What can a woman do?

Another wise person once said that the only real failure is if we never gave it a try. I think it makes sense in more ways than one.

My father was an enlisted personnel in the Philippine Army. It was in one of his assignments that he met my mother who was a civilian employee at his camp. My mother’s mother’s husband was a soldier, too, and so were my two aunts’ spouses. One of my mother’s brothers had served in the army as well for a few years before he met the love of his life.

I was born in the same military camp where my parents’ paths crossed. My mum loved my father so much that she and I used to join him in all of his various assignments’ locations. I practically grew up with armoured tanks and what-have-you’s as a normal and daily occurrence. My playmates and most of my closest classmates were and had the same.

I was too bookish, so I had been always part of the honor’s list from junior kindergarten. I had two medals, but I wasn’t around for the ceremony because my father’s troops already had to move on again. As the security situation in Mindanao didn’t improve and my father’s assignments had gone to more precarious areas, my parents decided to leave me to my father’s parents at the opposite end of the country. My bookishness took a deeper level with their absence. My mum’s mini-library and the school’s library had been my go-to nooks. My reading may have made me win that school poetry-writing contest when I was in Grade 5. I may have turned a bit more aloof than the other kids, but I guess it had been a matter of a child left alone’s defensive mechanism. I was an only child without parents beside me; the flippant manner I took things paid off as I turned to have an undivided attention to my studies. Unable to qualify for a normal academic recognition because I didn’t start in my school from Grade 1, I still got the Special Award for topping my class in grade school.

Unsurprisingly, one of the earliest persons I looked up to had been a military officer, my second cousin and a graduate of the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) – Kuya Joel, who is now a police general.

In third year high school, I joined the Midshipman Officer’s Candidate Course (MOCC) and became our senior class’ Brigade Operations Officer (N3). Being bibliophile worked well again as I got the Honor Award as a Midshipwoman Officer who attained the highest academic achievement, too. That’s aside from my numerous other stints such as being our class’ school paper English Literary Editor, the Science Club President, Girl Scouts Vice President, choir member, volunteer catechist, and all. I became our class’ top three or the First Honorable Mention awardee.

I went to the University of the Philippines (UP) for my bachelor’s degree. I guess I wasn’t achieving much then, probably because I had a bad start when I enrolled too late and failed to join any of the freshmen “block” classes. I was stuck enrolling in classes with 2nd to even 4th year students as my classmates, confusing myself with the ever-changing “free” class schedules and locations, among everything else. I met good dorm pals and some great classmates who became my chums later on, which had been a saving grace in more ways than one. I then thought of looking for student organisations to belong to as well.

Catholic-schooled from kinder to high school, the state university gave me a culture shock. Philosophy and Logic classes became a discourse on questioning God’s existence. With only the topnotch brains getting accepted in its halls (I was the only in my high school’s batch who passed the entrance exams), the premier state university’s minds had nothing but convincing facts and arguments. It was no wonder that the country’s most famous and influential people came from it. In other words, I began to fit in with a pervading culture of not fitting in – of constantly questioning normalcy, of destabilising the status quo or of paving the way for progressive thinking with better results and loftier ideals in mind.

I found myself joining the UP Babaylan, a bastion of gender sensitivity and awareness or what could be considered as precursors of today’s LGBTI movement. The group’s name had been synonymous to the meaning of the Filipino word “babaylan,” the famed lady rulers of pre-Spanish occupation Filipinos. Don’t get the group wrong because equality meant that we also had straight guys and gals in our midst; we just didn’t discriminate against but were even more accepting of those who aren’t.

Our Sociology and Community Development classes also became a free-flowing pseudo-indoctrination on the ills of all “isms” in the world. Our off-classroom excursions involved immersing ourselves in the very grassroots of identified disadvantaged sectors of the community – the masses and marginalised ones. We toured socio-economically conscious groups, who I later learned were considered left-leaning ones. Our classes joined rallies; I found myself in one and even got terribly sick thereafter. I even joined Gabriela, a feminist movement organisation named after the famed woman who had been one of those who bravely led Filipinos in its struggle for independence from the Spanish colonists in the 1890s. Ironically, I also found myself in another far end of the spectrum. I came across the Rifle Pistol team, and so I joined for a while with my classmate friend. My membership in those groups were incidental, though, if not quite too short-lived. What had been more constant had been my sticking to my faith. I often skipped lunch and just ate a banana cue or the occasional Greenhouse or Beachhouse skewers on my way to class just to ensure that I got enough time to every weekday mass in our spaceship lookalike university chapel.

Life again took a toll. I used to blame circumstances, but I was partly if not substantially at fault, too. I had to stop studying and start working. I should even say it had been a blessing in disguise because it was then that I came to realise life’s realities and decide to try my luck and become a PMA cadet like my Kuya Joel. I should have applied earlier along with the first batch of girls to join the distinguished institution, but I initially didn’t believe my grandmother when she told me about the opportunity. I really had the impression that she was joking. How could the country’s top military academy accept non-males in their ranks? Nonetheless, it’s always better late than never. Right?

Aside from my extended family, nobody expected me to become a “peemayer,” a moniker used to refer to cadets and graduates of PMA. My town’s folks even thought I had “beauty queen material” for some reason. To my utter surprise, they chose me to represent my town as Miss Agoncillo, a pageant that led up to several others towards the Miss Philippines one. It came to me as too stupendous and incredulous; I was still diplomatic not to speak my what-could-be-offensive reaction. I may have served with the choir and helped out in various youth organisations, but that had been it. I may have had the talent, but I didn’t have much of the beauty or effortless charm that I perceived I should have.

Back in Mandaluyong City, where I had been staying with my mother’s father, Lolo Daniel, they even selected me to run for the Sangguniang Kabataan (SK) or the youth’s council representation at that time. I had been part of several youth organisations, indeed. I may have worked in the (then) municipal (and later on city) library. I became the Secretary-General of the Mandaluyong Jaycees-Empress, so those had been something, but that had been also all. I didn’t, and still don’t, think I was cut out for politics.

What was so queer was that none of those people who believed in me knew about my PMA plans; not even my Kuya Joel had been aware. You know why? I didn’t want to be embarrassed in case I failed in the testing process. Thus, I asked my family to keep things tightly guarded as our little secret. I was so thin and frail-looking at that time, so there was no real guarantee for me. The realistic “me” preferred to keep the information within my immediate family.

There was one thing I was sure of at that time, though. I had to try and find out. If I’d fail, at least I knew. I could always go back to my UP studies anyway. (Once you’re a UP student, you’d always be. That was what everyone used to say.) If I’d pass, then I truly deserved it.

Unlike males who only had to pass through two screening stages, females had to go through three. After the entrance examinations, we had to undergo a physical-medical screening. I passed both. The third phase was the final interview where we had been grilled by a panel of high-ranking officers.

Now, did I make it?

You might be wondering how I could meet the requirements if one would choose to consider the previous school organisations that I had been part of. The answer could be simple. Everyone had been too smart enough to realise that a Catholic-educated daughter of a military man who grew up in military camps with military relatives, cousins, friends, and all is a good fit for the military. I had been a high-ranking CAT officer, too, with at least two years of prior relevant training and exposures that would come in useful and advantageous.

Thus, yes. I passed.

Passing the PMA selection process wasn’t the end of the tests. It was just the beginning. What came next had been four years of rigorous and rigid military training intertwined with academics as we, the cadets, work to complete our bachelor’s degree.

Believe me. It wasn’t a walk in the park.

But, did I survive?

Yes. I did again.

I wasn’t as athletic as my lady squadmate had been, but my female yearling buddy never gave up on me. Taking off from our routine that I’ve gotten used to, working myself out became my schedule’s mainstay. Slowly but surely, I developed myself physically enough to run cross country and do all the other things that the sturdiest ones among us could do. I wasn’t the strongest one, but I’ve never been the weakest either.

I also got high academic grades even if I slept through my classes almost all of the time. I had been my class top 2 at one point in time on our first year. Too many extracurricular activities took my time from my second year, though. I did basketball, volleyball, aikido, choir, glee club, radio hosting, among numerous others. Having the jitters for my after-graduation wedding and doing two successive publications among other responsibilities made me a bit lax with my academics on my fourth year.

Nonetheless, I still became the first female Journalism Award recipient, and also the first ever Languages Plaque awardee. I was one of the only ten girls in our class who graduated in 2001. We were the fifth batch of female graduates so far. Not bad at all, isn’t it?

Most significantly, I met my better half when I was in the Academy. He was his batch’s Editor-in-Chief, and I took on that same Chief Editor’s rein of the official cadet publication when he graduated. With a binding tie borne out of our mutual love for the written word, I got married to my best friend the day after my graduation or a year after his.

I then joined the Philippine Navy after graduation and underwent a Mess and Supply Officer’s Course (MSOC) in preparation for sea duty. I became our MSOC classs Tarzan because I got the highest grades in PE. I was even already one month pregnant with my oldest son when I took our last test. Imagine that!

I then took and finished my MBA a year after my bachelor’s degree while doing my various ship and shore duties along with at least three other workplace publications I had to work on. I even got two awards along with the degree.

And, yes. I was a naval officer for more than eight years. I was already a Lieutenant Junior Grade when I fell in love with Australia’s charm and dreamed of migrating with my family. I was a full Lieutenant when I resigned and made the life-changing move and finally settle here with my husband and our two sons. It had been a dream then, but it’s a reality now. (I wrote about this in 2016 on one of my earliest blog attempts.)

So, what’s my story’s point?

There’s nothing much to say, really. Once again, this is a mere note to myself – a reminder of who, why, how, when, and what I used to be, know, and could do.

That wise guy whose words I quoted at the start of the article is right. Being a woman should never be an excuse for us to go for our dreams.

We can do it, too, if we’d give it a try.