After three years of wearing the same uniform that my mother laundered, starched and ironed the right way, after polishing my boots and garrison belt buckle to a blinding shine, I was just thrilled to finally be done with military training.


Every Saturday of the week, we would be at Kalayaan Hall in Villamor Airbase at such ungodly hours to board an Air Force Fokker jet to accompany the president to one of his provincial jaunts.