The young man, a cadet from the Philippine Military Academy (PMA), looked up. His eyes said that he wanted to respond, but he chose to remain silent and listen instead.

The nursing student continued, "In my hometown, Christians and Muslims live together in peace. Even the military and NPA (New People's Army, a group of revolutionaries with communist ideals, whom the military is mandated to eliminate) live together peacefully. Please," her eyes shone with tears as she begged, "tell your superiors and everyone else in the military to stop the killing. There is no war."

Another young lady, a Muslim student from Marawi, spoke up. "I agree with her," came the assertive tone. "Do you know that, in our place, Christians and Muslims live together without any conflict? Sometimes it's the government who initiates the war, and then the peace is broken again." She goes on to relate that, one day, she and her family chanced upon a group of soldiers firing cannons up at the sky. When asked why the cannons were being fired, these military men laughed and said that they were just using up their extra supplies!

"But what goes up must come down!" The young Muslim cried. "What will happen if those cannons hit the innocent civilians living on the ground? Sorry na lang sila?"

"The problem with the military is that they send you guys off to Mindanao after graduation even without knowing what the situation there is," the nursing student continued empathically in her Hiligaynon-accented English. "If you only immersed yourselves in the area–as civilians, and not as military men–before you are brought there, then you would know what the real situation is."

"There is no war," she reiterated.

Finally, the young cadet spoke. "I don't know why those men were firing cannons up at the sky… But I do know that, sometimes, we make everyone else believe that there is no war, that the situation is under control, and that there is peace. We do not want civilians to live in fear of their lives. We want life for them to go on as normally as possible."

He continued, "Guys, this may be the last time that we will get to see each other. Who knows? I may die right after graduation–just like what happened to one of my upperclassmen who was sent to Mindanao shortly after he graduated… So let me tell you this: I will do my very best to keep the peace in this country so that you, Duchess (referring to the nursing student), can conduct your medical missions anywhere in the country; and that you, Kirby (referring to another young man in the group), can continue to work for the environment, and so that all of you can do what you are supposed to do.

"None of us will be able to achieve our goals in a country that doesn't have peace."

Exchanges like this are rare in this country–and many such discussions end in word wars (and even real wars) that seem to have been sparked by the pettiest things. Many of us are brought up to be fearful of what we don't know and of what we don't understand. When I was much younger, my yaya (nanny) would always threaten me with this every time I misbehaved: "Sige, i-baligya kita sa mga Moro! (I'll sell you to the Muslims!)" That was enough for me to shut up, tone down, and develop a fear of the big, bad Moro. Little did I know that, many years later, I would be enamored by the colors, costumes, and culture of the Filipino Muslims.

There's so much that we don't know, and even less that we understand. This is why it's important for us to open ourselves up and allow new information, new insights, and new experiences to enter our lives. At the recently concluded Ayala Young Leaders Congress (AYLC)–which is by far the most rigorous and prestigious annual search for the country's top student leaders–I saw how four days of interaction, learning, reflection, and open and honest discussion changed the lives of 71 of the country's emerging leaders. They were all student leaders, all big fish in their little ponds. They all came to the Congress with big dreams and somewhat big egos–after being filtered by the Congress' rigorous screening process, who wouldn't?–but they all left with an understanding that nobody has the monopoly over virtue, wisdom, wealth, or influence. Everyone is here for a reason, and we are all faced with the challenge to find common ground and build a single vision that's powerful enough to propel all of us to positive, productive action.

I've attended five AYLCs already–once as a delegate in 1999, and four times as a facilitator–and what was strikingly different about this Congress was that there was a sincere effort among all the delegates to acknowledge their differences and celebrate their diversity. It was because they were different that they were strong. Each person brought to the group his or her own strengths, talents, skills, and experiences; and it is through all of these that they will be able to contribute to a concerted and sustained effort to move the country forward. Whether they become soldiers, priests, farmers, professors, corporate executives, or artists doesn't matter. What matters is that they believe in the power of the Filipino.

At the unofficial closing ceremony of the Congress, AYLC 2005 created an oath that signified their commitment to stay united in spite of their diverse interests and to make a difference in their spheres of influence wherever they were. They recited this oath in different Filipino languages–Maranao, Bicolano, Pampango, Hiligaynon, Bisaya, Ilocano, Tagalog–each time cheering for their provinces and for their mother tongues. As I watched the delegates proudly owning and proclaiming their "Filipino-ness", I felt teary-eyed and immensely hopeful, thankful that young people today have a venue to learn more about each other and dispel their fears of the unknown. I am confident that a few years down the road, we will wake up to a freer, enlightened, and (perhaps) more prosperous society.