Casa De Shao

Category: NS

  • Conversations #1

    “You smell like my ex.”

    “Wait, you have an ex?”

    The 12 fans we had in the bunk did not stop the air from being heavy and warm.

    I lounged next to Jonathan, eyes drifting about in boredom. I’d known Jon since the Field Camp during the BMT phase; I fell out during the second day of my company’s Field Camp and ended up joining Cougar in theirs, where I met him.

    “Yeah, I do.”

    His boyish face made me doubt the existence of his current girlfriend in the first place. The fans hummed, people turned in their beds and the heat still hung about. The washing machine beeped, signifying the end of another cycle.

    A little conversation was made about that ex of his before I raised my phone up to check on my Clash of Clans.

    “Well,” I changed the subject, “Maybe it was the soap I used. And I just remembered,” (I had asked him this several times before) “You thought I was gay the first time you saw me?”

    “Um, yeah.” He made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.

    Attempting to conceal all concern from my voice, I mumbled, “Why the hell?”

    “Probably the aura you gave, I suppose.”

    “Ha! Heh.”

    Oh, the heavy air, the damned heavy air.

  • Still Clueless

    I haven’t written anything on this thing for some time. I spent the last 10 minutes thinking of how to explain why, but it’s pointless so never mind.

    The New Year! 2014 was supposed to be promising. But it’s been bleak. Plenty of introspective journeys while doing absolutely boring things, ranging from MRT rides to spacing out during conflicts. I’ve worked hard last year for damned weeks and yet others with more “prominent” achievements get recognised. Result? I’ve become an absolute slob. A shortcut-seeking sod looking for an exit for everything I’ve been doing. I’ve become an elitist who downplays the achievements of others whenever convenient. I’ve become one real hot-headed douche who cares not about others. Swears flow, excuses are made, tempers rise. I’m bloody damned aware that I’ve become worse and I’m bloody damned aware that I won’t give a rat’s ass in the future, but I’m a worse person so to speak. Can’t allow that to happen. I’m working on it.

    Chinese New Year! I am no longer in need of convincing that I cannot hold my liquor. A single shot is too much.

    Next. They’ve made me do something about my fitness. I run and do statics whenever they want me to. Fair enough! I’m losing weight slowly again; hope I can find the strength I used to have back in J1.

    I’m learning more about myself. I hope I’m wrong about some things.

    holy fuck I’m gonna be 20 this year. DAMN IM OLD

    Also, I’ve become happier ever since entering this goddamn hellhole where everyone’s a weird-ass mofo, (myself included so the part above where I said I’m elitist doesn’t apply here) which in all honesty scares me to shit. Perhaps the complete change in environment makes it easier to distance myself from all the sadness I’ve used to have. It’s making me much more brutish though (I’m talking throwing cement-grade biscuits at people’s faces out of pure anger), which I definitely detest about myself.

    Finally, I think it’s time to revamp my about-me and maybe even the whole concept of this blog altogether. I’m interested in Web design again, but it’s a little daunting. I should start with a website. Man, in retrospect, my design skills sucked.

    Maybe I’ll write something more fluent next time when it’s not 1:35am.

    *Note: the above post may have sounded super vague, but I’m trying to not mention anything specific about my “job” now. Don’t want to think about it.

  • Why I Should Not Be Throwing My Jockey Cap; An Essay

    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.

    [1] Overheard

    [2] John R. Elting, page 445 “Swords Around A Throne – Napoleon’s Grande Armee”, ISBN 0-7538-0219-8

  • Near Miss

    Sometimes I get this feeling that, well, everything is dandy and fine, because I forget and I forget the reasons why things plague me.

    2 days ago, I met a fairly close friend of mine at the bus stop below my block, where I found him smoking a stick in a bid to prove to himself -and me- that he was in such a deep pickle that it was absolutely necessary to light up (again) to solve his problems.

    I considered calling him a dumbass and leaving right there and then… until he lifted his sleeves. The cuts on his arms dug into my mind, and I mentally slapped myself for being a callous prick; the kind which I would call all the guys around me, the self-absorbed men I swore to never become, the kind which I prided myself to not be.

    I told him to get help, the kind I never got, and replied in a frustration… a frustration that I had sensed from those trying to help my pessimistic self. I’m sorry and I really am.

    —

    Things change, my friends, and I’m nearly giving up… it’s too much damned work to keep anything the same any more, and I can find my wide-eyed hopefulness slipping through my fingers like the finest of sand.

    But I’m too good for that, I tell myself. The days still pass, and I try to remind myself that “being myself” is simply… a matter of being the best me I can be.

  • INTERMISSION I: FP EGR PNR

    I hope I can finish this before the buzz wears off. (no that was not what she said) That glass was horrible.

    ———–

    You are posted to: 30SCE

    Your vocation is: FP EGR PNR

    ———–

    Every 20+ weeks, a phenomenon in Singapore happens where a 3,000-strong mass of hairless adolescents throw their jockey caps and slack for 5+ days. At the end of this period, a haunting groan echoes throughout the island at precisely 1000H, when they receive their postings.

    Where has my happiness gone? Seems like it can be found at the far-West Jurong camp, where I’m due on Monday (and perhaps the rest of my restless days as a soldier).

    I’ve at least 2 people I know who are already/going over there, and I count on Chin Ying’s words that it’ll be much better than it sounds.

    —

    On the eventful (a fast march, pissed-off recruits and no-pissing oh my!) route march, I lamented to my friends about the sadness that was human selfishness, only to receive the wonderful, golden gift of silence.

    My addled brain will now repeat this mistake, albeit to a web-based audience.

    Have you ever truly tried to live in another’s shoes?

    When travelling through a street full of strangers, have you ever wondered what led every one of them to the street? What led the busker to play his guitar so badly on this very street? Is there more to this elderly mother than her calm demaneour? Would this uninterested looking fellow surprise me with tales of his very own life?

    These questions first hit me when I was travelling around China in a tour bus in December, 2011. As the bus trundled up the spiral hills of Xinjiang, I saw an elderly woman walking alongside the road, toting a pack full of firewood. As I laid lazily on the backseat, the mad contrast of our current lives confronted me,  and I started to wonder. Did that woman live in an apartment or a shack? Was she thinking of her children? What was she doing?

    And I laid back, and wondered a little more.

    And recently, I marched past a group of cyclists, and wondered if they knew what we went through for the past 19 weeks. I wonder how my busy friends feel about me now, and whether they’d be much more happy in my footsteps.

    And we’re all selfish assholes aren’t we?

    Whenever a problem comes, we’re quick to point fingers and shift the blame and jump to conclusions and start flames. We never consider the lives of the others and we love to pretend our problems don’t end. Of course, this leads to misunderstandings that should’ve never happened, and as a result, beautiful things end too soon and the honest never really get the recognition they deserve.

    Every conversation starts with a “me” in mind, and whatever the others say are usually heard, but not listened to, until a gap introduces itself. The one that kept mum will spring his mouth, ready to be the next presenter, and this will go on and on until everyone’s exhausted their words and become disinterested. And of course, altruism is but a method of self-soothing, isn’t it? People do things ultimately for themselves; even the most innocent of actions are just behaviours to make themselves feel better.

    Since when have I become so pessimistic? Such a view of humans is definitely overtly in the negative and I do know that I can be easily proven wrong. I’m bloody selfish and I’ve caught myself conversation-hogging a few times too.

    Excuse: We’re all not perfect.

    But… knowing is half the battle, isn’t it?

    I’m not making sense, heh.

    —

    Next: Absurdism; why life is pointless until you agree with that fact.

    And I’m sorry for not sleeping early, as I’d told you.

  • And I Dare You to Survive

    And I Dare You to Survive

    It’s been ages since my last post; forgive my lack of updates.

    I’ve been weak- Correction: I am still weak.

    Every week, it’s the same damn thing; I don’t look forward to the next week, I build up a steadily worsening dread that nearly inflates to a panic attack (I am not kidding)

    It’s a sad fact that every Singaporean son has to go through a ritual, of transforming from a mere boy to a man through 2 years of training.

    That adulthood is nothing but a responsibility forced upon you, which would normally dawn upon you one year or another. Only in our darling country is it a law.

    Every week is a series of dreams and nightmares; I wake up from one to another, hoping that the next day might be better than the last. The nightmares never end, and the dreams end too soon.

    With equal dread and helplessness, of course, the fact that I’ve still to finish my 2 years and I’m not even through my first journey yet.

    Every time we go through a simple set of physical trainings or even a 4km route march, I’d come out of it half-dead, face wet with perspiration and with the most tired face I’d give; one, which many people have commented, looks like I’ve seen death itself in the eye.

    I’m no stranger to failure.

    I’m weak, I’m close to breaking, and I want to give up.

    I understand that many might look at this attitude with skepticism.

    And I have no words for that.

  • Of the Precious

    Of the Precious

    Truth be told, I didn’t actually finish the last post because I was too busy preparing to book in the last week. I have an hour and a half left now, though.

    Each day is an exercise in being strong about all the trainings and punishments till dinner, while each week is an exercise in living till the next weekend. And as each day passes by, I amass more and more “I’ll do”s, such as “I’ll go out alone on Saturday night”, “I’ll find out the name of that vintagey-classical design” or “I’ll finish that card”. Not too different from the schooldays we used to have.

    Outta time!

  • Aut Inveniam Viam Aut Faciam

    Aut Inveniam Viam Aut Faciam

    I’m currently having (In? On? Through? Silly prepositions.) my second book-out, while most of my friends are having their second-last.

    Where do I begin? I’m alive, of course.

    I stubbed my right index finger a couple of days ago. It swelled slightly and hurts when I bend the first joint. I wag the finger as a badge of courage, hard work and (If only the cause were as nobel as it looks; I stubbed it in a game of Captain’s Ball)

    Life right now is very different from the one before. Much more than simply the obvious change in my weekdays; coming back home is a strange experience in the way that my current life as a soldier-to-be has diverged from the life I used to have. Both lives seem to be playing themselves out at the same time, and there’s a sense of detachment that forms from the surreality of returning to an unfamiliar place.

    They like to say that tough times don’t last, but tragically, neither do the good ones. The greatest irony (I think I’m using the term wrongly here) is that I dread returning home. Returning home is simply (to put it lightly and totally ) a weekly revisitation of how I used to live, except… it’s different. Everything feels the same, but it feels like I’ve left a part of my soul in the past, the one that’s comfortable with everything

  • An Invocation for Beginnings (adapted)

    I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m going to fuck this up.

    I don’t want to start, but I will.

    This is an invocation for anyone who hasn’t begun, who’s stuck in a terrible place between zero and one.

    Let me realize that my past failures at follow-through are no indication of my future performance. They’re just healthy little fires that are going to warm up my ass.

    If my FILDI (fuck it let’s do it) is strong, let me keep him in a velvet box until I really, really need him. If my FILDI is weak, let me feed him oranges and not let him gorge himself on ego and arrogance.

    If I catch myself wearing a too-too (too fat, too late, too old) let me shake it off like a donkey would shake off something it doesn’t like.

    Let me think about the people who I care about the most, and how when they fail or disappoint me… I still love them, I still give them chances, and I still see the best in them. Let me extend that generosity to myself.

    Let me find and use metaphors to help me understand the world around me and give me the strength to get rid of them when it’s apparent they no longer work.

    Let me thank the parts of me that I don’t understand or are outside of my rational control like my creativity and my courage. And let me remember that my courage is a wild dog. It won’t just come when I call it, I have to chase it down and hold on as tight as I can.

    Let me not be so vain to think that I’m the sole author of my victories and a victim of my defeats. Let me remember that the unintended meaning that people project onto what I do is neither my fault or something I can take credit for.

    Let me remember that the impact of criticism is often not the intent of the critic, and when I eat my critique, let me be able to separate out the good advice from the bitter herbs.

    There are few people who won’t be disarmed by a genuine smile. A big impact on a few can be worth more than a small impact.

    Let me take the idea that has gotten me this far and put it to bed. What I am about to do will not be that, but it will be something.

    There is no need to sharpen my pencils anymore. My pencils are sharp enough. Even the dull ones will make a mark.

    Warts and all:

    Let’s start this shit up.

    And God, let me enjoy this. Life isn’t just a sequence of waiting for things to be done!

    —-

    The text was originally from the video linked below, by the most talented person called Ze Frank.

    [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYlCVwxoL_g]

    Day 1, see you in perhaps 19!