chicken soup for the mess tin

My parents brought Margarita home after her extended stay in the hands of various computer repairers who agreed only on the fact that it cost way too much to fix it. Ah well, not worth the money really… though I’m feeling extremely silly for feeling sentimental. On Margarita there were project documents dating back to Sec 4 – some SS video project about the Esplanade I think, and a few draft scripts that I used to read once in a while (roughly annually). A hell lot of game save files – like my Plants vs Zombies game which I completed a million times and used to spend ages tending my Zen Garden, just clicking coins and rearranging pots. And really, who can resist the sleek display of a Macbook! which I vainly sought to make my own by downloading wallpapers and browser themes. Plus, anthropomorphising my laptop definitely ranks amongst the weirdest things I’ve done.

Farewell Margarita! You were my first.

It’s a good thing though that I’m allowed to bring my army laptop home, on the pretext of needing to study Signals stuff. Ugh back in infantry I looked forward to studying all the time; now, confronted with physics/logarithmic equations a few lines long, I’m starting to think chionging up knolls and mountains isn’t that bad after all.

(ok though actually infantry just spent five days in Tekong with one day’s worth of rations and a yam/sweet potato/chicken wing?? They also had to trek all around Tekong and carry a shit load of water. I think my aircon room’s mildly preferable to that)

although rumination is for pussies

Gah more than anything else I don’t like what the army’s making me. It’s making me normal – and I mean this with no – little – sense of elitism or condescension. I’m growing up too fast and there’s something to this when more than a few people tell you that. The army doesn’t make one outright dreary; that wouldn’t be subtle enough. It makes one literal. Words that once possessed multiple meanings (so one could let the meanings waft around in layers, each duly picked out when desired – like Lyra and her truth-meter) now mean only the one thing. In a mission, ambiguity is liability, so everything only ever means what it means. There’s no room for facetiousness. There’s the luxury of (choreographed) introspection, but even the conclusions are provided for us.

I only vaguely remember what school was – a highly artificial environment as well, no doubt, but in there I remember there was always passion for the things I was doing. I toiled hard not (merely) to escape consequences but because I genuinely thought the things I was doing was making me a better person. A more… appreciative person. Now I can run faster, do more pullups (ok actually no I still do around the same), last for days in the sun with 20kg on my back and a helmet on my head… but I think I lost something and I desperately wish I can get it back again, when this is all over

here lies Margarita

Damn it I wish people were less annoyingly interesting. Esp after I became uninspired and hence unable to respond confidently in kind

Block leave ends tonight so I thought I’d pop by. I haven’t written anything in too long, except mini-essays in my black army notebook borne of boredom. I want to update this thing more but I’m afraid that a) nobody reads anymore, or b) people still follow but will be disappointed by anything I have to offer… nobody likes hearing about army. People are either unengaged or saturated, whichever is worse.

I may be a misanthrope who cares nothing for people and who takes refuge in literature and video gaming – but I still wish people weren’t flying off one by one. I’m getting soft! The manly-fying effects of army were much overstated.