saw my rotting rocket in the barracks. We had two games. We just walked home from the gym and coincidentally, Fluffy and Sir Junior were racing on the oval, so I waited for Fluffy and went with his last lap. Now, my muscles are aching, reminding me of the much more physically intensive activities we’ve done before.