We. The Leaving.

In June, the three of us met again after a year of silence. I remember how we asked a friend of mine, X, to "soul read" her via phone. We remember how X remarked something about an impending sadness, a dark stage, something about leaving. At midnight we dropped her at her new, spanking condo and stayed for five hours blabbing.

It's how it is with old chums, those you meet before you even knew what you want, before learning the ropes of putting up fake fronts of confidence. And so we dawdled. Somehow, the talk got to frustrations about the government. Her youngest brother just graduated from the military and was in the hills of Mindanao on the frontlines fighting the MILF. She was defiant about the stories her brother was telling her. Leaks, stories around the military, how the corrupt higher-ups sell military issued arms to the enemy.

Imagine being killed by the same weapons issued to kill the enemy. Imagine being so low in the ranks that you can see and hear but not say or do anything. Imagine, we wondered, imagine how anyone would choose to leave UP to train for such a thankless job. But it was her brother's calling, he says it's what he wants, nothing else. And we consoled ourselves with the hope that in ten, twenty years maybe he'll rise up enough to do something to change the system.

A month ago, the whole insidious trade of arming the allies broke out. It is now known all over the world as the Maguindanao Massacre. Fifty seven people dead, and millions of dollars worth of military guns, bullets, arms found. And the insidious and dirty arms dealing and power sharing between the military and the political sheiks, all sanctioned by the government, were splashed about for the whole world to feast on.

Oh but we forgot something, we forgot that it's not only the wars that are compromised, it's not only guns that are traded. One day, not more than a month ago, a military plane so old, it should have been junked five years ago, exploded in mid-air. It was labelled an "accident", a totally preventable one if only people cared enough to be competent. A crash, five people: four young lieutenants, a general, and a junk of a plane.

No, he did not die fighting, though, I wonder, would that have been more valiant? Somewhere in the hills of Mindanao, somewhere up, an impending sadness formed, his leaving.