There’s an ulcer between my bottom lip and gums; the thin flap of skin just so happened to be inflamed and anything that touches it sets hell fire to all the nerves in my mouth.
The rest of this post was made in a hazy, bored melancholy. Excuse the poor writing.
I’ve spent the last four days swimming in the evenings in preparation for my Lifesaving 1, 2 and 3 course. It would usually take a few months, but Derek sourced for an instructor that would cram all the nitty-gritty of dealing with weak, non-, injured and unconscious swimmers to just slightly less than a work week.
I’ve passed, of course, and it wasn’t so tough after all.
I was surprised that no alcertations rose between Derek, Rayyan, Chuan and me in these days, as past events (NS, Batam, Taiwan, Europe) had shown. Perhaps it’s not my fault those were shit times after all.
On the way home from Stage last night (2300) the seniors started asking each other about our gaits. To describe them in one word.
I thought for a second and blurted “calculated, no, gingerly, no, ginger? Calculated.” They glanced around in mock surprise, asked if every step was a huge consideration and I answered in my usual way of peeping a cheerful answer before my rationality took the reins, driving my mumbles into murmurs.
We had a camp and script read today; the camp was largely improv-based (which boosted my confidence, seeing how Michael, who had blasted us the day before for being unprepared, was laughing voraciously at my adnittedly-clever use of “ice” and “gateway” to sell drugs to an Eskimo) while the script read was interesting in the way that made my eyes and mouth smile but shift restlessly on my crossed legs.
They nominated me as the Stage Manager, which the exco was rather respectful for, on the condition that I couldn’t act this time. I gazed blankly, discarding my ideas of being a manager both in Six Characters in Search of an Author and faked an enthusiastic, gracious thumbs up for the tough days ahead that Steph and Michael promised.
I didn’t know what they thought of my script reading… Was I bad? Atrocious? The medicine coaxed me to forget about it (it does that a lot I think) and I continued to talk to myself on the way back from the loo. The doubt is there but it’s not threatening me at knife point.
I was sure if I knew less than or equal to what the others did, and that this role, although not on Jesus’s level, was a huge sacrifice at least. Tears will be shed and my heart will be wrenched… Plans will be ruined. I don’t know. Maybe everything’s gonna work out just fine.
What’s the point of joining Stage if I can’t be an actor, though…
Mum always says I was much happier when I was younger; she’d ask where that little boisterous boy went and I wouldn’t say anything because I didn’t know either.
She also asked me just this evening to pursue what I wanted to do and I coldly replied that just a few months ago, when I asked her if I could pursue graphic design, she told me I was better off choosing a subject that “educated people do”. I stared out the window for the rest of the ride.
I spent the previous week slaving over a competition that I didn’t know I hadn’t registered for in the end, and I spent this week doing that Personal Branding Video for a friend and leaving mine till the last moment as a grainy rushed mess.
I received my midterms and although it showed that I was in the 75th percentile for most of my subjects sans MA1505, I felt nothing but worry that the competitive, bragging ‘friends’ of mine would overtake me in the future while the ones who don’t study would complain to me about how bad they got it.
I’m not even sure if I can keep the advantage up. I’m slipping.
Why do I even hang out with all these people? Aren’t friends suppose to not worry about their place? MLM solicitors, braggarts and those fucks who don’t listen when you provide help but whine when they fuck things up?
God, at least in army they’d tell you what to do.
Here? It’s once every 2 weeks.
We left the camp, toting huge overstuffed bags with items of varying shades of green. First thing we did was to head to a Starbucks (“what’s your name?” “Call me ORD LO.” didn’t turn out so well after all)
I was devastated for the few nights leading up to the big 030315, sinking my attention into work like sweeping the parade square and ordering people
to load stores onto tonners to distract myself from the eventuality.
Anyone can be a hypocrite; obviously I hated it in BMT (and the first half of NS) when every commander was tyrannical and every day was nothing but sweat, sun and aches all over. (I asked my then-sergeant once “do the aches ever go away” and he looked really sad as he had no answer) But at the end of it all, we’ve all been in this depressing pit in the ground for a year and 8 months and that’s gotta mean something.
Cookhouse food that got better after we returned from Seletar, and even better still after we returned from Thailand; the evening after the CO COC when there was a freeflow of beer and everyone got drunk; that time we kiwied the parade square on all the dirt-stained spots, and the retard of a sergeant had to dismiss us when he realised that rain would fix that problem way better than a different shade of black would.
That time I joined you in training and we ran past all the Concertina wire, you yelling encouragements while I felt simply infinite.
And that other time we sat at the pull-up bars one Sunday evening, talking the night away as the others booked in at more sensible timings.
And perhaps when I saw you alone in the corner, and asked, “Hey, would you kind of want to keep in touch? After all this?” I never really expected you to smile or even say yes, because… I’ve this thing with my confidence.
“No more drinks after this, alright?”
I gave a sheepish grin and a thumbs up, before sinking my face in the bottle my other hand grasped.
“There will be bad days.
Be calm. Loosen your grip, opening each palm slowly now. Let go.
Be confident. Know that now is only a moment, and that if today is as bad as it gets, understand that by tomorrow, today will have ended.
Be gracious. Accept each extended hand offered, to pull you back from the somewhere you cannot escape.
Be diligent. Scrape the gray sky clean. Realize every dark cloud is a smoke screen meant to blind us from the truth, and the truth is whether we see them or not – the sun and moon are still there and always there is light.
Be forthright. Despite your instinct to say “it’s alright, I’m okay” – be honest. Say how you feel without fear or guilt, without remorse or complexity.
Be lucid in your explanation, be sterling in your oppose. If you think for one second no one knows what you’ve been going through; be accepting of the fact that you are wrong, that the long drawn and heavy breaths of despair have at times been felt by everyone – that pain is part of the human condition and that alone makes you a legion. We hungry underdogs, we risers with dawn, we dissmisser’s of odds, we blesser’s of on – we will station ourselves to the calm.
We will hold ourselves to the steady, be ready player one. Life is going to come at you armed with hard times and tough choices, your voice is your weapon, your thoughts ammunition – there are no free extra men, be aware that as the instant now passes, it exists now as then.
So be a mirror reflecting yourself back, and remembering the times when you thought all of this was too hard and you’d never make it through. Remember the times you could have pressed quit – but you hit continue.
Be forgiving. Living with the burden of anger, is not living. Giving your focus to wrath will leave your entire self absent of what you need. Love and hate are beasts and the one that grows is the one you feed.
Be persistent. Be the weed growing through the cracks in the cement, beautiful – because it doesn’t know it’s not supposed to grow there.
Be resolute. Declare what you accept as true in a way that envisions the resolve with which you accept it.
If you are having a good day, be considerate. A simple smile could be the first-aid kit that someone has been looking for. If you believe with absolute honesty that you are doing everything you can – do more.
There will be bad days, times when the world weighs on you for so long it leaves you looking for an easy way out. There will be moments when the drought of joy seems unending. Instances spent pretending that everything is alright when it clearly is not, check your blind spot. See that love is still there, be patient. Every nightmare has a beginning, but every bad day has an end.
Ignore what others have called you. I am calling you friend. Make us comprehend the urgency of your crisis. Silence left to its own devices, breed’s silence. So speak and be heard.
One word after the next, express yourself and put your life in the context – if you find that no one is listening, be loud. Make noise. Stand in poise and be open.
Hope in these situations is not enough and you will need someone to lean on. In the unlikely event that you have no one, look again. Everyone is blessed with the ability to listen. The deaf will hear you with their eyes. The blind will see you with their hands. Let your heart fill their news-stands, Let them read all about it.
Admit to the bad days, the impossible nights. Listen to the insights of those who have been there, but come back. They will tell you; you can stack misery, you can pack disappear you can even wear your sorrow – but come tomorrow you must change your clothes.
Everyone knows pain. We are not meant to carry it forever. We were never meant to hold it so closely, so be certain in the belief that what pain belongs to now will belong soon to then. That when someone asks you how was your day, realize that for some of us – it’s the only way we know how to say, be calm.
Loosen your grip, opening each palm, slowly now – let go.”
ABSTRACT
On 240913, approximately 1730H, Sergeant JT and Sergeant Wilson caught PTE ABC (henceforth referred to as ‘my buddy’ or ‘Mike’) and I tossing our JOCKEY CAPS at each other while Sergeant JT was giving out instructions. Finding both the acts of tossing the JOCKEY CAP, as well as not paying attention to Sergeant JT at the time disrespectful, Sergeant Wilson handed Mike and me the task of writing essays about this act.
ESSAY
The JOCKEY CAP, better known in other countries as a patrol cap, is the first type of headwear Singaporean soldiers will receive during National Service. This essay will seek to discuss why it is inappropriate to toss the JOCKEY CAP around, namely through the symbolism of the JOCKEY CAP, the very act of tossing the cap like it were a “soft, green rock”[1] and the inappropriate moment when it was thrown.
The JOCKEY CAP has had a great presence in military history; the earliest form of military cap that resembles the modern patrol cap would be the Hungarian shako in the 1800s[2], followed by the French kepi in the 1830s before evolving to the softer kepi we have today. As such, the cap holds great significance as part of our No. 4 uniform. Tossing the JOCKEY CAP around would have the same effect as, for instance, using our No. 4 uniform as a tablecloth; both would be greatly disrespectful to the S.A.F.’s identity. Additionally, the semi-irregular shape and weight distribution of the cap would make it even more susceptible to landing on the ground once tossed, yet another sign of disregard for the Army. The JOCKEY CAP is much more than a mere piece of headwear; it is the trainee’s topper, a symbol of the soldier in the field, and should not be subject to idle tossing as if it were merely a ball.
Another problem with throwing the JOCKEY CAP around would be the act of tossing the cap itself. The motives for tossing an item can be seen in many ways; out of boredom, out of playfulness, et cetera. However, none of these motives are appropriate excuses; boredom, playfulness would all signify a lack of discipline. Moreover, if an F.A.D. were tossed instead, the reaction would be of indifference at most. The act of tossing the JOCKEY CAP may very well be a subconscious thought of perhaps tossing off one’s identity as a soldier. Outlandish theories aside, it can be understood that it was a foolish act to be tossing such an important and symbolic item to the modern soldier.
The final significant problem, which is probably the strongest argument against throwing the JOCKEY CAP, would be the inappropriate situation when which it was thrown. Similar to the age-old question “If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?”, if the cap was exclusively thrown about in the relative privacy of the bunks upstairs, the problem would not exist. However, against all common sense, this act of tomfoolery was performed in full view of several sergeants and was disrespectful towards Sergeant JT. This shows disregard for upper ranks, which violates the core values of Professionalism and Discipline. Not hearing Sergeant JT’s instructions properly may cause us to fall-in afterwards at the wrong moment, wasting time for everyone within the company when it could’ve been avoided by paying attention at the right moments. Even worse: if extremely important information had been handed down (for instance, the proper way to activate a mini-shrike), the neglect of such information may very well lead to disastrous consequences during live firings or war-time.
Ultimately, the act of tossing a JOCKEY CAP may be seen as an innocent thing to do, but as it leads to inattentiveness and thus to negligence and ignorance, it may result in much more than an angry sergeant. It is neither the JOCKEY CAP nor the tossing, but the lack of discipline and attention that is the issue. Thus, the act of tossing of the JOCKEY CAP in itself is not only inherently wrong; it was also performed at the wrong time and wrong place.
Donn flashed a wide grin and came close for a hug.
“Oh man, thanks so much for coming down to support me! Really do appreciate it a lot!”
a pat on the back means you want to let go don’t pat his back don’t pat his back don’t pat it
“No problem, I’ve always liked your picture… shootingy… skill-stuff.”
oh god you magnificent moron
Changing the subject, I held up the bag I was holding and Mark drew the stalk of broccoli out.
“Donn,” Mark drew out, with a sense of purpose, a stalk of broccoli. “Here are the flowers we decided to get you.”
With a straight face, Donn wielded the stalk, “Guys, I really don’t know what to say- This is amazing!”
Mark pointed out words “CERTIFIED FRESH ORGANIC” on the label.