Category: NS

  • My Family, Everywhere I Go

    My Family, Everywhere I Go

    It’s reservist time again.

    Reservist feels like an odd… wacky… social experiment where all of us poorly adjusted, middle-aging-towards men exhibit all kinds of weird behaviours.

    I wouldn’t call these behaviours “toxic masculinity”, because I found myself on the giving and receiving end of that stick. (gay joke)

    There’s this guy in my bunk called Gabriel.

    For some reason, his actions provoke the ever-fucking ire out of me (I’m literally ignoring what he’s saying right now, with my earphones on and typing into this phone)

    He’s like if God decided that Hercules didn’t need so many trials, and instead mashed all my traumas into a single being-

    He hovers over me, backseat-advising as I attempt to practice assembling and disassembling a chainsaw.

    He says, and I say this as someone attempting to be compassionate, the dumbest fuckingest unnecessariest shit ever.

    When anyone in an area asks a question, aimed toward or away from him, he would answer in the smarmiest fucking way, especially if he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. His answers are like stockbrokers’ advice, statistically worse than a coin flip.

    He acts out in stupid ways, like driving recklessly, giving stupid threats that can be dismantled by calling his shit out and forcing himself into conversation.

    He pays off his debt of being socially cloying with literal gifts of chocolate and beer, an act which I absolutely hate but accept anyway.

    I’d be content with ending this here, but for my hero’s journey to be complete, I need to sink my teeth into my judgement. I need to bare my fangs of projection of inner hatred and trauma.

    Gabriel is one of the angels sent from heaven to tell me exactly that.

    God will pass me my metaphorical ticket to heaven (enlightenment), if I were to realise that Gabriel is not a dick, cunt or asshole or any part in between.

    He is just what he is; a guy who tries too hard for my attention, and I withhold it from him…

    Just as the people I crush after and try hard for, “withhold” it from me.

    Gabriel exhibits so many features of my brother as well: Anxious attempts to answer any questions posed to the family, to soothe a chaotic father. Cloying, awkward, inauthentic ways to attempt to bond, which are still applaudable as attempts to bond. False nonchalance in a bid to appear mature.

    And I tend to… unfairly… (you don’t know how hard it is for me to admit that) translate so many of his utterances and “troll-speak” into malicious, vile words that are personal.

    My bunk mates don’t see as much a problem in him as I do, which brings to call something Ping mentioned a day ago, that everyone is triggered by different things and it’s okay to disagree on the nature of someone else.

    Believe me, I feel like a cunt for writing all that shit about him above, and I feel like performing desecration just for writing his homophobic, showoff-ish, piece-of-lying-ass into this post.

    Under all the layers of grungy paint, is someone who is not my brother or father, who is actually real and wants to be my friend and is confused as to why I’m so cold towards him because he offered me advice on how to shack up the chain on the chainsaw.

    I took melatonin and I’m gonna crash, will update later? Reservist sucks cos I’m tired and the lack of female figures makes this such a ripe ground for male trauma.

    My next step is to then listen to his bullshit. And understand who he is beyond someone who exists so superficially similarly as my brother that I dread being in the same room as him.

  • It’s Always the Evenings

    It’s Always the Evenings

    Orlando International Airport, Florida

    I turned on the knob that sends water to the toilet hose, but it sprayed towards the toilet paper, a full roll, and I don’t know, but it feels at least 1/3rd wet.

    I feel bad, because that is a tremendous waste of toilet paper.


    Reservist starts tomorrow, and yesterday, it felt like it was gonna be hell.

    Today, not so much. Or maybe I’m catatonic. Here’s how I’m dealing with it.

    I’ve just had a short nap. I’m lying on bed, fetally, opening Instagram, closing Instagram, opening reddit, closing reddit, opening Instagram and noticing this behaviour.

    I’m slapping myself on the wrist for the mindless attempt at escapism.

    The world is tinted with a dull faintly purple light. It makes me nervous.


    I have poor affinity with the evenings.

    I like to visit my friends’ houses. It paints their routine, what they come home to see. Where they lounge when they’re safe. What bed they text me from. What fits into their mental maps.

    In the evenings, when I’m alone, I fantasise about how my friends are spending time with their families.

    Sitting around the dinner table, around the TV, watching another movie in the Bourne series.

    Maybe they’re showing another kinder, more genuine side of their selves. Maybe they’re different and meaner. Maybe they’re mellow. Maybe they take charge for their family issues. Maybe their parents are still Gods.


    It’s weird (or maybe it totally explains) because I don’t like to stay at home.

    Too much sarcasm from dad. Too much anger from Kor. Too much anxiety from mom.

    I’ve inherited all of those neuroses from all of you guys. I don’t like it. I don’t need more of it.

    Mom always jokes (I’m sure that she means it, though) that she doesn’t want me to be like a tenant in this house.

    I should put in some effort in our relationships, shouldn’t I?


    Of course, I always wait until moments like these before thinking that I shouldn’t take things and people for granted.

    One of my biggest fears is not getting enough sleep, or power for my phone.

    Both ways to disengage and teleport into the future. Maybe I should stay present more- oop there we go again.

    I can do this! Everyone does! What’s a little sweat and sand in your crack?

  • Protected: 0.5mg, Avoid Alcohol

    Protected: 0.5mg, Avoid Alcohol

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  • ORD LO

    image

    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.

  • 2015

    2015

    As I’ve done for the past 2 years, I headed down to the ArtScience Museum to watch the fireworks again.

    Fireworks aren’t ever the same in photos or film; you can’t replicate the fantastic shockwaves from each blast nor the chorus of the human spirit, crowds thousands-strong, joyfully yelling in unison. You’ll miss out on having a smile filling from the showers of brilliant sparks, so close, it’d be like golden sand spilling between your fingers.

    The claps and booms were seemingly unending, but when it finally did, the jostling crowds and long journey drifted my mind and body lost once more.

    (more…)

  • A Christmas without Caroling

    Christmas this year wasn’t spent on what would’ve become a tradition: walking down Orchard alone and sitting occasionally to write about things that made me nervous and things that could’ve been. Instead, it was spent at home watching videos with my brother and aunt and laughing temporary laughs. My Santa hat, stitched from 2 smaller ones in order to fit my huge head, is lying about abandoned.

    My stars were lucky to grant me a near full month of offs and leaves to end my year wisely with. I spent most of them playing games and buying games and thinking that I’ve been wasting myself away with games.

    I’d been yearning to tell others about what happened in Thailand and Batam (maybe the posts will be up some day), especially the darkest hours.

    In Thailand, having my preconceived ideas of “sin” performed (nothing sexual, I assure you) right before my eyes by those I respected the most, and having my self-esteem crumble to dust from a few playful insults.

    In Batam, the desperation to believe that the trip wasn’t as bad as I thought even though it drove me to silence and that one night when I sat, alone on a pier in God Knows Where, hoping that things would get better if I just sat it out… “Sinning”, as I would say.

    I’ve become way too cynical about life once again, and it’s really not good for me. My secret Santa got me a sketchbook and pencils, whilst I got mine a cookbook, which only just perpetuates the fact. I’m like a shitty car driven by a shitty driver; either stalling or sputtering or stopping or fuming when I encounter anything at all (coupled with the fact that I’ve yet to take my BTT too)

    The last three paragraphs may sound weird, because they’re for an old friend to read. And old friend, please ask me what’s going on, because I really want to tell you about it.

    Regular readers, the Thailand post will probably come up once I stop staying up till 2 for no goddamn reason.

  • Post-Thailand

    Post-Thailand

    [18 Nov 2015]
    I’m alone in the house, awaiting a package which I lamely arranged to be sent today, despite the fact that I was supposed to head out with a few friends for lunch.

    I miss Thailand.

    Usually, long times spent cooped up with dozens of other guys would result in both homesickness and arguments; neither of which actually happened.

    The weather decided to introduce itself with 3 days of intermittent showers, most times lasting no more than a few minutes, but with once lasting way into the night like the white noise of radio silence.

    My bunk, on the second floor, was a 50-metre long corridor split into 3 sections through the long-side: beds and lockers both on the left and right and an empty passageway through the middle, which were all shared by either 72 men or 100 men which the doors on both sides claimed in conflict.

    Much like in Jurong, I took pride in waking up the first every morning, setting my alarm (John Cena’s “The Time Is Now”) 10 minutes before the reveille timing so that I could pop down to the toilet (a separate block from the bunks), have my teeth brushed and face washed, come back up and turn the lights on to wake everyone else up. Every time I woke up, I’d look down the long aisle to see at least 31 other cadavers, still against cool fluorescent glow of the toilet block’s lights.

    The first couple of days were spent in denial / recuperating / doing stores, also termed as the admin phase (gonna steal Chin Ying’s terminology)

    [2 Jan 2015]
    People were adjusting to the new lifestyle of having to hand-wash clothes, and missing the canteen which had the most fantastic of food (which would numb our desire for canteen food in Jurong Camp months later). I say “missing” as the commanders erroneously allowed everyone to spend much of the first afternoon in the canteen purchasing a SIM card, which meant that everyone gorged themselves silly on wondrous Thai food and drinks.

    Me? I sat alone, benumbed by the thought of those I respected smoking and whilst gulping down Iced Cappuccino in a daze. This would be a trend for the next few times we visited the canteen.

    name tag
    Had a name tag made for my brother

    There were 2 brands of SIM card, TrueMove and AIS. Ray Yan, who’d arrived at Sai Yok Camp a week before, told me to purchase TrueMove as he was using AIS which was slower than molasses flowing uphill in January. I had to ask him several times about this due to my numbness and magical ability that day to lose all concentration once he mentioned the third word in any sentence (sorry).

    Unfortunately, as I would find out later, everyone who just arrived had bought TrueMove which meant that AIS was freed from its shackles and TrueMove became the new dial-up modem of this camp. Whatsapp messages took 2 minutes to transmit, media took 2 hours and Instagram was a luxury for those whom were willing to wake up at 2AM to browse it.

    Beyond the first couple of days were preparations; stores had to be moved, sandbags were to be filled and…

    Ah, whatever I’d say would be kind of pointless seeing how nobody really cares and that I’ve written it down mostly in my little Moleskine.

    image

    This picture’s of a checkpoint we journeyed by on the fourth day as part of a navigation exercise. The locals were friendly and the food (coconut ice cream and Pad Thai) was ephemeral. There was a point where we set off from a checkpoint and bashed through a forest, a river (which I fell into, obviously) and at least 2 farm plots before reaching the original checkpoint again. Fond memories.

    Every night when we returned to our bunks after dinner (excellent, by the way), we would find quite a few flying bugs on our beds which became a non-issue by pretty much the second night.

    There was a night where I laid on my bed and watched Perks of Being a Wallflower which was a huge stress relief and made me feel empty for ages afterwards. It was raining, and the breeze tickled my toes.

    Beyond the admin phase was the training phase which condensed all we had learnt into 3 days of retraining.

    There was 1 final day of “recovery”, which meant doing stores for the whole damn day (imagine winding up 300m worth of wire 12 times). I got to go with the tonner to the vehicle sheds to attach a trailer, which is more fun than it sounds. I also got to play with puppies!

    Then came the actual exercise.

    Deployment was done in an open field. I nearly suffered from a heat stroke, kids ran about selling drinks to us and life went on.

    The rest was interesting as it was mostly detached from what we had learnt from the past 1 year or so of being Combat Engineers. I don’t think I’m allowed to say much on a public platform as this but… let’s just say the other platoons did what they were supposed to do and we were allocated all the explosive tasks.

    I remember sitting alone at the base of Eagle Hill, under the glorious full moon, fiddling with wires and blocks of explosives and tossing bamboo leaves all over as camoflauge.

    I slept on the grassy ground near the detonators and woke up to a crimson sky and birdsong. From the utility pouch of my vest, I retrieved some biscuits and started munching them, amusedly being reminded of a scene in Fury. (As I always do in my usual dreamy state, I associate cool movies with what I do in life)

    Later on, the explosives went off without a hitch and the shockwaves were an odd relief, like a bugle that indicated that all was over and I could relax.

    After the final detonation of another charge 2 days later, I wrote a quote from Fury on the walls of the bomb shelter: “A man is only as strong as the man beside him.”

    I like to think that it’s gonna inspire someone in the future, at least more than the 300 ‘ORD LO’ messages scratched around the bunker as well.

    When it all ended, heat rashes merely prickled my skin and we spent an afternoon dragging stores back to the containers and cleaning ourselves up.

    The next 2 days were simply packing what was left and drinking ourselves silly in the evenings.

    The final day was spent waiting 3 hours at our void deck with our duffle bags for the buses to arrive, going to the JEATH war museum and going to the airport.

    Before we got on the plane back, I had dinner with my #ULTIMATEFANS friends at the airport; an all-day breakfast, which included a cup of coffee, milk, orange juice and a plate of bacon, salad, bread and eggs, together with a mug of Singha. This meant that I had 4 cups of drink and a table full of mockery. Who cares, I got tipsy for the third night running.

    On the plane, I got a playful punch on the arm, and I smiled for the last time in Thailand.


    [29 Jan 2015]
    There’s much that I’ve left out, about the smokes and the scorn and the but my mood isn’t like that right now.

    33 days to ORD and I’m weirdly not looking forward to it…

  • Conversations #2

    [SHAO YUN is outside the 3DIV auditorium with his mom after a parent engagement regarding EX CLAYMORE.]

    INT. 3DIV AUDITORIUM – EVENING

    FADE IN:

    Shao enters the frame, holding his mother by the hand. He notices HIM ushering people about, hesitates, and approaches HIM to give HIM a poke on the stomach.

    SHAO

    Hello!

    HIM

    Hey! Not having any refreshments?

    SHAO performs an amazing internal struggle at the sheer excitement of being replied to.

    SHAO (yelling softly)

    THIS IS MY MUM BUT SHE KEEPS CALLING HERSELF MY SISTER

    SHAO breaks into a hurried trot as he drags his mother off-screen. A distant audience laughs at his antics.

    QUICK-CUT:

    INT. BUS – EVENING

    SHAO is sitting next to his mother, and slaps his face after a pause. The exact same audience laughs and applauds his foolishness as the scene fades out.

    FADE OUT.

  • Twenty

    This date begs for a blogpost commemoration, and my mind unspools unevenly in response.

    I had blissful day out with friends that were separated for slightly too long. Nothing had soured nor aged, and everything will be good in retrospect.

    I don’t have much time to say enough now, and when this goes live, I’ll be laying, as spread-eagled as the too-small bunk-bed would allow, writhing in sweat and discomfort.

    There’s so much I could write about; the sorrow at my head’s largesse; the broken earphone jack; the shirt I always wanted to get; the primal glee a trampoline park provides or many other things.

    Add something new to that list: the incandescent smile, with beautifully creased eyes, and the wave I received a few hours ago. Made me blush for ages.

    I’m twenty and I feel no different!

  • Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked

    It’s been a real long time since my last blog post; opening a new post always results in a new draft being made, wlth my attention being rapidly drawn to the other 49 tabs I have opened.

    First off; I’ve recently moved back to Jurong Camp from Seletar Camp, having “graduated” from a 6-week construction course where I learnt how to construct a “modular kit” (a toilet) while learning about piping, concrete laying, wiring and building a structure for the kit itself. This means I take an hour and a half more to travel home now in addition to all the guard duties and ARFs I’ll be undertaking.

    I’ve changed from a sad sack who’s constantly worrying about relationships to a hot-headed asshole who is quick to offend and finds fault everywhere. I find it less easy to empathise with, and past friendships seem to mean less which I feel ashamed of. I take turns to hate people and not talk to them for weeks on end (my record was 6 weeks) and self-reflection to “change” often boils down to nothing. And I often ask myself (and others) why I work so hard just to get no recognition.

    I’m constantly tired of how relatively weak I am; I’ve passed my IPPT at long last, but the many others in my company have obtained Silver. I’m still overweight and maybe moreso than last time (actually no).

    Uh, so a set of lyrics.

    I can’t slow down, I can’t hold back
    Well you know, I wish I could
    There ain’t no rest for the wicked
    Until we close our eyes for good