I know that it is rude to stare at people while they eat, but I could not help it. My dad and I were having our lunch at an eat-all-you-can restaurant in Antipolo earlier. While we were eating, a bunch of military people, men and women, entered the diner. They have their guns with them so I became all panicky and all, but their modest movement and behaviour eased the tension. Maybe it’s the stigma of guns that disturbed me, but not them.
They ate at peace. They were politely falling in line for the food. They put their guns on the side of their table, like they are trying to tell the people that “we are just here to eat, we won’t use them on you folks.” Of course, they won’t. Then, they got together at a long table with their platter full of food and rice. They were talking and laughing, and then they were taking photos of them. Occasionally, they would stand up again and get their food. They were eating like hungry dwarves, and I, on the other hand, was looking at them and smiling. I know it was rude but there was a lot of thought about them that were spinning inside my head.
Things. Yes, things about them. Are they from a war? How many were them when they entered the war, and how many were left? Do they feel more alive, or are they still worried about their next mission, about what will come next. They don’t know me, of course, but it would be sad if next time I see their group, there would be one missing. Actually, it is sad to think of these people and the war. They losing their lives just to protect what they have behind. They seemed to dedicate their future for the people they love, for their country folks whom barely know or acknowledge them. I hope that wars will soon go over, and that these people come live in peace again, and that they could normally have lunch together with their families. That next time I would see them, they will be wearing jeans and shirts and perhaps their babies instead of their fatigues and boots and their guns.
I hope that the war will soon be over. Please.