I am not a golfer, but in May 1992, I first set foot at the Veterans Memorial Golf Club. It was just days after Fidel V. Ramos was declared President-elect. There was something in the air; a country quietly adjusting its posture, readying for the next chapter.

A teenager, then accompanying my father, not just as a son, I was a quiet observer of my own part in that moment. He was one of FVR’s senatorial candidates. The political party that carried FVR to victory — one-third of which was the United Muslim Democrats of the Philippines — was founded by him. It was the kind of day where history felt close but unspoken.Every handshake carried a kind of weight.

My father, a Maranao and a Muslim democrat, was part of that moment in 1992 in meaningful ways that quietly stayed with him. He, a son of Mindanao, grounded in faith and tradition, then stood alongside statesmen and helped chart a national future. In spaces that long felt distant from the southern story, his very being there meant something.

The golf club was serene, removed from the noise of the city. My paternal grandfather — a veteran of the Japanese occupation—never set foot here. But his presence felt near. The name — Veterans — carried more than just military honor. It carried memory.

Walking those fairways decades later, as his son, is to feel that same quiet presence. Service, like memory, belongs to all who give something of themselves — regardless of region or religion. For Filipino Muslims who’ve long lived between the margins of national memory, spaces like this still carry weight.

More than 30 years later, I returned — not with a club, but with a conversation in mind.

I visited retired Philippine Army Brigadier General Edgard P. Nigos, assistant general manager of the Veterans Golf Club. We last worked together as directors of the Association of Government Internal Auditors — he from the uniformed ranks, I from the civilian side. Bumping into each other by chance some months back, he invited me to visit. I finally took him up on it.

Growing up, I was drawn to lives that stood for service, discipline, and commitment. I even tried to enter PMA once. I passed the exams but didn’t make the cut. Still, that didn’t lessen my respect for the men and women in uniform.

During our AGIA years, I gravitated toward General Nigos, listening to his experiences in between sessions. We were usually roommates during events outside Manila. He never imposed, never assumed. His calm, posture and decency were his trademark.

While in his office, we were joined by the club’s current GM, retired Philippine Army Lt. Gen. Corleto Vinluan, whom I met during a visit by the AGIA board. Being PMA classmates with General Nigos, there was a familiarity and spontaneity between them that spoke of deep service and trust.

Then and now, Gen. Nigos treats the staff with warmth and sincerity. With this new post, and knowing his style, I am sure of many welcome developments at the club. Even as a non-golfer, I can say: it’s a place worth revisiting.

In our tradition, the pen holds a sacred place: “By the Pen and what they write.” I may not have worn the uniform, but I’ve come to see that service takes many forms, some quiet, but no less purposeful.

I may still not know how to swing a club. But maybe it’s time to dust off the set my father owned but never used.