I'm seriously considering a few alternative solutions to various outstanding issues.

Whether.. to delete the previous post.

To get MC so I don't need to book in later.

This is insane. Four days gone, and I can't remember doing anything. Anything at all. Every year just seems a carbon copy of the last.


Okay the previous post has to go. At least something constructive was done today.

When you think of a full troop expedition, especially something as important as a BPT ( Battalion Proficiency Test), we think of serious army personnel. Strict regimentation. Lots of untold suffering, only surpassed by true grit and nationalistic spirit.

I can't really continue since I have my future to think about, and getting charge for slander isn't the best way to see it through. Just picture a fat old man cooking mee goreng, with pork cubes and sausages, on a stove in outfield.

One other notable highlight of this trip, was the fact that the recovery team drove past a simulated minefield. It was declared down, and the few of us were declared casualties. I was supposed to fake a leg injury, and I did very enthusiastically, until I realised I was declared dead (from bleeding excessively). The medic pointed me to a mossy area, and said politely, "Sergeant arh, can you please lie there, and be still." I would have complied, if the mosquitoes didn't mount an assault the moment I slumped to the grass in mock agony.

(-_-"') ... seriously la.

So in this scene, I was a dead person. Everyone had a role to act.. and boy was everyone busy. Immersing themselves in imaginary characters, which they could never really see themselves being.


Rumours flying all about that all NSFs will receive a bonus during New Year. Assuming that for once some higher authority chooses to sprout the truth for once, I'll be getting 1 k in my bank account when Feb arrives. Sgt pay 700, Subash 150, bonus 150. I'll be rather alright for once, a nice sum to tide me over.

BWO has specifically stated that me, Cal and Lil' Wong are expected to return for the LRI this year.. since it approaches our ORD date, I can honestly say I'm pissed off for once, with the justified tag making it's rare appearance. What about our leave, and our accumulated day-offs? It never fails to amaze me how the army tries to squeeze every little bit out of us, yet regulars are nearly on a different plane of reckoning. Complex irony.

Note: It takes alot for Jx to be amazed. Right now the word is stupified.


I'm struggling to settle my thoughts. Barely two hours since I last shook the professor's hand. The reassuring pat on my weary shoulder; I can still feel his firm fingers as the grip lingers.

"Don't worry young man. It'll all work out."

Any ship that embarks on a voyage always has a destination. More or less a target to achieve. Not just a joy-ride into the unknown. Because life is short, and success has a way of evaluating itself. Because time is a one-way journey with no return ticket attached.

People often find themselves facing walled-up doors. Ladders that seem to be missing all the rungs in the middle. Maybe it's the end of the line. You spend your whole damn life building a tower of plastic cards, and then some loser comes and blows it down.

Rationality. Circumstances like this demanded it. Like a native to outsiders trapped in quicksand: "No use panicking, you're only sink faster!"

On second thoughts, they'll sink anyway.

It doesn't help that the weather is stifling. A breath of dust rising in circular motion from a car's wheel catches my eye, before a bus blocks my view. The bus moves on; the car is gone, like I never saw it. Everything is moving painfully slowly. Yet as soon as one thing disappears from sight I can't remember anything about it; the colour, the face, the attire. Like a dream, which every nerve in your body urges you to scream, but you can't. Because your voice can't be heard, and the magic of the illusion will be broken.

I hear myself murmuring, though no sound comes out.

"Please help me."

Divine help? Even in my mental state of confusion, I feel a laugh welling up in my throat. Me? Praying? After rejecting any form of religion, I find myself in this situation of absurdity.

Maybe, I tell myself. I'm going crazy.

Each passing moment stretches the period of hallucination. Suddenly the thought becomes lucid. The picture sharpens; the image appears before my eyes.

It could work.

Maybe, it had happened before.

Instinctively, my mind went to the next objective: A sacrifice. It was a big favour I was asking; I needed something to exchange. A swop. My palms were suddenly clammy. Something valuable to me. Something that would not affect the life I was used to for the last eighteen years, eleven months of my life. Something, that I didn't need, yet was worth more than anything I could find. I could feel myself working into a frenzy.

Yes. This could work. It would work. It had to work.

It was so insane. Surely miracles feed on insanity.

Anything... would do.

Please. Help me.


"Hey let's go. You've been waiting long?"


I looked up. Into her beautiful eyes. And felt a cold, cold hand clamp my heart.

FTX barely ended a few weeks ago, and now we're having BPT (Battalion Proficiency Test). This time it's going to be one more day/night, with all the signs of a real tough outfield. Nobody's particularly looking forward to tomorrow. Nobody sane, that is. Even Cal's long lasting euphoria over camou cream has somewhat diminish to the extent where he simply sits, and sulks. I had my reservations about outfield.. and regretably they remain.

So much for optimism ahead of the real thing. The India fiasco still bothers me like a hotcake in the afternoon; hotcakes are for breakfast only, yet I hate to waste good food. The India trip isn't that horribly attractive by any means.. it's just that I feel peeved about not being required to go. I notice that's the case with many things in my life. Miscellaneous objects here and there which I don't really want, but distresses me tremendously when I can't get it. See, it doesn't really matter if I have it anot, but I must have the means to get it. The possiblity must exist. Success is secondary, achievability is everything. The only thing. But I digress. Right now outfield irks me.

Outfield checklist:

- TV
- Radio
- Icebox
- Ribena
- Insect spray

.. and a whole host of illegal items. Should make us comfortable, though I hope we don't end up sick eating tuna.

Oh ya, and I'm a SERGEANT now. >>>


I remember that night. The bus ride from some place which I've never been before. It was drizzling slightly, but it didn't matter; we were sheltered all the way. And we chattered away, everything, from hobbies, to courses in University, even to my field camp in BMT. One hour it was, yet I didn't feel any presence of time. In truth, I thought I was in a dream. Frankly, I think I was. But all the things we touched on, all the little bit and pieces of information we touched on, it really didn't matter.

As in, it really didn't mean anything.

The long weekend is disappearing in the distance, curtained by the torrents of rain. Rain, rain and more rain.. when will it stop. Deary mornings, followed by lazy afternoons, and then bad-tempered dinner-times.. short fuses blown all around the table. And it's nothing short of a bother; I had to re-write this post at least 4 times because of power cut-offs. I've been trying for the last three days, and ya, it's still raining.

Rain, rain and more rain. Wtf.

I've kind of wasted my last few days staring at the gray skies, dreading today. Keat Hong looms in sight, and I simply loathe it. The initial elation of an unexpected off on Mon has long since worn off.. and despite the huge intake of Timeouts and FRs nothing seems to be working. Tried watching Taxi, and it cheered me up for 10 mins.

I might return tomorrow morning to the office, and find myself already a SGT. The three stripes which I would like for very self-centred and immature reasons.. they don't matter anymore; the money does. But honestly, I would give up my allowance, the whole chunk of it (420? 560? misery amount) just to escape camp. Just to breathe the sweet air of freedom, savour the moments without regimentation.

On the other hand, once I'm in camp, I'll dread leaving it. I'm sorry for the cowardice, trepidation, loser-syndrome whatever.. but I abhor failure, and I failed. It's been two whole years, and I've not made any significant progress.


I hate being blamed for stuff beyond my control. Especially if I tried.

Subash is gone. With him goes the unity, however forced it was.


I just got news that I have one more hour before booking in. That makes up for 5 mins of utter bliss.

Had a couple of interesting points I would've liked to highlight, but it's so darn near book-in timing. Tried indulging myself with the long craved-after pair of adidas futsal boots (picture should be here, but I can't find my camera), yet I don't really feel all that comforted.. if six months of craving is sated, and the party involved remains carefreely insouciant.. it's a bad situation. The kind of hole that opens it's mouth wide, devours your heart even as you disappear in the gaping darkness...

I won't mind that. Just promise never to let me out again.