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***edited at 8:13 pm***

**I may not look like it, but yes, I was an officer**

Stalwart Swords

CAT officers have the privilege of seeing their cadets undress.

Or so people believe. This, among many other misconceptions, is a devious lie that officers formulate for the sheer fun of it. It may seem that officers enjoy a load of perks – getting seats in the teeming cafeteria, claiming dominion over public places, and laughing their asses off while you try your best to stay erect and refrain from scratching an itchy nose. Logic would tell you that these officers are power-hungry monsters, but beneath those facades are pitiful creatures tricked into a senior year of endless responsibilities and expectations. You don’t need me to tell you that C-A-T is not the same as F-U-N. But unless you too are an officer, you will need me to tell you that the spoils are worth the toil because the best things about being an officer aren’t the bragging rights, nor the cut-in-line privileges; the best things aren’t things at all. What defines a corps isn’t the number of cadets nor the skill they possess in handling rifles and swords – they’re those unbreakable bonds that strengthen from every moment of shared hardship, low crawls and duck walks. I should know; I was an officer.

Before CAT, there was the Cadet/Cadette Officer’s Qualifying Course and it goes by the friendly banner: “COQC: Where future officers are made!” But like cunning TV ads, you never really know some words can mean different things until you buy the product – I already sunk too deep when I found out that the banner actually meant “tortured” instead of “made”. But for all it’s worth, a moneyback guarantee wasn’t necessary.

So there we were, unsuspecting juniors lined up to meet their doom. The gym roofs seemed to shake as commands went shooting off from inside the acquisition room.

“SQUAAAAAAAT!!” one officer roared and a fellow applicant went scurrying off the line and on to safety. I would never have known back then that among the 34 fit applicants, I, with all my health issues, would actually make it through and be one among the 14 graduates. Of course, there was a lot of fainting and hyperventilation, but I made it nonetheless.

To most students from our school, Research or STR proved to be the highlight of their junior year, but to us applicants, punishment was our daily bread. I remember one time when I was having a laugh with my friends then the terror officer passed by and of course, I scuttled to greet her. I tried so hard to keep myself from snickering, but she sensed my lips twitch and gave me an overdose of pumpings (a form of punishment where you cross your arms and hold your ears while continuously shifting from squat to standing position). Asthma thwacked me hard on the back and I ended up wheezing heavily – unfortunately for me, Ma’am Terror was having her period and you know how girls are when they have “it”. She mistook my panting for laughter and I had to do thrice the number of pumpings that she previously ordered. After that, all I was able to do was drop to the floor with a resounding thud – walking became an arduous task; taking the stairs was impossible. I did a lot of crying then.

These individual hardships, however, are trifling moments that you get used to and soon forget. The best times in COQC are marked by communal suffering.

I remember hearing the funeral Tap every time someone dropped his rifle. When this happens, that cadet, accompanied by another, will have to do the low crawl back and forth across the field while the rest of the flight squats. So in a corps, one’s fault is the fault of the flight, that’s why we had to look out for each other and each of us assumed the responsibility of reprimanding our fellow applicant if he/she is tempted to break a rule and bring the whole flight to certain death.

Reception had to be the biggest thing that happened in junior year. Without the constant support of everyone from our flight, none of us would have made it through the demoralizing and traumatizing things that they made us do. I remember doing the duck walk four times across the field. We almost gave up, but instead of doing things separately, we decided to waddle in equal pacing and sing YFC songs along the way. I can still vividly recall our dead beat faces – smudges of dirt, squished bananas, blood, sweat, grimaces, smiles, and tears formed a concoction of bliss and gratitude – gratitude for God, and for the people in the flight. Without everyone, I might never have managed to eat ampalaya and sili, kneel my way across railings and pebbles, devour two whole rice without a viand (it’s actually harder than it seems), sprint blindfolded, pretend to be a dinosaur, duck my hand inside a toilet bowl (yes, dear, a toilet bowl with a banana pretending to be something else), and sleep on a tiled floor with mosquitoes swarming over me. If the Philippines had any vultures, there would definitely have been one waiting for me to die, but no worries - my friends had my back.

Through the tough times, we had to stay strong for ourselves and for everyone else. We faced each hurdle together and we came through the Reception with victorious hearts. I joined COQC for a grade of 1.00, and not for the cool uniform, the desire to serve, the improvement of my person, nor the friends I’ll be able to make and the bonds I’ll form with them – no, I did not apply for any of these things, but I got them all, and I couldn’t feel more blessed.

Bonds aren’t just built on the happy moments, although they help – stronger relationships are built on joint suffering and shared woes. To me, esprit de corps doesn’t just mean loyalty to the corps; it means loyalty to my friends. And even though I had to go through all of these just to figure that out, I don’t regret taking the swim for without these experiences, I would never have learned the true meaning of camaraderie and I would never have known that true friends are found in war, and will go to war with you.

-dawn