[photo credits to wikipedia, edited by me]
Tomorrow, we shall celebrate National Heroes' Day (Araw ng mga Bayani) and according to wikipedia, we celebrate it yearly on the last Monday of August. Along with this celebration, we also commemorate the famous Cry of Pugad Lawin by the Katipunan as led by Ka Andres Bonifacio.
But for us yuppies and students, it's just another holiday - no classes and no work with all day to play. Tsk tsk.
Whenever did we start knowing the meaning and importance of these holidays? We remember them and gingerly mark them on our calendars at the start of the new year, eargerly making plans for that much awaited long weekend and holiday economics (as coined by our former president, GMA). We book flights whenever airlines declare seat sales (which may turn out to be a farce and a conspiration against the flying population. heh. bitter much) and map out itinerary faster than we can say "manong, para ho!" to a speeding jeepney from hell. As I've said, the meaning of such holidays is completely lost on us. Ask any jejecap-wearing teenager or a Havaianas-slippered sosyalera what are we celebrating tomorrow. Come on. Ask them. Or better yet, ask yourself.
Am I starting to see that familiar blank face whenever we see impossible exam questions? Hmm. I knew it.
Well for starters, you could think of what your grandparents did when World War II erupted. They would have a couple of stories on survival and anecdotes of what life was back then. They had bomb shelters and quivered in fear when Japanese troops invaded barrios. There were countless rape victims, stories as told by the comfort women during that time. The boys grew up fast and signed up for the military. Those who were already fighting the war died and dropped like flies.
My maternal grandfather, Lolo Jovencio Lagmay, was an army sergeant in the military. My mom used to tell me that my Lolo Ben was one of the few survivors of the infamous Death March. He never went home for a time and they figured he was already dead so they held a padasal for him. They were on the 40th day of the padasal when he suddenly appeared on the doorway. Everyone scrambled for cover because they thought he was a ghost!
After the war, my Lolo Ben settled with his wife in a shanty somewhere in Aparri, Cagayan. They lived off on pension that he received while he waited for a letter from the US, granting him American citizenship and finally rewarding him after fighting on the side of the Kanos. But he was too weak when he received the letter and long travel is no longer advisable. He died a poor man. But other than that, he was not given recognition nor prestige for being a good military man and serving the country. Or should I say, countries.
There are a lot more stories like my Lolo Ben's. War veterans who, in their heydays, fought bravely and looked at Death unflinchingly. They are not like the Manila policemen who had to stick closely to the bus so they won't get shot dead. War veterans who died waiting for their rewards and reminiscing about their glory days. They are not like the policemen who sit around and order people while they reward themselves with hefty bonuses and glorify their fat, sorry asses.
These war veterans are the heroes. They are the bidas in the movies of their so-called lives. Let us remember them. The heroes. Your grandparents. Your parents. After all, tomorrow is National Heroes' Day.
