Rural Jurong

Escaping the clutches of the comforts of home, I jump on my bicycle to try out the new Park Connectors to see where they link to. I took the nearest entrance and went wild, exploring places I've haven't been to in years. Really feels great to cycle peacefully, without any distractions, cars, people, whatnot. The path looks abandoned though, a pity. More people should use the park connectors, which will lead to more of them being built! A bicycle highway, stretching all across the country, what fun!

Uh oh, road block. This wasn't here when I last came; my favourite railway bridge is blocked! Now I'm cut off from the other side of the park connector! A pity, I wanted to cycle to Clementi from here, a less stressful route then the usual. I can still squeeze past, but I'll have to carry my bike across, not so fun when it weights a fair bit. I crunch through the lalang, where my bicycle awaits me in all its shining glory. But I know that it's a pain to maintain, wielded by monkeys and fixed up by gorillas. But it doesn't take away its splendour as I behold it through the grass. Until the next maintenance schedule...

Onwards to Bukit Batok then, since the way to Clementi is blocked. On one side, the products of capitalism, tall buildings, offices, factories and containers. On the other, tall grasses, the remnants of a once vibrant forest. Cool and peaceful, only rotting railings and concrete banks mark it out as a canal instead of a river. Riding past the canal, I see the water level falling falling falling till its a trickle(?) The (mostly) dry canal entices me to take a walk down to explore, like the old days. Cartoon figures bearing stern messages signs along the pathways beseech me to think otherwise. I cycle on.

What ho! I spy three kids playing in the dry canal, sliding along the sides slippery with moss into the water. The air is filled with laugher and joy as they carry out their simple pleasures. They remind me of a past that wasn't too far removed from what they're doing, happier and simpler times. Headless of the dirt and injuries, they run down, gathering speed for a slippery slide into the water. Grey factory buildings; concrete, utilitarian and square, loom over them, a ghost of the future.

Up, up and away! Easier said then done, especially on a single speed steel roadster weighting about a hundred tons on the upslope. But where there's an upside there's a downside and I gather speed while moderating with careful applications of the brakes and a sharp lookout for obstacles. Signs on the side exhort me to get off and push, a thousand dollars in fine if not. I whizz past said signs without a care, paying as much heed to them as they do to me.

Bukit Batok, here we are! Yet I have a journey more to return home. Spending not a minute there I head on back home; the journey, not the destination the real pleasure. On my way back I encounter a heartwarming scene, a little boy cyclist rushing in aid of a fellow cyclist, his friend, whose chain has popped off the crank. Slowing down to give them space, I'm shocked to behold their size. Was I ever so small? So little? How did I manage to grow this big? Gods' grace indeed. Looking again at the little men, one chinese and the other malay, they remind me of times past when I did just the same. Cycling around with Fadhli with me, Liang Liang on the other side, as we took all obstacles in our stride, pedalling onwards till the day grows dim and even beyond. Alas alas, the bulldozers come, chewing up our homes; an obstacle we unfortunately could not withhold. But a good memory it remains and one that brings a smile on my face even as I cycle by towards home.

Down and up, left and right, the path now familiar. Another sight once was familiar but strange now to see; a chicken, yes a chicken strutting for all to see! Spotted it down the canal, innocuous in its presence. No bigger then a pigeon, black as charcoal but no stranger to me. It brings back yet more pleasant memories of roosters as beloved pets. It looks up as I past by it but doesn't utter a sound. As I stop and look back it carries on its task. I smile and carry on.

Last stop, Jurong Library, its cool air welcoming to all. I park my bicycle nearby as I stroll to a favourite seat, all but collapsing into it. Taking advantage of the excellent air-conditioning, I cool down before beginning a hunt for books. Some successful, some not so, I haul my catch to the counter and scan them in. Taking the time to secure them to my bicycle, I set off to my last destination, home.

Darker and darker it grows, my lamp chasing away the shadows, its white ghostly glare lighting the way home. I finally reach my door step, my journeys' end. As I enter, I let in fond memories and ghosts of the past yet of the present. They gather around and tell me of a time not so long ago, of a Jurong not of steel and concrete, but of brimming jungle and muddy swamp.

Rural Jurong.

Its been a while, thanks for waiting.

Cycling Expedition!

Well, not quite. Was on an impulse cycle around the neighbourhood today; didn't expect much, just hoping for a workout. Was supposed to cycle to the city for a test run but was lazy so this short trip was in compensation.

Didn't tire till the end of the course, averaging 25-30km/h weaving through the throng of people around Jurong Park. Then I came to the stop point where I last turned around due to the lack of light, pressing ahead I went onto an abandoned road and on till I came to a loop with an abandoned jetty at the side.

Abandoned jetty! The excitement in me grew as I approached with great expectations... To no avail. It was all fenced up and no exploration could be done. The spindly concrete piers and the forlorn steps leading to the open ground (the wooden flooring long since rotted through or removed) looked cool though, so it was frustrating to see and not being able to touch; but I managed to frighten a foreign worker nearby. It must have been my brand new Birkenstocks.

Moving on, I took a wrong turn and ended up along a semi abandoned stretch of road, connecting the former glories of the Japanese/Chinese Garden, several eateries and a turtle(!) farm. Now only the turtle farm and a few scattered eateries remain, the rest reverting to grassland with the odd patch of asphalt and decaying fences holding the ground. I cycled into a eatery/KTV outlet, still shorn in its gaudy 1970's heritage, imagining the time where only the well heeled (and amply endowed) parked inside, the rest having to fight for the lesser spaces outside. Now only the fading neon lights (Chivas 12 years, XO Martin) sigh at the glories long past.

I moved on, bypassing more empty lots, dreaming of lost places and imagining a better time. No trouble, I had the entire road to myself, not a car was present while I was on the road selfishly hogging two lanes to myself. I passed by an old eatery (excellent zi char, really must push my parents to return there for another meal) and a quaint old public toilet, straight from the pages of a 1970s' photo album. DO NOT TAKE WATER FROM THIS OUTLET, says the fading blue and white sign. The combined urinals, still proudly bearing their manufacturers' logos (so and so from Manchester, England, a relic from our colonial linkage) Chrome tapes polished by a million hands. Those awful squat toilets, hell to pay on the knees, with the water closets reaching to the ceiling. As I looked back, I could see my father at my age, walking out from the toilet, shaking the water from his hands onto the floor like how I did, climbing onto his motorbike and riding away. Nothing has changed from the scenery, except ourselves.

I wonder how long more can I enjoy this memory, what with the redevelopment of Jurong Lake park to a Hotel and lifestyle district. Hotels in Industrial Jurong! Mr Goh Keng Swee must be ever so proud at his little redeveloped swamp land.

I pedal on. A red structure caught my eye, a rope pyramid! And beside it, a skateboard park! Currently used by a toddler trying to scramble up the sides of the curve. Those skaters using the overhyped scape youth park would be better served using these facilities closer to home, honing up those skills before showing off in the city. But onto the Rope Pyramid! Scrambling up the sides like a little kid before lying on the ropes to enjoy the view and the breeze, what fun. Looking at my bicycle from above, all shiny in black and chrome (and sandy/muddy tires) makes me realise that yes, it has been far too long away from the saddle, away from the excitement, away from the thrill that used to drive me.

I miss my first real bicycle, a 100000kg steel Martin bike. With its cheesy SHIMANO logo (but with the cheapest components in place), no doubt remade into cars and tableware after I abandoned it for a life of computer games. No doubt I have spent the last few months repenting, cleaning up bike and bike parts from other similar abandoned bicycles. Their owners leaving them from another love, and I, picking up the pieces, restoring them to their former glories.

Then it was time to go back, whizzing on the asphalt again, past joggers, past other cyclists, past couples. jiggle through cars, up the ramp and down again. My legs are aching, my back strained, my heart is racing and I think:

So when's the next time?

Ride on.

th-ink

Thoughts and connections, frustrations and setbacks, ending in realization and liberation. Sometimes the mind has to be controlled, its hand held like a naughty boy, to prevent it from running down a metaphorical busy street.

Because with freedom and liberty comes a lack of discipline, structure and organisation. Ironically the things we fight most to break out of is the very thing we long for. The jail cell we thought we were in; a villa in actuality.
But what controls the mind? Can the mind control the mind, fighting it out like a endless civil war? Or are external factors, influences beyond our sight that are directing this charade, sitting behind a throne playing chess, playing out the pieces that comprise our lives.

But in the end, who gave them this power over us, if not voluntarily; in pursuit of dreams, goals, religion, fashion, love, sex, money.

th-ink. My thoughts out on electronic ink.

End-Joy

Pretty much sums up my Taiwan Trip.

---

$200 & Pride

Attained a marksmanship award during my Advanced Train fire Package. Total score 31/36. Coincidentally, I attained a score of 31/32 during my Basic Train fire Package back on the Island. Some things never change?

The difference is, besides the lower % score, I get to wear a 30c piece of cloth with crossed rifles. Specifically, Lee Enfield No.4 rifles, the rifles used by the British Army during WW2 and very accurate and effective weapons. A legacy of our colonial times imprinted in olive and black thread. (Its amazing how much information - useless it may be - one collects over a period of time.

What's more enticing is the $200 bounty attached to the award, slightly less then half of what we servicemen get, so its pretty decent indeed. Should have a shoot every month if it were up to me.

Predictably, some didn't quite make the grade and lost the opportunity to wear the badge or get the money. Others won the badge but because of re-shoots lost the chance of the money. But for most of us, the cloth badge wasn't part of the scheme of things at all. The $200 though, was very much in our minds.

A lack of pride? Not quite. A lack of proper motivation is how I see it. Being a small cog in a very big machine means you're often left alone. Most of the time, this is a good thing as we men can fly under the radar. However, it also means you're up for all the hard labour, mental work and general labour. The word "saikang" or literally, clearing up fecal matter, comes into mind. This is not too bad unless you consider the general lack of concern and understanding we are given. This is true among the sgt and officer class although they also get more ways to take care of themselves. Privilege of rank.

Pampered? Perhaps, but in all the wrong ways. The spring mattress, washing machines and electronic teaching aids are nice but common decency between men (more intelligent punishments, less tekans, less heavy handedness), proper allocation of roles (to make use of our individual strengths), more explanations to let us see the bigger picture (do and die, don't ask why - so last gen-) and general understanding between everyone from general to private will make everything better. It'll even feel good sleeping on even the sponge and spring contraption of yesteryear when you are imbued with a sense of purpose and belonging in the fabric of this nation. Then maybe Prime Ministers won't have to implore citizens for leaving the country and generals worrying that their National Servicemen will cut and run instead of heeding the call to arms.

Its been a mixed response to my first 8 months as a soldier. I have experienced plenty, gone through much and will go through more. When I relegate my uniform to the closet, will I remember to don it once again when my country calls?

Or will the passport and the car keys be more handy? Hmm.

---
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld from M1.

Unintended consequences

Friday. Book out day. Also area cleaning day. As my bunk mates and I tidy up our little home away from home, trading cleaning secrets and discussing future purchases of cleaning equipment, a sudden line of thought sparked:

"If nothing else, the Army is a very effective teacher of cleaning."

Doing 20 push ups for a speck of dust is very motivational to get the right tools and skills to combat dust and dirt. Even items like vacuum cleaners, Magiclean mops, wonder sponges (I kid you not, and it really works!) find their way into our bunks. Through painful trial and error we have also learnt how to polish windows, toilet bowls, urinals and scrub floors of boot stains. Officers, Sergeants, Men; all went through it before and have their own secret method to clean.

My friend returns, complaining that the only mop on our level has been misappropriated, probably by the guys at level 5. He storms up the stairs to liberate it as I note down in our purchase book: "Next book out, remember to buy mop and pail"


---

Watching paint dry

The paint on my bicycle frame is takes a week to dry! What's up with that! Isn't drying its only job? Its Unbelievable that paint can chow keng (slack off)!

Outsourcing the whole affair to the pros for a proper powder coating. That should solve matters for a good long time.


---

Running (wild)

Did 10:06 for my 2.4km today. Hmm, not too bad considering my relaxed schedule and that I have been averaging 10:30 - 11:10 for the past few days. Last time I did 09:55 was in BMT and in H(ell)awk company so things has improved, thank goodness. Not going to let the flab win the fight!

My bike is now in a terrible condition, the paint refuses to dry on the damned thing even though it has been days... I have been yearning to ride for such a long time that I forget how it has been to sit on the saddle and gun it out, just like the old days. I guess what I miss the most is the sense of freedom cycling presents you, aggravated by the National Service.

5km run tomorrow. I dread the feeling but know that once my feet pound the asphalt it takes a life of its own. Never mind the sweat, the ache, the pounding of my heart as I take the slope; chasing the wind, that's the only thing that matters for now.

Running wild. And free.


---
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld from M1.

random short.

I woke up from a dream with a start, my mind shifting gears like a racing car to get me back to speed. My limbs felt stiff after lying at an awkward position for too long. The harsh air con seared my throat while I was resting and now felt as if it was sandpaper. The air, cold and stale rubbed past the sandpaper in my throat. I need to take a breather, I thought, out of this damned coffin.

Stumbling from the truck, The air was cold and moist, clinging to me like a damp towel after showering. The sunlight was heavily filtered through the thick clouds, creating an almost halo like glow around the surrounding vehicles. It was almost like I was in Langkawi, back on a beach resort I've been to when I was 10. Of course, I wasn't in Langkawi, but on a hilltop and just climbed out of a command centre perched on a truck, not a luxurious beachfront hotel.

I leaned against the splotchy, olive green surface. It felt cool, despite the late hour. Men in green, like myself, scurry all over other vehicles, adjusting antennas, set up cables and go about their routine, while I observe them like as if they were in an exhibit in a museum or projected out on a large screen in a movie.

If this was really a movie, I would have lit a cigarette; watching the thin, wispy smoke trail swirl around until it was blown away by the wind while taking in the cold air and the gentle breeze. However it wasn't a movie. I wasn't observing a exhibit, but was part of it. Observed by others crowded in the sky, watching how our little lives play out.


---

temporary reprive

Its raining now, manna from the sky dropping on the parched earth. Dry grass soaking up its goodness, trees sigh their relief.

We stay in bunk, temporary confinement, as we wait out the weather. The cool breeze blows through, emitting their siren call. We, mere men, powerless again their magic, heed their call; to rest, to sleep.

Our men in their rooms, our sergeants, plot our doom, our ruin. Other men in green plough through the jungle, soaked to the bone, chilled to the heart. The siren call goes unheeded, blocked out by the shouting of the RSM and their own pounding heart, as they trek to one checkpoint after another.

But we lie in our bunks, books, phones, PSPs in our hands, knowing all too well it is a temporary reprive. An uneasy settlement.


---

approximations

Many National Servicemen buy bolsters.

Many National Servicemen are lonely.

Its not as unrelated as we think.


---

don't sign random pieces of paper

Officer: (plonks down forms for CL and S)
S: (stares at form) what's all this sir?
Officer: Never you mind, just fill it all up and return it asap.
CL: (peers at form) But sir, haven't we already handled this particular form in?
(The officer has, a mere few seconds earlier, made his getaway)
S: No use mate, he's made a run for it. (shrugs) I guess we've better get cracking.

- Couple of hours later -

S: Here are the forms that you wanted sir, both CL's and mine.
Officer: Ah, thank you.
S: (ahem) Sir, wouldn't you tell us a bit more about what the forms are for?
Officer: Oh, the other lot is short of men so we're posting you out during the exercise. Personal signalers to their Master Warrent (Officer) I believe. (Looking slyly at S) Wonder why they're short though...
S: (...) Would it be too late to take back the forms sir?
Officer: (vague smile before making his exit, down stage left)

*footnote* Warrent Officers, are the terror of the army, their main job being to enforce discipline, something they do very well.

S: (sadly informs CL about the outcome)
CL: (shakes head) can't trust 'em officers, not one bit.


---

commitment issues

"You have commitment issues, I understand"

Sharp, slightly condescending and painfully brutal; especially when it means so much to me, more then the dreary job I'm forced into, when it forms a part of the world of hope and dreams I escape into when things gets too boring, too hopeless, too painful.

But yet I understand, perfectly well, logically sound. The issue has spun on its inevitable route; one man cannot serve two masters.

The long wait continues.


---

Ace sets the pace!

Got into my new unit a few days back, the 2nd Singapore Infantry Brigade, Signal Company. The Brigade with a Ace of Spaces as a logo. Interesting. However, that isn't our final destination, which is the ever elusive 16 C4i Battalion, which is forming up in JUNE! Till then, we listen to conflicting orders, advice that might not apply to us in the new unit, promises of doom as we switch over and a lack of blankets to cover us at night.

And we're participating in the YOG! Although we don't know whether we'll be deployed as ground staff (sir, the toilet is that way) or as mass dance teachers(!!!) Yes, the newest skill a signaler should be able to master, mass dance techniques! And apparently, a fuse blew somewhere in someone's mind. If it happens though, we are gearing up to fight to the death for the JC and poly slots.

We are slated to shift thrice in 1.5 years which means our house building plans (ie settling in and growing roots into our bunk) is delayed for a long while. Bureaucracy. Sucks. But after so many changes, we are quite used to the chaos. I think we'll grow to the place, after all it is quite a comfy hole we have here.

Many changes, the end is not yet in sight. I am thinking of gearing up for my Combat Skills Badge, an award normally awarded to SGTs and officers but available for us too. My left chest is feeling rather drafty...

---

Oh? Oh! Oh....

Best Trainee.

And I was the last person to know.

---

Good bye

Our bunks are empty.

Our beds lie bare.

The windows are firmly shut.

The shadows, starting to claim back what is rightfully theirs.

Only dust, and fast fading memories remain

Of what was Platoon 2, Batch 13/09, Tactical Communications & Training Company, Signals Institute.

Speed Through Skill, Signals!

---

the road to hell is paved with good intentions

I realised I'm too uptight about many things!

Money / Finances; because the guy has to bring home the bacon, a preprogrammed chinese application that can't be deleted.

Friendship; too choosy and somewhat neglectful.

Relationships; No money, no time, no desire.

Then it hit me, I'm such a boring person then! A scrooge with no friends and no relationships.

I set out with the best of intentions to transform myself through a hip and young campaign!

...

Then I realised that that would be exactly what a boring old civil servant would think of. Truely the road to hell is paved with good intentions, all the way to the fire pit.

here we go again

Hustle and bustle all around, packing bags and moving things about.

Leaving this home of carefully arranged towels, highly polished boots and blue sheets.

Happy yet apprehensive of the Big Change.

But our time is up and off we go.

Memories and stories packed carefully in our duffle bags

As we set sail to our latest port of call.

---

Mandai Hill Camp

16 C4i Battalion

Here we go again...

Boobs and Brains, or the deprivity of men stranded among other men for too long a period.

Scene: Parade Square. Private S,C,M,J sitting in neat rows and awaiting orders with the rest of the platoon. A platoon of OCTs, Officer Cadet Trainees, marches by, a female OCT within causing much commotion.

S: (Stares at a female OCT marching by)
C: (Observes S's intent look) Whattheheck dude!
S: Hey now, at least she's easy on the eyes then the rest of the dudes here.
C: Easy on the eyes? What, are you blind? If it came to that choice I rather be gay!
M: I would bang anything that moves!
S/C: You would. S: What happened to character and smarts and whatnot? Brains! Thats what attract me!
J: But didn't you go leering at her? Don't tell me were staring at the size of her head?
M: (snicker) Its pretty much flat country we've got there!
S: You're getting it all wrong! I believe in everything, there is a balance. Thus, if a girl's too pretty, she loses out someplace else.
M: I prefer bigger boobs to brains!
C: You would.
J: Actually, I like girls like that too!
S: Is everyone mad? Doesn't anyone appreciate character anymore?
C: ... Too much character is bad for health.
M: And it works for ugly girls too! Cover the top, screw the base!
S: How did this conversation turn out this way?

The OCTs leave for lessons. Our sergeant turns up for our own.

M: Sergeant, would you want that Female OCT to stay on?
Sergeant: No way, her Boobs are far too small.

---

EDIT: Unfortunately, this story is based on a true story...

...

there, hiding in between the sentences, there lies meaning!

S: Good Morning

M: Hey there

S: Actually, I didn't mean what I said; I'm sorry.

M: ? What are you trying to say then?

S: What I wanted to say was, I. Love. You.

But, its far too late for that.


---

positive(!) thinking(?)

"When the Israelites saw Goliath, they were all cowed by his size and strength. When David saw Goliath, he thought, "This man is so big, I can hit him blindfolded!""

Something learnt in church today. Postive thinking, use it.

good / bad day

Its a good day when you rest for 15 minutes, when you've been up and on for 15 hours.

Its a bad day when a guy rope snaps, bringing down a 9m antenna (but good that its not you).

Its a good day when you sit in the shade, drinking ice water while the rest still flounder in the scorching sun, struggling to raise an antenna.

Its a bad day that you had to do the same in the blazing sun, sweat dripping off you and metal scorching hot.

Its a good day when your halyard flies to the highest branches that many don't reach.

Its a bad day to hear an ambulance flash and horn past you for someone else. Thrice.

Its a very good day when you end it all on your bed, taking a good long nap.

---

Its a bad day when you realise you've slogged for 23 hours for a 26cent piece of cloth.

random quotation

"Mackie? M16? Whats the difference? They still end things with a bang!" - Han

Awesome.

the night before, or, impending doom.

The storm clouds gather, confering for violent action;

Lightning rumbles in the distance, promises of bad returns.

We huddle a little closer, an illusion of safety.

It, it approaches....

under fire!

When I was young, I longed for the excitement of war, the exhilration of battle, fought out in my backyards with sticks, stones and a great deal of imagination.

Those days are over, but the excitement remains. Instead of imaginary conflict, real crisis has taken over with snap decisions taken and given under fire. A Mackie instead of a M16; the equipment is different, the battles the same.

Some people think spending 6 hours of your hard earned break on show is a waste. When you're having that much fun, you don't count the hours. Just the experience. And the cash. And the girls. What more can be asked for?

A slight shuffle of feet for mankind, but a giant step for me.

I passed IPPT! Finally my training has paid off for my pull ups. It remains an obstacle but much less so then before. Not quite He Man but its gratifying to see the results of your labour :)

procrastination

I must be the laziest person in the world. My bicycle project lies in pieces, months after I've salvaged the pieces. The materials clog up the common hallway and only the patience of my neighbours allow it to remain, a car wreck of parts.

My room looks like a tornado went through it, after since I've rearranged everything to be more sensible. Scattered parts of a hundred projects, all waiting their turn to be completed.

Even my photography materials, my cameras and film lie forgotten, just shy of being abandoned. Hundreds of dollars of equipment, left to waste.

Time is short, time is tight, no time for anything at all I lament. I book out on friday and book in on sunday and everything happens in between. But time, so precious and hard fought for is spent needlessly, in front of the computer, lazing around, wandering in futile pursuit. Like a beggar, upon finding himself a gold coin, wastes it on beer, wine and women.

Time waits for no one. My self discovery, self learning, self adventure through the world of books and magazines starts tonight. Salvaging the wreckage of each day by learning something new, every day.

random contemplations

I decided today would be washing day. Armed with the necessary items, I strolled to the washing point. For the discerning clothes washer, there are three locations to work from, namely in the toilet where 5/6 ventilation fans don't work, a trip down 6 stories (and back up again) to the washing machines or a steel sink with a view. Steel sink it is then. Wetting my clothes, I then sprinkled a goodish amount of soap powder (ATTACK! brand) before scrubbing away. I also took advantage of the view to admire the setting sun with two of Singapore's National Birds (Construction Cranes) still hard at work on the horizon, building yet another condominium unit not 6 inches away from my camp. Land is scarce in Singapore, yet we have maybe 5 golf courses here. The irony. A platoon of men march pass towards the admin block. OCTs, judging from the volume. Us men and SCTs can't be bothered to do more then the minimum, the norm.

Then a thought inserted itself in my mind; how are we going to defend this country of ours without grievous loss? An invading army can bombard us and we will lose by the sheer economic loss. And so my friend argued too, bravely, at the board of judges during her SAFOS (scholarship) interview, maybe one of the most prestigious in Singapore. Taking the initiative, the First strike was another possibility; as the old saying goes, 30 minutes after country M declares war, we'll be hundreds of KM inside her! But in this age of terrorism, how can you be assured of the first blow and a quick and swift victory?

I am been avoiding the obvious answer to this question, an answer drummed into me through the various educational institutions I attended. Mao, Stalin and Hitler would be jealous of what we have in the latest brainwashing techniques. Not fear, nor values or hate drives it, but money. Economic progress, everything else is sacrificed to this alter in the temple of Singapore. Hence why I link the economic downfall to be Singapore's defeat. But I digress.

We, we are the saviours of this land! But what poorer saviours there are, none can fathom. Our education system, vaunted for its high quality of graduates also has a track record of one faced, answer driven blanks rolling off the assembly line. Neither are we as physically strong as the previous generation, the privilege of motorised vehicles, escalators, elevators and other mechanical advantages. Our westernised and international outlook has backfired, resulting in a brain drain that has the Prime Minister appearing on print and on screen, begging for them to stay.

A lot to think about while doing the washing. In the end, I mused as I washed up, we are what we choose to be unless we choose to follow whatever circumstance "forces" us to do. It is up to us to change this state or to abandon it. Whatever happens, I am proud of Singapore and wish to serve and protect this nation of my loved ones and friends.

I hung my clothes to dry at the drying racks. They still felt a bit soapy.

in the pits

Its hard to keep enthusiasm for something you never meant to happen. And thats keeping you away from your dreams. We all kid ourselves that its for the country, but what are we anchored if not solely our loved ones and money? Everything else has been prostituted in the name of progress. I see like minded people, with lofty dreams and visions, high achievers forced down, eclipsed by this spectre. A spectre is apt as the darkness ahead is gloomy and I cannot see my way forward. Nothing is celebrated except skiving, a perverse communism that oppresses hard work and rewards the unjust. But time and time again I see the light, praise the Lord! I refuse to drop mu standards and work now to reap the harvest later. No one may appreciate my work, a simple humble soldier; but I am determined to show my worth, to hold my head high and proud of my duty. Training perhaps for difficult times ahead.

lazy afternoon

the fans are turning 'round and 'round, issuing man made wind.
little blessings to an army boy just off duty.
a forgotten book lies ajar, its owner off on patrol;
a chattering of little sounds from the card game just below
making me feel comfortable yet strangely all alone.
its time to rest, time to sleep, not time for any other;
for duty calls once again all to early, but never too late.

2 shifts up, 2 more to go...

Guard duty, or why I am lying in bed in full uniform, in camp on a saturday

Guard duty.

I'm lying fully clothed on my (designated) bed, boots on (with blue! covers to protect the sheets). Ready for a turnout(!), or my shift, whichever comes first. My mates all around me, similarly clothed and lying in similar beds. Like blue and green peas in a pod. Its breezy as I type this message; through the wonders of technology; through my phone. The body is inactive, but the mind is in overdrive. Strange things happen when you're bored. Not when you're busy, I guess because your mind is focused, limiting its options to roam. Or as a compensation for my physical confinement in barracks, my mind gets to wander out through the wilderness of space and time to explore and contemplate. Or maybe its just that I think for too much for my own good.

/I stalk you/

I'm interested in people / its been a while
Addicted in reading blog posts / my own little library of surprises
People near and distant / the internet web drawing everyone closer

Heartbreaks

Clashes

/slashes/

Joys & Desires

Written on electronic parchment / for everyone and no one to see.
?interesting? / yes, definitely

love/sex/drive/lust/hate/envy/deceit/terror/mayham/joy/sadness/hurt/fulfillment.
All (results of) emotions. The same with the humble blog post.
Like a storm in a teacup, so they write about civil wars, physical and mental torture (that'll make the Gestapo puke) hurt, hate, extreme gladness and sadness. Contained in words to form miniature worlds, alternative universes.

USA vs Japan

I must stop switching authors too many, too fast; reading Chuck Palanuik and Haruki Murakami one after another gives one a headache. Imagine American styled in-your-face brutality, sex-drugs-rock'n'-roll with Japanese contemplation, patience, calm and quiet but with an equal punch. Akin to an All-American Muscle car vs a fast, flowing river. Both bruising with power but in totally different forms.

Quite enjoyable until your brain gives way. Ouch.

Abandoned Places

This blog has not been updated in a while. For there is nothing to update.

The earth spins on its axis, around the sun. The moon, around the earth.

And I am yet again in the army. The days are fast; the hours, long.

Oh, I do actually like my vocation here, its just the lack of purpose, the lack of will the lack of spirit from those around me (even myself). Dragging us all down into a cesspool.

Less whining, more work. Leaving us with a lot of personal time has its perks: I can (have been) read actively, work out personally.

I have no energy to end this post. Thinking about the army leaves me drained of spirit.

Bah.