TAPS

As I scanned the pages of the newspaper, my heart began to beat faster, and the feeling of dread was written all over me. There, in the lower part of the front page, it was written: "2 Dead in NPA Ambush in Quezon."

As I began to read the details, I couldn't believe my eyes. One of the names of the dead soldiers struck me as familiar, and suddenly, a feeling of numbness overcame my body.

It can't be. No, it's not him. A state of denial was prevalent in my mind, but as I read and re-read the lines of the newspaper, reality began to dawn on me.

Then a flashback of events long buried in the past came rushing back into my head.

He was my classmate, my buddy, and my best friend.

We both grew up in simple families in one of the remote barrios in the Bicol region.

We had been classmates and friends since childhood until our graduation from high school --then we went our separate ways.

While I went to Manila to pursue a degree in Medicine, he went to the Philippine Military Academy to be a fine soldier.

While I studied the science of saving lives, he mastered the art of killing.

While I went to the countryside for medical missions, he went there for search-and-destroy operations.

While I performed well at the operating table, he distinguished himself in the fields of battle.

Truly, our world had been a contradiction ever since we parted ways.

But our respect and belief in each other's conviction were never put in question.

That was evident in the long and countless hours of debate and discussion on any topic under the sun over a bottle of whiskey or gin during the few times that we were able to be with each other through the years.

For we know, deep in our hearts, that we are both doing the right thing for ourselves, for others, and for our country.

And to this, I salute you Capt. Nestor Mapa, my worthy adversary and my best friend.
#
Bill Mitsuru T. Shimizu (December 3, 2001)
*Published in the Literary Section of the Sunday Times Magazine/ October 19, 2003 "We Strike and other soldier tales."