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.

reflections from 3 months of island living

From 3 months to 3 days. I am strangely bittersweet about a part of my life I enjoyed (perversely) but don't wish to go through again.

Some regrets:

- Not passing IPPT (failing the chin-up station by 1 mark, epic fail) More should and could have been done sooner but I was lazy. Lazy is generally a bad thing in NS, especially when you are the lowest life form there.

- Not keeping my temper as well as I could. I am a hot tempered person with the ability to control it pretty well. Most of the time. When I choose to. Sometimes, I choose not to for the wrong reasons.

- Not doing my best when I knew I could. I know I can go the extra mile but don't and now unfortunately will never be able to forever more.

- Not passing IPPT. It is a sore spot really, seeing how my other stations are of a silver to gold standard and my all my efforts towards the goal remaining unfulfilled.

Things I am thankful for:

- My section mates, who are never too critical nor serious about anything much (except girls which is a evergreen point of topic). They pick you up when you fall and laugh at each others mistakes. Never the earliest, nor the fastest, neither the best in (most) of the multitudes of stuff the army throws at you, we manage to survive and thrive even in this constant state of flux. Each and everyone of them are unique and different, in their own way.

- My commanders who run much too fast, talk cock much too loudly and are much too good for us. I feel confident that my commanders will go the extra mile for us and more, together. Surprising, given that they are not much older then us at all. Too bad we did not give of the same effort or we might have been better then what we thought possible.

- 3rd Sergeant Prem Neshvin, section 4's section commander. Unfailingly cool and suave, he never raises his voice over what it needs to be, cuts the right corners (and at the right time). He says it as it is and doesn't try to hold back reality from us. Someone who cuts his own path and almost demands you follow it, or look like the fool for it.

3 more days left for Hawk Company, Batch 4, 2009. After which much administrative changes and schemes, Hawk Coy will not be Hawk Coy of the old anymore. So we are the last of the Hawks, the few and the brave.

Grenade!

“I, NIRC, RANK & NAME, Right Master Hand, No Sweaty Palms request to enter the bay sir!” I announce my presence to my Platoon Commander. He leans to the side of the bay, cap off in surrender to the hot and humid air that affects one and all here in Tekong.

“Samuel eh? Step forward into the bay and prepare your grenade” he orders. I trot up the bay area, a elevated reinforced concrete semicircle designed to protect one from the blast of a awry grenade. Or at least that’s what they told us.

I glance at my PC, 2LT Zhi Rong. Before me was 48 recruits from Hawk Coy, Platoon 3. 48 prime opportunities for a surely gruesome death. His trademark smile was missing, replaced with an impatient frown. A 20 year old man, the same age as me, separated only by educational qualifications and rank. Just as scared as me.

Standing at the prescribed legs at shoulder width apart, I stretch my arms beyond the reassuringly thick concrete barrier and follow the regimented steps.

“Safety Ring Twist!”

“Safety Ring Pull!”

I tug at the ring. Nothing. I tug again. Not a budge. Only after my 4th pull then it gives way obediently.

“Safety Pin Out!”

I turn to pass the expanded Safety Ring to my PC to find him wearing his usual grin.

“Why Samuel? Too scared until no strength to pull the ring out?”

Smiling back, I politely reply in the negative; his grin and friendly teasing reassuring me tremendously.

“Grenade prepared and ready to be thrown Sir!”

A pat on my back was the signal. My right arm arched backwards while my left arm hung onto my rifle as I swung as hard as I could. All while shouting “GRENADE.”

A muffled scraping of boots informed me that Zhi Rong already took cover in the bay. Time for me to do the same and to count down.

1-thousand

2-thousand

3-thousand

4- I never quite managed to say the thousand as the air around me seemed to explode from the force of the grenade. Even though I wore earplugs, I could hear ringing in my left ear. My joints ached from the blast, was it really so terrible? I shudder to think of the destructive force of artillery, many times that of a hand grenade.

Counting two seconds more for the fragments to clear, I peek out to survey the damage. Zhi Rong was already standing, cap on head looking at no mans land.

“Not bad Samuel, you threw the grenade. Call up the next guy quickly, its bloody hot in here.

Mumbling my acknowledgements, I stumbled out of the bay area aching but with a sense of accomplishment. I threw a hand grenade today, how many people get to do that?

---

Running High

My lungs scream for oxygen

even as I gulp in air.

My legs tremble

with every step.

I feel like I’m dying

but I’ve never been this alive before.

All this while I’m running 2.4.

 

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10.38 best timing yet, attempting to break the 10min barrier at the next IPPT mark…

National Service

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

Winston Churchill

the inevitable, but tragic, conclusion

after many hours pouring over graphs and charts;

frantic bashing of the calculator crunching figures;

to endless searching of online forums and auctions;

The conclusion:

$500 +

$300 +

$70 +

$200 +

= $1070

= Cost of running a lower market Toyota Corolla per month.

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