A carpet of white crosses in exact measured rows reaching the far limits blankets the verdant promontory. The overlook with a sweeping panorama of a new bustling metropolis with fast rising skyscrapers pays apt tribute to the dead who lay buried there.
Do you remember or did you even know it existed?
If not for the bravery and the sacrifice of the American soldiers who fought and died side by side with their Filipino allies, the bastion and climate of freedom that sustain economic growth and the advance of human institutions would not have been at all possible.
The relic of World War II used to play a central role when America was still mindful, thankful, worshipful, and proud of its heroic and stalwart role as a nation and as a people in shaping the destiny of a whole world by stoutly rising to contain and resolve a global conflagration..
It seems the graves sprouted the buildings. The seeds were the buried corpses and the buds that grew rose to be the high rise towers.
One of those buried there was named Paul. He was 21 years old and hailed from good ole Mississippi.
His only regret was that he couldn’t fight some more after his body got ripped apart. He wished he had more staying power so he could fly to the aid of his buddy who took his turn to face up to the worst torrent from hell.
He died in a faraway land among a strange people. He missed the Mississippi river deltas of his home. He longed for the frolicsome school houses and parks of his youth and the golden fields of wheat. Most of all he remembered with cutting poignancy the warmth and the love of his family. The fleeting replay in his memory of fresh baked biscuits and the Southern style fried chicken that his Mom always prepared for the family reunions benumbed him with a wisp of comfort against the pain of his mortal wounds.
He was afraid but he trudged relentlessly forward because he knew there was nobody else to do the job. He believed in freedom and the American ideals and held them sacred and non-negotiable. He lived for his country and stood proud of what it symbolized and what it had achieved in history. He was afraid but marshaled the courage to sally forth into the pangs of the most fearful violence you could ever imagine. He raised the courage because he believed in himself, in his country, in the will of his people, and the righteousness of his God. He died trembling with terror and besieged with unbelievable agony but clutched at the bravery from his heart and the pure faith instilled in it to finally embrace his fate.
He was so young not even in the prime of his life and was torn and snatched savagely from the potentials of the future that lay ahead. The girlfriend he was going to marry and the children he will nurture vanished in the tragic twist of destiny.
Dying in the mud of an unknown terrain, singed by the tropical heat, overrun by the alien insects and bugs from the frothy trenches, and ten thousand miles of ocean from home, he staked his own life, what little portion he held of it in the budding of his youth because there was nobody else to do it.
Think how much worse you can do than that with your financial crisis. Think how much more gruesome your life can sink down to that you must contemplate sheer cowardice and take your own life?
Do you dare to be brave like that young man and believe in yourself?
Do you dare to be brave like that young man and believe in your country and your people?
Do you dare to be brave to be brave like that young man and believe in God?
And if you say what for, the Abba Krishna beckons to the tall buildings.
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