The past one month was exactly not how I imagined life after army would be. I thought things would get easier without regimentation, without the shackles of rules and reason, without the dangers of punishment, nor the rush of adrenaline that comes with responsibility. Oh how the tables have turned. After two years of climbing the hierarchy of military ranks, here I am again as a plain old citizen trying to make ends meet with the massive burden of tuition fees weighing upon my poor old back.

It's funny how I only take away the positive things in life, and leave behind the dreaded memories of old. And don't quote me on that because I am never consistent. So that's just a disclaimer, should I eat my words. The working life taught me a really powerful lesson on how passion changes, and how it can dissolve to naught if wasn't even real in the first place. Even after internship, and the waves of bad publicity surrounding the industry, I chose to make the leap of faith. And I thank my lucky stars that I wasn't wavered by the offer to sponsor my university studies at the cost of five years of commitment. At this point of time, I know I would have regretted that poor decision.

University was exactly how I knew it would be - a whirlwind. In just the short span of a month, I have already reached the halfway mark of this trimester. And three thousand dollars out of my pocket. But I continue to convince myself that it will all be worth it when I find that dream career in time to come. I know I would not make it far with just a diploma on hand.

And exactly a week ago, Sab and I celebrated our first anniversary together. *pops confetti*

Photo credits: Sab's wordpress.

It still makes me wonder sometimes, what good karma have I ever cultivated in my life to deserve someone like her? And one year is truly a milestone, given how I never even thought all this could happen. And as we laid down yesterday to reminisce about our initial dates, it still made my heart palpitate just a little faster as I recalled my emotions then, approaching her doorstep on our first date.

School is still the typical dread. But the reason why I drag myself to class is probably because I paid $250 for one day at school. Why can't education in Singapore be free like some other countries? :(

Worked the past two days at an event with chong and steph. It was pretty good money, given how mundane it was and I exhausted all two hundred percent of my phone's battery so that gives you a rough idea of how I spent my time "working". Free food and working with close friends made it all the more enjoyable. Gone are the days where we meet up as often as once a week. So meeting them two days in a row and being paid for that doesn't hurt at all.

Photo credits: Steph's dayre.

And the thing about being all alone at home is that I feel guilty for whiling my time away playing FIFA and catching up on videos on youtube. There are things to be done, but nah, I have absolutely no regrets. For now.

One year on, I finally realise that replying to this tweet of hers was probably the best decision I could ever make.
(I would say in my life, but I shall leave that for a later stage :x)

I still remember that I was cooped up in the operations room while on duty. She direct messaged me telling me that her brother had gotten attached. And from there, we started conversing using twitter DM, And then, this happened:

And yes, that must be the daftest way I had ever gotten a girl's number, but what matters is that it worked right? *inserts wink emoticon*

To be honest, asking her out wasn't even in my plans initially, but I went ahead with my gut feel anyway. I know how weird it is to other people, to be dating one of your close friend's sister, but it just seemed so right. Even though we had known of each other's existence for about 7 years, we were almost total strangers before. And although it may seem terribly foolish at that time to jump right into a relationship after a mere two weeks of dating, I have absolutely no regrets now. And then it finally dawned on me. The reason I had been waiting all these years, was so that she could fit right in when the time is right. And now that she's latched right in, I know she's definitely a keeper.

A Review on the Past Three Months: Why I Am Never Coming Back

Upon completing full-time National Service back in June, I decided to take on a six-month full-time job and subsequently enrol in the January 2016 intake to commence my university education. This was the perfect plan at that time, considering that I would not be jumping straight into studies after two suffocating years in the army wearing a helmet that most probably made me dumb, if it hadn't already; and at the same time earn some cash to offset my hefty tuition fees.

It seemed all too convenient returning back to the familiarity of my internship position, considering my four-month stint there prior to enlistment. All I could think of was going back to the same work environment, doing the same no-brainer tasks and working with the same friendly people. Alas, how wrong could I be. My first warning bell went off during the interview of hire, whereby I was quizzed on what my expected salary would be. When I replied "at least $1800 considering that I had a diploma", I was brought down to earth, being told that paper qualifications do not matter at all in the pay scale of the company. Which now explains how I am currently drawing a relatively higher pay than my colleague who has a Bachelor's degree. Can you imagine that? Going through university education to be paid peanuts here? And that's precisely the reason why they do not want people to be discussing about their salaries, because the facts will all be laid bare. The "working with the same friendly people" plan was thrown out the window because the number of people left back from my time amounted to a meagre two.

Work was terrible, more horrendous than I would ever expect. We are still working the same labour-intensive scheduled 9.5 hour shifts, but the fact that for morning shifts, you are required to be in 30 minutes earlier at 5.30am and often clock out only at 5pm, you just did a whopping 11.5 hour shift. Goodbye sleep, goodbye social life, goodbye life in general. Overtime doesn't even have a structured system, which explains why I prefer not to claim OT entirely. Furthermore, they may even chide you for claiming OT when you were the one that couldn't finish your work within your scheduled hours. Which isn't necessarily true, because they have daily department meetings called "lineup" which often cross the 3.30pm shift ending time of the AM shift. Add that to the shift handovers and voila, you are still there at 4.30pm.

Working shift work leaves you lifeless no matter which shift you are scheduled for. Waking up at 4.40am for morning shift makes me a zombie even if I slept at 9pm the previous day. And to sleep at 9pm means I am missing out on all the meet ups with the cliques, basketball nights, or even dinners out with the family. Which translates into an anti-social, fatigued, prone to falling sick and bad-tempered me. I seek your royal pardon should you ever encounter any of those above-mentioned traits of mine.

Working the afternoon shift translates to me being able to sleep in, but reaching home at 1.30am means you will be sleeping till approximately 9am, which leaves you 4 hours of free time before you head back to that "hellhole". Mid shift seems more plausible then, spanning from 11am to 8.30pm. But considering the late clock-out and heavy traffic, it is only by 1030pm that I finally reach home. There was once I did a mid shift followed by a morning shift, which meant I had to sleep immediately upon reaching home, and wake up at 4.40am thereafter. I did not even have time to grab a bite before sleeping, fearing that my intestines would be put into overdrive should I sleep right away after gobbling. I missed my taxi the very next morning because I was so tired that I switched off my alarm. Twice.

And the roster. Gosh I don't even want to talk about it but I have to. The work roster is supposed to be released every Thursday, for the upcoming week commencing on a Monday. That is the reason why we have to submit our leave requests two weeks in advance, so the managers can plan their manpower and dish out ample rest to those who have been working more than five days in a row. Working 7 to 10 days in a row here is so damn common. And given our workload and the long hours, we could be working up to 60 hours a week. The thing about the roster is that it is never released on time. Most commonly, it will be released only on Saturday, giving you two days to plan your activities for the coming week. In addition, there are numerous roster changes so in the end, the finalised roster will only be confirmed on Sunday. How awesome is that? In addition, should manpower restrict, the company "has every right to compensate you in place of your public holiday off-in-lieus and annual leave". I am simply speechless.

And how the company preaches to you via propaganda posters about how employees are to be accorded the same treatment as guests, and how we are their most valuable asset is simply plain nonsense. The fact that the turnover rate is so damn high, coupled with the lack of welfare for staff, the terrible staff meals, and most importantly the pathetic salary, I would burn that poster down if I could. Work is terrible, I know I have said this a thousand times, but it totally is, because of the fact that figures come before employee welfare. Let's do the math. I have 20 tables, and when put to full utility, can accommodate a maximum of 4 occupants. That puts my maximum occupancy at 80 pax. During peak periods, we could be overbooked for all 106 rooms. And assume that three guests are residing in a room, we can have 318 guests fighting for just 80 seats.

Being overbooked during peak periods can only mean that staff are stretched to the limit. And when staff are stretched to the limit, guest service drops at a rapid rate. I don't have to be a hotelier to translate those facts for them. Naturally, overall satisfaction declines, and who is to blame? Us of course. Every single day, I am told how I should treat my guests, how I should wow them, and make them our guests for life. But did it ever occur to you, what good does that do me? Would I get incentives? Would I get commission? Would I get better employee welfare? The answer is none of the above. You may argue that that is part of my job, but what makes you think that I will go all out of my way to make a guest happy if I already have so many things on my plate? And if the guest is unhappy about what I have done for them and complain, who bears the brunt? Me. My bottom line is that, if you can't make your employees happy, they in turn won't make your guests happy. And that is when things will start to go downhill from there. Everyday at work, I overhear people in the different departments complaining about their workload. Not once do I even see genuine happiness on their faces. How true it is that we are all forced to put on a smile even when we are not in the best of moods, that our smiles become fake, and our happiness becomes obsolete, and the jubilant faces that we portray day in day out are just a facade at work.

Diversity at work is one thing, but having too many people of one race is a disaster waiting to happen. I hate to say this, but doesn't it feel as though hotels are starting to become communities of Filipinos? The way they address each other and the language they speak to each other all carry tinges reminiscent of their homeland. Isn't this Singapore? Aren't we supposed to converse in the common language of English? Somehow I just don't feel like I can fit right in.

I am not a purely negative person, but the environment at work has become so toxic that I have no option left but to bring forward my university enrolment date and commence my undergraduate studies at an earlier date. A revision of my tuition fees is just half of the reason, and the above-mentioned factors make up the rest of it. Passion can only do so much, but I am sorry to say that my fire burned out as my fuel of passion ran thin.

  

RE: Reconciliation

After almost twenty weeks, I can safely say that she is finally coming home. *insert heart eyes emoticon* The past four months plus seemed to be the longest ever period of waiting. From sending her off at the airport to finally picking her up again in just another four days, we will finally be reunited again. It has only been a little over eight months that we have been together, and having her spend the bulk of it apart from me was entirely heartbreaking. Although we would text everyday and videocall almost every other night, it ultimately still isn't the same as having your most beloved one back by your side. You know the feeling is mutual when it pains you so much to see her cry when she's settling over in Melbourne, or when misunderstandings arise, or even just because she misses us too much. There have been tears, no doubt. But from now on, I will ensure that the tears that roll down her face are tears of joy, no less.

The past twenty weeks have taught us that separation is temporary, but understanding is eternal. Although she has missed the many milestones of my National Service stint, she is still the only support I could ever ask for. Our time zones are a couple of hours apart but she always makes sure that I go to sleep if I have a long day tomorrow, sometimes at the expense of her own rest. Even through video call, she still ensures that I drink enough water and eat my greens. Even in my grumpiest state, she still tells me I am cute to her. Decked out in my pyjamas and spectacles all ready for bed, she still tells me I look good. She knows when my eyes are red when I wear my contact lens for too long. She appreciates every little thing I do for her and her family. She always complains about her breakouts and pimples when we video call, attempting to show me every zit, but deep down inside, I know she is still the most beautiful. It pains me whenever she gets anxiety attacks and is unable to sleep at night, but yet there is not a single damn thing I could have done. She is always unwilling to hang up first, so we always end up jostling over who has to hang up every time. And she's so adorable whenever she forgot if it's her turn and I had to admit that it's me in the end.

She will be returning in four days, and I know it is for good this time.

Because baby, I am latching on to you.

Love,

Your potato

Rumours can really kill. Why would you spread information which you "intelligently" assume to be true and simply pass it on with no apparent deliberation of its authenticity? I guess you guys are just ignorant bastards if you act that way. Immature.

It's been a long and arduous journey for the past 22 months. Many highs and lows that define the whole National Service experience, but I would say that more good came out of it than bad. Basic Military Training or BMT phase was the most memorable time of these two years, hands down.

I remember:

Taking NAPFA in Year 3 of Poly, getting A for all the static stations but yet clocking 15 minutes for the run because I gave up after two rounds.

On enlistment day, queueing up to board the bus and being forced to tuck in my shirt by the sergeants facilitating.

Having quite a feast at the cookhouse, even having ice cream, which was meant to be a "show" for the parents because we never had a duck drumstick again since then, but having no appetite.

Scanning my Pink IC and it did not occur to me that I will never see it again in these 2 years.

Collecting the black duffel bag and lugging it four storeys to my allocated bunk.

Getting my phone cables, Panadol and other medication confiscated on the first day.

Taking $2 out of my wallet for the haircut. (And then comparing whose hair was nicer when we all looked the same. Half an inch was considered a world of difference back then.)

Going into the platoon office on the second day and Sergeant J told me that he expected me to get into command school. Thanks for the pressure, Sarge.

Taught how to fold the Smart Four to make our biceps look bigger by our PS.

Struggling while learning the correct way to tie the bootlaces.

Folding the perfect Smart Four and shining our boots to its full grandeur before every book-out. Not forgetting the last-minute pull-ups for confidence sake.

Counting down the days during confinement period, which was 18 days. Longest ever period of time away from home. 

Tearing at the staircase the night before the first book-out because no one was available to pick me up at the bus interchange.

Looking for S whenever Wes and I were at the bus interchange for book-in on Sunday night.

Sunday mornings were the worst because I knew I had to book in at night. 

Haze period and we were forced to stay in bunk the entire week. The foggy parade square, the physical training held at the lift landings, the boredom that led us to read newspapers from front to back and even the adverts, the issue of hand sanitisers to every bunk.

Logging onto Facebook and everyone would be stalking each other's sister, girlfriend, friend etc and saying "Eh, intro leh!" We were all desperate army boys.

Squeezing hand sanitiser on crushed newspaper and creating fireballs by lighting them on fire. What were we thinking then?

Getting punished by holding the push-up position outside the platoon office until everyone is done with their PC interview. 

Taking the lift up to the fourth floor when no commanders were looking.

Buying canned drinks up to the bunk when no commanders were looking.

Running for our lives up the stairs to shower after every physical training session.

Collapsing and almost blacking out during Individual Field Craft (IFC) due to the lack of water and immense fatigue. From tearing down and building the basha too many times in the hot sun.

Totally abhorring the camo cream because it stings the eyes. And also because it never seems to dry due to excessive perspiration. And always having to touch up camo.

Hating every time there was IPPT because I would get butterflies in the stomach from the pressure of having to do better. And clocking 10:36 and a Silver for my final IPPT.

Running the coastal road and complaining about the fishy smell while running.

Doing aqua-jogging in the pool and teasing the others who couldn't swim.

Being afraid of the balancing beam in the SOC because I am flat-footed.

The countless route marches and how we always lose track of the distance. And the steam that can be seen leaving our bodies when we remove the LBV.

Contemplating whether to wear contact lens for range because the darn spectacles keep getting fogged up and making me miss my shots.

Hating the squatting /kneeling position of firing, because again, I am flat-footed.

Doing guard duty at ammo dump and sleeping in the aircon bunk. And the pitch-black darkness we had to patrol in.

Hearing the Platoon Commander talk about his JCC days in the jungles of Brunei. And wanting to do the same by getting into the Infantry Officer Cadet Course.

Getting second in Captain's Ball for the inter-company Games. And all the hate on Kestrel because they played a tad too rough.

Getting heat rash during Field Camp was one of the worst feelings. I wanted to remove my uniform to continue to dig the shellscrape because my pores were all clogged with dirt.

Digging the shellscrape and taking ages to do it. (I finished another one in OCS in just 30 minutes.) 

Being taken to the beach near the field camp site and for once, relaxing during field camp.

Trying to avoid doing Number Two in outfield but succumbing on the fourth day.

Trying to catch up with the assessor during SIT test. How do they always manage to walk so fast? We had to run to even catch up with them.

Doing the SIT Test and trying to "blow up" the bridge with explosives when the assessor said detonation failed. Then I said use the Matador, but he said that failed too. THEN WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BLOW IT UP WITH??? After that, he just said: "Let's go." Does that mean he has no idea too?

Camo-ing on again as punishment for removing our camo without instruction on the last day of field camp.

Booking out after field camp and becoming so dark that even S noticed.  

Doing our first 24km route march and getting so happy when we could see the Singapore Flyer. And we slept at the F1 Paddock. And getting calls of "ORD lo!" while we were marching through East Coast Park.

And so, that concludes the best moments in BMT. Up next would be OCS - Service term.

15 days to the parade. 68 days to ORD. 89 days to baby's return. Throughout my NS life, it has always been about countdowns. Countdown to POP, countdown to Commissioning Day and now, countdown to ORD. These should be the last few countdowns before I complete my NS and transit into becoming a civilian. Next up in my life is school. I really hope SIT accepts my application. Please call me up for the second interview soon! This time, I really put all my eggs into one basket. But at the same time, studying in a university is really exorbitant. The course I'm looking at is roughly $27,000. How does the government even expect poor students like us from middle-class families to afford the school fees? And for private universities, it could be even worse because there are no subsidies or grants available. Some loans even charge interest once you enrol. That's so unreasonable. But it's not that I don't have the resources to pay for my school fees, but I feel that this is a burden I should undertake myself because I should take charge of my own education and development. But let me complete my NS before I can divert my attention on money matters. *sigh*

 P.S: Missing you so much. I need you by my side more than ever. Please come back to me soon.:'(

Is it normal to feel annoyed with technology? I know it's meant to make things easier, but hey guess what, it just makes things all the more complicated, making people take things for granted and gosh, this is so annoying. I think I have had it with all these. It's time to stop putting in so much effort. All those damn whatsapp groups are simply a facade for the "close friendship bonds". Not surprisingly, it's a battlefield out there. Constantly making plans, promises to meet up, damn all those godforsaken plans plans plans. No one even bothers to reply. And by that, I mean by those that have read the message but just simply couldn't be bothered to pick up their royal thumbs to even text a reply. You know how annoying this is? You think making plans are easy? Last minute pulling out, synchronising everybody's schedules, venue and time, you think it's all so easy? And there you all go about just reading it and IGNORING IT? It's time for me to be like you all as well. Fuck plans.  

"Blame it on this being just the the start. Or on my hopeless sense of longing. Or more positively, on my belief that this will work. But I jolly well know, that I will miss you so terribly I won't even show it. But it will kill me softly everyday."

"I can't say that the days have been easier, or that I've become better at this, but it is you, who has given me the reason. The reason to be strong. And baby, that is all I need."

Hey look it's 185 days to the big day. Not to commemorate, nor to celebrate, but to rejoice at being released from the clutches of National Service, albeit for a couple of years, fingers crossed I don't get recalled any time soon after. 

I am also starting to get a tad more positive about NS nowadays, because I tell myself that all my problems now lie solely with NS, and I will be free from them once I ORD. I believe that's the right mindset to have now, instead of moping my current plight.

Give me the strength to carry on, because I can't summon it in myself to continue.

You know how they always say that you will definitely become more mature when you go through National Service, like how the pride and passion of serving your nation rubs off on you and you become a better man? I mean I can't doubt that because I guess I learnt to talk less and probably listen more, as I discover that the ones that are perpetually silent are actually the ones who think the most. I mean, who doesn't like to speak? It's like a endeavour to make your thoughts heard as you tussle over who's the most vocal in a group. Anyway, I'm digressing here.

What I am trying to say is that however much I want my National Service experience to be fulfilling and totally worth that two year disadvantage it puts me at, I am seriously finding it hard to regard it so. The gradual complication of things, which makes a matter seem more complicated than it actually is. The incessant need to scavenge for a prominent scapegoat and not an actual solution when a problem surfaces. The over-dependence and abuse of the rank structure. The inability to place individuals in their fields of flair. The incompetence of the leader at the fore and his lackeys who serve only to his ridiculous wants. I can go on forever. 

Why go into the wee hours discussing a report when it can be done within office hours? Why fight so hard to reduce the punishment for a serviceman when he is just going to disappoint you again? Why put your neck onto the chopping block when the first scapegoat they find would be yourself? Why expend so much effort when they focus more on structure and results rather than plain logic? Trying so hard to look nice on paper as compared to effectiveness and productivity. The flaw is omnipresent. Yet the ones who can make a difference are resisting the need for change just because the previous methods are "tried and tested". The obvious cowards are the ones we rever due to their dubious climb to prominence.

However much I try, I am effectively not a long-stayer. I will do my part and leave. I won't even bother leaving a legacy, not because I can't, but because it's not worth it. I will look back at my NS experience and lament what could have been. The fact stays clear that the various accolades and achievements count for naught with incompetent chiefs at the fore, and the obvious actuality that we are simply not battle-tested. 

Friends. How valued yet fragile. Back then, we never thought that a friendship could end just like that. And no, it wasn't a happy break. However much we promised it would not be, it happened due to money. Somewhat. The gall to accuse us of backstabbing her when we were the ones whom she could rely on the most. We were accepting of her, for who she is. But she chose the road of no return. The friendship was meant to be mutual, yet she does not regard us so. True enough, she has her other circles of friends. True enough, she has her cousins for support. But I can safely say that no one will ever sacrifice for her as much as we do, or go the lengths we were prepared to go. We treated her well, and she chose to forsake our friendship. We were the ones who understood her predicament, could comprehend her actions, and accept her erratic eccentric behaviour. Her bad habits, her incessant traits, we overlooked them. And yet, she did not reciprocate. I am speechless. I truly am. 

I understand now. What they meant back then. How everything I go through now makes me question my passion, direction and diligence towards something that may never be permanent. In fact, what set me on this path? Why must I even subject myself to such disparity in treatment and defend those unworthy of my sympathy? Rank and appointment are arguably tangible, yet they represent a distinct and consecrated responsibility. Or set bluntly, a typical scapegoat. For the sake of pleasing your upper echelons of superiors, you endanger the morale and working attitude of your subordinates, killing their passion effectively and efficiently. I applaud your truly poor aptitude and appreciation of situation while remaining perfectly blasé to your own continuous erring actions. In this organisation where experience counts for nothing due to being amateur in war, I cannot express enough delight at the thought of leaving in opportune time.

I know I always start every post with a song that's stuck in my head, how typical you must be thinking. But who cares, here goes: This time round, it's Classic by MKTO.

"You over my head, I'm out of my mind,

Thinkin' I was born in the wrong time.

One of a kind, livin' in a world gone plastic.

Baby you're so classic."

How quick we have been living; in the blink of an eye and snap of the fingers, I have turned 22, commissioned as an officer, crossed the one year milestone of National Service and lost both my grandmas. It's so bittersweet thinking how fast time really flies when we are caught unaware, happy that our projected sufferings have come to an end, yet sad that we are all growing up so fast and unable to spend more time with our loved ones. 

Back in my cadet days, I long for the weekends because that was truly the only time I would be free to spend time with my family and friends. Seeing how we have grown apart as compared to the days of the past makes me really sad knowing that we can never go back or replicate those days anymore. This has and will be the gantry, the gate and the stage of our lives whereby we realise that the future will play out in such fashion from now on. Gone are the days of daily meals, lounging on the sofa simply watching the telly, impromptu meet-ups and good ol' chats. Meet ups have to be planned. Meals as well. We have become so busy because we have found new people, new calling, new priorities that we forsake the ones we have held dear all these while. This is not about playing the blame game, or accusing anyone of anything, but we slowly realise that we can never be able to go back to the classic days of old anymore.

Returning home after twenty days of less-than-gruelling training in the chilly environment of Southern Taiwan, I was not prepared for the heartbreaking news that long awaited me, even when I first dialled home on the 8th of May. I remember calling home that day due to a hiatus in between my summary exercises 1 and 2, all ready to spring my parents a surprise call after ten days of separation. The call went through smoothly, and I delivered all I had bottled up for the past week, not forgetting to wish my dad for his birthday, which coincidentally fell on that same day. Never did it occur to me how extraordinary it actually was that my entire family was available on the phone on a Thursday afternoon. Given the relative buzz of study and work, their schedules are practically full week in week out. In fact, they were actually carrying grandma's ashes out of the columbarium at the moment when my call came. I learnt that my aunt was frantically forbidding of my parents to break the news to me, given that my training would be thus disrupted. I have no idea if it was a coincidence or simply the work of heavens, that I had called right when the proceedings were coming to an end. 

Upon my arrival back to Singapore, my parents finally broke the news to me on the 18th of May, twelve days after her passing. She had finally succumbed to a long fight with renal failure and a case of hypertension. However prepared I was for this, I could not help it when tears welled up in my eyes. I could not accept the cold hard truth that grandma was gone for good. As I type on displaying a composed demeanour, I know I must stay strong because she wouldn't want us to grieve for too long. I could say that she was more prepared for this than anyone else. She must have had a nightmare of sorts because she stated that she did not want her ashes to be scattered into the sea for fear of being eaten by fishes. She even had a joint-fund ready much earlier because she knew that the funeral expenses were pretty steep, which came in handy when the time finally came. Her final place next to grandpa in Aljunied was already in process of development bar for the pictures because she had already prepared for her own when grandpa passed on more than twenty years ago. What else can we do but applaud the sheer strength and willpower she had, that pure heart that was never afraid of death, who took it all in her stride.

I know I will never really get over the loss of grandma, given that it is the first time I have lost someone so dear to me. And the exact coincidence that this had to happen when I was overseas, that I did not even have the chance to pay my last respects. How unfilial it was of me that I did not make time to visit her more often. Regret will always linger on in the back of my mind. The thousands and thousands of "what ifs" will always play back, coming back to haunt me everytime. What if I had just spent more time with her? What if I had made an effort to make her recognise me even with her senile dementia? What if we had given in to her requests to smoke, not knowing it would be her last? What if we didn't act like cowards and run off everytime she wanted a smoke and made a scene? 

Day 49 will then allow me to pay my last respects to her, whom I presume is in a better place now, without the pain, hurt or regret. She is finally back together with grandpa after being separated for all those years. She can finally smile in heaven now. The days of suffering are over. But I know I will miss her so much. The grandma who never fails to protect us from the unforgiving cane when we get naughty at times. The grandma who gets up so early to prepare our favourite lor bak when we visit on the weekends. The grandma who showers us with so much love until she contracted senile dementia. The grandma who never fails to "upsize" our red packets even when she does't have enough for herself. Thank you ma ma, for all that you are. You would have been ninety-seven this year. I love you and you will be dearly missed. Rest in peace. 

Mdm Lee Ker Teu
1917-2014

Although
death has separated us physically
Faith and love
have bound us eternally.
Though we cannot see you
We know you are here with us
in our every thought
as we think about you each day.
Though we cannot touch you
We feel the warmth of your smile
As we turn the page
to a new chapter in our lives.

One of the rare occasions I actually see her smile.

Taken on one of our visits with dad.

Here I am on a Sunday revelling in semi-freedom and indulging myself in chocolate and cookies. In three days' time, it would be the one year anniversary of our departure to the land of kimchi last year. How I have missed that carefree life of travelling with my cherished friends, exploring foreign lands and gorging myself on delectable foods of paradise. Although my freedom has been compromised in my cause of serving my nation, I will be leaving for Taiwan in exactly 23 days for Exercise Starlight. And after that, another 105 days later, my tenure in Officer Cadet School will conclude. That's the time when the identity under "protection" will end, and responsibility will be at its peak. 

My weekends have been more than typical. Friday nights will probably be spent with "The Antagonists", "Misfits" or "la parola piu bella" as it is known now. Forgive the weird namesakes as these are the Whatsapp group title for them. Saturdays are likely to be spent with "Free MILFS" (pardon the crude name). Caught Captain America: The Winter Soldier twice in two weeks and had Astons for three weekends running. Cannot maintain the fanboy-ism whenever I see that character in books or movies. And just as I'm typing this, the advert for the movie just came up on the telly, I kid you not. Met up with the favourites yesterday, and totally looking forward to River Safari on 19th April now. 

   

Okay pardon me now while I delude myself and mope about booking in in five hours. 

Now Playing: Let Her Go - Passenger

"Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep"

That ought to be the last straw. One stab, two stab and another stab. When will I ever learn? Why make things so complicated? It's plain for all to see but being the plain fool, I just deceived myself time and time again and allowed it to manifest. I will never ever get it into my thick skull that it was never going to happen. Starting from now, I want to be free. I don't want to be bogged down by this anymore. Faith will get me nowhere. Being loyal to one is plain stupidity when my one is never even mine in the first place. The stupid things I do, the stupid scenarios I imagine, and the stupid person I have become. Forgive me but everything simply reminds me of you and it is too painful for me to undertake anymore. I shall not text you on occasions such as Christmas, Valentine's Day or even your birthday any longer. I will not be so constantly concerned about your happiness anymore. I will not check on you and advise you to take care of yourself anymore. I will not tell you to take care of your gastric anymore. I will not worry about your motion sickness any longer. I will no longer remember your favourite salmon from Pepper Lunch. I will not remember your favourite Caribbean Way and Banana N Berry at Smoothie King. I will no longer remember the brand of your favourite Strawberry Yoghurt. I will not remember the places we could go for your sweet tooth. I will not picture Australia 2011 as the defining memory. I will not smile anymore whenever I receive your text message. I will not put thought into my messages to you anymore thus I hope I won't receive any messages from you from now on so that I can forget. I will not overthink your actions anymore. I will not read your every tweet anymore. I will not go to your profile on all social platforms anymore. I will not put your picture as my wallpaper anymore. I will stop regarding you as "perfect". I will forget how angelic you are. Piano and ballet are no more traits of that image. This is not the first time, but I am that stupid foolish person who never learns. I will forget. I must forget. I will start all over again. I know I will never remember someone so well and so deep anymore. But still, thank you for inflicting all these pain on me so that I realise how dumb, useless and stupid I had been all these while. Farewell, for the love that never was.     

Happy New Year.

Each word depicts a different exclusive annotation. 

Happy is subtle and objective. Why is happiness as such and not a given? We all want to be happy. And pursue happiness. But why do we instead compromise happiness in place for other beings or forms?

New is simple. Simplicity but altered unconditionally to what we term as a root of beginning. Do we forget the past and expect the future? It's the same every cycle, an arduous journey to give way to a future we want to see, and not led by naivety.

Year is a cycle. A preset period of hours, minutes and seconds we coin as a year. Why do we always create a fictitious gimmick to give rise to resolutions we always never seem to adhere by when they could be individually decided at any given time? 

Let these linger on every time you hear these three familiar words. 

Looks like my self-proclaimed philosophical side has surfaced after a hiatus.

Anyway, a quick update. I am still serving the nation, in my capacity as an officer cadet. Bound by regulations that I doubt anyone can fathom, elaboration is thus unnecessary. Having completed the service term and presented with the senior bar to mark the one-third milestone of my 9-month long journey, I have been posted to the Combat Services Support Command to further my training in the Logistics vocation. Looks like my days of chiong-sua(literally means conquering mountains) are over. Infantry was my best bet of being posted back to BMTC as a platoon commander, but as fate would not decree it, I have to be contented with my current placement so far. In addition, I believe that the in-depth planning experience I will undergo will definitely be beneficial in the long run as compared to combat tactics and platoon fighting. 

Chinese New Year, the long-awaited festival has finally come. Six days of freedom away from the cycle of regimentation and discipline is definitely going to make an impact on that ever-increasing weight and allowing me to attain cult status in the pig-related nicknames that have plagued me in recent years. But you know what, eating is in my blood. My grandpa was a duck seller back before I was born. Oh what I would give for a taste of his legendary tender teochew braised duck simmered in mouth-watering jus and exuding a heavenly aroma of herbs and spices, coupled with traditional white rice served in a clay pot. Nah enough of the incessant descriptions. 

Had a robust steamboat and teppanyaki home-cooked lunch with my family, with all members present. An uncommon sight nowadays given the busy schedules we all had. I shall spare you the apt descriptions and just have you know that my cholesterol level should be sky-high by now. Now I'm just waiting for the reunion dinner over at my uncle's. I will be back when I'm fat.   

It's All In The Mind.

Just as we always thought how moving into the next phase of life would foresee a change of elements, you can never comprehend what life hurls at you. School was full of tests, assessments, assignments and appraisals. Never knew how I could be facing that even when I'm serving the nation. Same old, same old. Was initially tasked to produce an essay titled "My Defining Moment in BMT" but being a self-proclaimed taichi master of the highest echelons, I managed to transfer my "qi", no responsibility, to another platoon mate. Like come on, he's from New Zealand. His accent alone is enough to blow the competition off the radar. 

Anyway, being the forlorn author of my autobiography, here's my version of my defining moment. You know how field camp is always referred to as the main highlight, crucial event and crux of our training? They have never been so right. It all started when we were supposed to march 12km to our field camp site. All hope was lost when we completed up to the 8km mark and the skies turned for the worst. Our hopes turned to despair when we were told that we would have to redo the entire distance again when we return. Never would we have known that was just the tip of the iceberg. Upon reaching the field camp site, our first task was to erect our tentage, something we have only attempted pathetically and failed miserably countless times. Furthermore, the ground conditions were atrocious, as our tent pins simply refused to be driven into a land full of rocks. However, the worst condition was that it was a slope we were on. When the torrential rains were upon us beginning on the second night, our belongings never stood a chance. The subsequent nights were just as absurd, with the intervals of threatening rain comparable to the pixels on this screen. On the fourth day, we barely accomplished 2 hours of sleep before the unforgiving waters from heaven irrigated into the shellscrapes we spent an entire day to create. Our days were filled with the hated task of putting on face camouflage, rolling in mud and having our uniforms caked in sludge. When even the dreaded heat rash came upon us, there was nothing the medic could do to relive us of the merciless imaginary needles stabbing us from behind. Every single movement simply gave rise to more discomfort, more aches and more pain. However, we all knew but were never prepared for what comes after: our parents' letters. Even the strongest of our lot could not hold back the tears, the homesickness, our duty towards the nation and our fathers' sacrifices for our nation and families. At the end of our situational assessment tests spanning two days, we couldn't control our happiness and jubilation when the our transport arrived. We were finally going home. It suddenly dawned on us that these days of misery were finally over. Going back to our company line, we would not even bat an eyelid to sit on the wet basketball court, or even lie down on it, because we know that we had it worse. All I could say was that those few days of seeming eternity had placed our views into a whole new  lens of perspective, allowing us to realise that we must never take all the things we relied on and depended on for granted ever again. And the only way we prevent that is by sustaining our sovereignty and taking our nation's defence in our own hands.           

Never thought the day would come, or at least, so quickly, but here goes: It's Countdown 30 days to POP! Cue dramatic fireworks and merrymaking. The truth is, I have already initiated the next phase of my life by enlisting in the army. Although it may seem as a drag and all, having lesser time to spend with your loved ones, adhering to a strict rule of regimentation and discipline, and most of all being somehow coerced into serving the nation at a time where we were living in pure freedom. In all fairness, I have to admit I was and still is a complainer of sorts. The security and welfare of the people we interact with everywhere is brought about only by preserving the sovereignty of our nation.

After going through what could arguably be said as the most gruelling six days of my life, the words of my Platoon Commander really struck me hard. The fact that he's only 20 but displaying the maturity and critical thinking of an age miles ahead of him really earned my respect. Roughly quoted: Our father's were put through far more arduous and fatigue-inducing training regimes back in the days where army welfare was almost unheard of. Still, he fulfilled the duty in order to protect the nation and ultimately protect his family. Now that the baton has been passed to us, what gives us the right to forsake the cause that they had been fighting for all along, just because the going gets tough? Take it as a duty, a responsibility. Do it for your family, even if not for the nation. Your mindset, thinking and maturity grows with time, but fitness is something you are imbued with, and have the liberty to correct. Imagine a scenario whereby your mother's handbag gets snatched by a robber. Will you chase down that insolent "f***er" and beat the living daylights out of him? Do you even possess the ability to chase him down? Do it for your loved ones and yourself. Think of family and yourself, if not your nation. It's your duty as a son, a brother, a role model. Make your son proud of you in future by fulfilling your duty as a dad. Will you want him to give up as easily as yourself? What right do you have to encourage him and give him strength when you did not even give it your all when your opportunity arose?

Graduation trips have always been envied, anticipated, dear yet memorable. The relating adjectives run free, seeing no end. After the two escapades to Taiwan and Korea, I realised that it was not the destination, but the company that really matters. We may not see eye to eye most of the time, but our rash actions and harsh words give way to fitting reconciliatory actions that only bring us closer. As expected, these experiences are not simply for fun, as loosely described, but also serves a rare platform to understand; yet accept the habits and mannerisms of peers you hold close to your heart. This unique bunch have and always will play a substantial part towards moulding our shared vision and dreams of the future. Our memories are embodied in both pictorial and mental forms, thus feel free to recollect on the relevant social media to evoke the good old times. Thank you, my lovely tomatoes. 

The day of ultimate blitz and glamour, led by the theme of La Cosa Nostra, the epitome of Sicilian mafia encompassing the atmosphere of the splendid night. Everyone could not help but appear in their stellar outfits to grace the occassion. We booked a room at Furuma Riverfront hotel to ease preparations and offer ample rest without compromising and sacrificing transport woes. Dinner at  Marriott was BELOW average, absolutely not a meal to be associated with a hotel of such stature. The night's programme was so-so, but the real party only started after "dismissal", where everyone bid tearful goodbyes and captured pictorial memories. Nah, it was more of a joyful affair than that in actual fact. 

Camwhoring in the hotel's toilet dressed to the nines, albeit sherri's yoga dress.

As if we were going for a wedding.

The indispensable dependable guy, missing the third titanium brother.

My clubby colleague. "Clubby", not "chubby".

With joanically. Was that meant to be an adjective?

With xiao tian tian, who looks even more like a stick beside me.

Vampirish me and baechiki.

Not-so-vampirish me and baechiki.

The one who attended to do yoga.

With the boony boon boon. 

The guy with the massive ego who likes to think otherwise.

With the Big-Bird™.

Awkward faces, pretty Asian-like considering the lighting.

My 6th year knowing this extremely "impunctual" bimbo.

The one well-versed in the poisoned art of words.

With the sassy oriental bells.

With the chiangmai tomyum girl who look so unwilling for the picture.

Brown shoes for the win!

A picture paints a thousand works blah...blah...blah...I'm just lazy to spam words so here you go: A brief of photographs that hopefully will prevent you having striped vision after reading the post. Disclaimer: Please do not sue if you still experience the above-mentioned symptom. The following may not be in chronological order so please do not flame me as well. 

The Garfield Tuna's 20th bash!

Pretty much encompasses the "O$P$" concept.

Huh?!

Our very first "yusheng-tossing" ceremony.

The 21st of the man with the once-spiteful words.

My very first clubbing experience. To be honest, I didn't like it and look, Zirca's gone.

Adventure at Adventure Cove. Welcome back, sunburnt skin!

Sharing food because the prices are steepingly astronomical.

Dinner at King Louis: Certified half-filled stomach.

Chillin' at Harry's after the dreaded internship was over! Many more unglamorous pictures but shall spare you guys the misery.

Our official chauffeur's birthday! Success!