In-Camp

First day of Reservist Training and the 4-kilometre route march had me groaning when I struggled up the steep inclines of Nee Soon Camp. The sky outside peppers with muffled pops from the rifle range a few kilometres down.

I can’t sleep because of these cunts making a ruckus, goddamnit.

It feels like Uni had never happened at all, and I had ORDed and returned the very next day to this new camp, suddenly much fatter and less keen to meet what once seemed like the easiest obstacles.

WhatsApp is still abuzz with chatter from RVRC’s camp organising team (I’m still trying not to reply because I’m gravely disinterested of camps), Steph asking if I could meet to try to find out what I could do with my stage managerial experience (grateful!) and the 21BEC chat with lacklustre instructions sent by the sergeants (no problem there) and surprising changes in schedule (damn it I can’t wear these pants). All these serve to remind me that I’m somewhere away from my comfort zone and that it tugs my heartstrings to be so.

To be away from other crushes and scholarly pursuits and technology and cleanliness and accessible slippers and clean loos.

To be free once again, and yet I’m feeling freedom in NS, the shackles I was once bound in.

I’m getting a familiar sense of dread from overthinking about the rest of this wretched week, which presents itself as a faint nausea and a very real desire to escape home.

Count to four. Inhale.

I called dad and wished him happy fathers’ day.

Count to four.

Exhale.

—

But I saw you once again after a year, and it was like no time had passed; the wind got knocked out of me, my mouth stayed agape and I glanced over again and again, hoping that some part of you wouldn’t provoke such a response.