But all for the sake of conformity over my blog name, I will post an original work. Actually, this shouldn't be here, for this is something I have passed to my professor for our Education subject. But it is a part of my intellectual property rights, isn't it?
We are asked to make a short story about the Quezon's Code of Ethics (use Google if puzzled), and this is my muster-piece:
“Love your country for it is, the home of your people, the seat of your affections, and the source of your happiness and well-being. Its defense is your primary duty. Be ready at all times to sacrifice and die for it if necessary.” – Quezon’s Code of Ethics no. 2
It was the moment when all that was left to do was to hope for a hero, no matter how illusory the idea was. There were bombs and gun fires everywhere, together with people’s crying and pleading for what was left on their lives. Explosions in all ranges came more often than the sound of people’s breathing, if ever there were still some who can. It happened indeed, what they thought was just a preposterous idea that was more unreasonable than the feasibility of the Bible’s Book of Revelation- the World War III.
It was the battle between East and West, between Uncle Sam and the Sleeping Giant: United States of America and China. As they have realized how strong they have become, the Chinitos decided to fight for the upper hand in ruling the world, deploying men in camouflage with grenades and bombs none of us knew, sometimes in their own race, but most of the time in other nation’s complexion just because they believe that people of their kind shall be treasured. Juan didn’t see it coming, just like everyone else. He was helpless, weak, and clueless, but worse, he was an alien to the country he was in.
“Aren’t you going to pack your bags? The last ship will dock on the seaside today. After that, we got nowhere to go.” Lance asked Juan as he zipped his last bag consisting of his collection of hats.
“Why are we leaving, why are you leaving? Aren’t you gonna fight for your country?” Juan asked with all the befuddlement his mind has.
“What for? We’re not gonna acquire any badge of nobility if we do, or if ever there are, what’s the use of it if we’re gonna die anyway?” Lance answered.
It was true indeed; Uncle Sam was losing the game. Lots of American soldiers have been killed on the first wave of battle, and as a succor to the problem, they have sent juvenile Americans to face the other batch of military professionals China have sent and was still sending. Juan, for he was not a natural born citizen of America, and because none ever believed that such skin color can do any good for the battle, was not considered as a qualified man to join the new American troupe. Lance, his friend, on the other hand, was a paralytic, so he wasn’t considered either. Both of them received a parcel a week ago containing a pouch with money, specifically $50 for each of them, and a ship ticket to Luxembourg, the richest country in the world who bribed China to assure its safety, was the only one who agreed to be the collecting port of the ‘left-over’ Americans with the promise that their government will be in full control the men and women: free laborers, comfort women, and even young bloods that they train to be their future puppet soldiers.
Aside from his bewilderment about the war itself, what really obfuscated Juan was the thought that such Americans, Lance for example, was so imprudent about his own nation’s welfare, that he can just turn his back on it completely and forget what was once he called home. The figurine of a wooden black kalabaw lying on his table made him nostalgic over his own country, the Philippines. It had been three years, as far as he can remember, when he first set afoot of this foreign land with the thought that he might improve the economical status of his family living in the Philippines. It was all that was trending back then, the scent of dollars itself was a sign of wealth for most Filipinos, the kind of thing everyone will be envious about. But such imagery didn’t stay long enough, because of the war, America have completely lost its glamour.
He sat on Lance’s rocking chair thinking what was happening in his own native land. Perhaps, there were some secret mobs being formed like a succession of the KKK, or, there were some guerillas lying in the forest ready to ambush the Chinese soldiers just like how they did with the Japanese colonizers before, or, there were a people’s assembly being done somewhere in the country like a People Power III, where Filipinos in different kinds and shapes, decided to flock together to ask for God’s guidance as the other fight for their nation’s freedom- the thing they have fought for several times before.
“Aren’t you really gonna fight for your country? Like do anything about it?” Juan asked again as he saw Lance piling boxes near the door.
“Don’t compare our race with yours, we’re not used on losing, we’re always winning. Unlike you and your countrymen, as what you have told on your race, you’re used with this kind of thing, so it might be coming naturally.” Lance answered
“But aren’t you feeling at least a bit of pain of leaving your home with the idea that perhaps, it might shatter completely behind you?”
“No. No pain at all. What matters the most to us is that we live, we don’t give a shit for that nationalism blah-blah you used to talk about.”
He was right; it was only in the Philippines where people would let their blood spill vehemently for their country and for their men. It had been tested and proven since time in memorial, and that one thing he was very much proud of. If they had done it before, why can’t they now?
“Love your country for it is, the home of your people, the seat of your affections, and the source of your happiness and well-being. Its defense is your primary duty. Be ready at all times to sacrifice and die for it if necessary.” Juan recited.
“Quezon’s freaking ethics. I have almost memorized it all because of you!” Lance said irritated.
“I’ll pack my bags now.” Juan said as he got up from his chair.
“Thank goodness, your ticket is…” Lance said.
“I won’t be going with you to Luxembourg, I’ll go back in the Philippines. At least death is noble there.” Juan said as he reached for his luggage.
It could be plain imprudence or just lackluster writing that lead me into naming my name character Juan, what a cliche I've done. Amateur, that's it. There I'm brooding again.
Comments, suggestions and criticisms are very much welcome!