Well it has to be in some measure because my 19th year has been strikingly different from the first 18, despite some resistance from myself. Army has changed me (or at least my perspectives insofar as they were impacted by my NSF experiences), made me more mature but also jaded, serious but also silly (the whole course is infected with 9gag now; we draw memes on whiteboards and birthday cards and no conversation is cool or complete without smartly referencing at least one good meme. I don’t know if it’s a step up or down from our everyday conversation), retarded but boring. I’m still a contradiction and a wreck but by different parameters and measures at least.

The people are great so far but then it’s admittedly still pretty much the same crowd. People from top JCs with more As than can be counted on one hand, with the occasional high-flying poly student. It’s not all high scorers and driven, focused people there but it wasn’t the proverbial hodgepodge people’d have you expect out of NS.

Anyway, I’m commissioning in seven weeks time and while that statistic sounded nice, I’m starting to feel a little apprehensive. Stories of life in unit aren’t very bright, even for “officers” who apparently get the best life (as I secretly think we should, after eleven months of doghood). A second lieutenant isn’t much in a unit after all, where there’re so many higher ranking people or more experienced people only too eager to put you in your place. And I still don’t conclusively know what I want to do after I commission (as if I had a choice) – a staff officer does admin saikang and (quite likely) gets to book out every single day at 5:30pm; sounds like the perfect job for me, right?

But somehow commanding a platoon of men appeals to me. To lead men and feel directly responsible for their lives; to know how it feels like to nurture people and watch them grow out of the mold you set for them (isn’t the ideal leader necessarily self-effacing?) I’m by no means a great leader and the military context doesn’t enthuse me further but I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to feel so responsible for so many people at so young an age, and I think I’d regret it quite badly if I went through nine months of shit to do paperwork…

And that’s really been the crux of my life the whole year. There’ve been brief spates of civilianness, like the post-As life and applying for unis and getting back A level results – but until next Dec that’ll have to be the exception rather than the rule. I’ve become a very silly person obsessed with memes (because caricatures scare me less than real people) and am not very witty any more, at least not in writing. I’ve learnt to cope with the transience of friendship, and some travails of LDR. Still quite miserable and boring but just give me some time and I promise I’ll stop being so weepily introspective!

Sigh it’s depressing that these are alumni of top JCs, recipients of top government scholarships, and future leaders of the SAF. I’m not even talking about good leadership, which I concede is extremely hard to do especially without years of experience – but if after half a year of army we can’t practice good ‘followership’ then something is seriously wrong.

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)

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

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.

So I hate to say this: some instructors really make me question if the pride that comes with that one black bar is really worth the nine months of shit. I’m not sure what you’re doing as an OCS instructor if you get all snappy and impatient every time a cadet asks you a question (forgive me if I’m mistaken sir but I could have sworn that learning was the point of command school). We learn that officers need to care for the 27 other men in their platoon but that’s really hard to believe if a section instructor can’t even be bothered to get to know the 8 people in his section. It disheartens me that I see officers in my wing slacking off and doing the barest minimum to earn their pay, not because I think I’m any better than them, but because it scares me that nine months of OCS might not change me into a much better person. I’m not sure now that all officers are naturally good at inspiring their men, now that I’ve seen officers who have nothing but criticism and disparaging remarks for the cadets under their charge. To these instructors: I could respect your rank. I could salute you, call you sir. But I could never respect you.

So I needed this 16km (which was actually more like 20. Training difficulty is about one of the only things that OCS constantly understates) route march. I needed to learn that the pain climaxes somewhere in the middle, but then after the pain subsides into soothing numbness it’s incredibly, incredibly easy. It was amazing that I felt less tired after 19km than I was at 12km. It’s a rhythm that I need to find all the time… though the only rhythm I’ll be bothering myself with for the next five hours? My hypothetical, satisfied snores.

i’m starting to accept (albeit reluctantly) that epiphanies are necessarily belated…

I’ve only blogged once about NS, after the super long first bookout, but it’s not because there isn’t anything to talk about. Since the last post, I’ve shot live rounds, done IPPT twice (dour pair of Silvers… really need to get some speed/stamina training in ugh), survived possibly the wettest field camp ever and the ensuing outbreak of hives. I’ve vomited at 3:59pm before falling in at 4 to do a 12km route march. I’ve felt like giving up so many times and persevered, for noble reasons (I WANNA BE THE VERY BEST, LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS!!!!111) or pragmatic ones (If I don’t do this now I’ve to book in early for RT, f*** it just zham lah). It’s perfectly true that the army is a big fat bunch of truisms, but at least it lets you live out every one of them for yourself.

I’d elaborate but I’d only bore you; you’d have to be in the army to know what I’m talking about. (though girls this is by no means a hint for you to sign on! I’ve seen what the army does to girls… *shudder*) The people are great, and getting greater by the week. Thanks for those people who flushed my body with water during the post-vomit route march, and those who supported me during Sitest while I was platoon i/c and not always chipper… Anyway it’s quite funny how people in army think blogging is damn gay. I was talking to this platoon-mate who was bitching about someone else: “F*** lah what a pussy, ask him to go f*** off and write in his blog lah!” he guffawed heartily, as if he had come up with possibly the most cutting insult ever. Helpless, I returned the guffaw, though feeling a sudden sharp pain in my chest. These are going to be two long years.