NSF - Pkchukiss' conscript life

Pkchukiss — Life After National Service

2006-01-17T00:05:00.000+08:00

Update your links, for I am shifting to a new blog!

This blog shall remain as a legacy of my National Service stint, and will contain updates after I enter reservist service. Meanwhile, all my blogs on my life will be shifting to http://pkchukiss.sgblogging.com

Friendship

2006-01-08T21:34:00.000+08:00

Casual viewers might need to sit out this heavy topic.

Friendship.

A bond forged between two whom met as strangers some time in their lives, with the willingness to play, work, or simply do things together, and to look out for one another in times of need.

Close friends.

Always willing to sacrifice their own interests to protect yours, and would help you even when they themselves are stretched.

Best friends.

The kind of people with whom you can go through the worst of life together. He/She knows instinctively when you are feeling down, and knows as much about you as a parasite on you. He/She knows your favourite brand of underwear (and buys it for your birthday present), pulls off pranks on you, and still manages to get away with a playful punch from you.

Just how much is defined by our actions? There is a reason why humans act as we do -- the seeming irrationality of our reasonings stem from our own beliefs and values, the core of which is the driver to our actions. Actions per se do not signify much; it is the underlying motivations that speak with a clarity that far surpasses the power of spoken or written word.

Just a short few days back, I found myself staying back in the office to the tune of 5am in the morning to help one of my friend (who happens to have way too much to do). That was after I had finished my share of the work the afternoon, which earned me a rebuke from some of my platoon mates.

"You work too much."

"You clock 8 hours, you still get $500. 16 hours, you still get the same $500. What's the point of torturing yourself?"

I don't concur. It is true that I have finished my work due, however, I find it necessary to help my friend who is in need, surely there is nothing wrong with that?

I would not have noticed the anomality had it not been for one conversation I had with one of the Mortar platoon guys who was also transferred to the same office.

"So what do you feel about your platoon?" he asked.

"Ok, we get by just fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. But you guys (mortar) seem to be very close."

"Yar, we go out almost all the time!"

I remembered that there was a point in time when the platoon sergeant had wanted to organise barbecue outings during one of the block leave days to pull the fragmented platoon together. In fact, in anticipation of opposition, he tried to sell the idea that he wanted it done for "his own sake".

No go. Not only were the guys cold to the idea, some even actively opposed it, stating that it was not within the proper boundaries for the platoon sergeant to dictate our holiday programmes.
They were right, of course. The break was upon our leave time, and he couldn't ask us to do stuff that we did not want to do.

What really shook me to the core was the fact that a cohesion was something nobody was prepared to give their time towards. If we take a close look at the definitions at the start of this long post, you would undoubtly conclude that perhaps, all of us are just mere strangers? That we are suggesting that the formation of this platoon was a convergence of convenience: that people cooperate with each other not out of friendship, but out of necessity.

Have all the tough times been for nothing?

The burgler alarm

2005-12-17T21:47:00.000+08:00

There is a huge disparity between talking your talk, and walking it.

And I can really feel the resistance.

I still remember how my parents told me about the wonderful stories in their childhood days spent in wooden huts, more commonly known as kampongs. About how they used to be devoid of all the technological wonders that we take for granted everyday: the television, computers; even radios were luxury items ill-afforded by the more well to-do.

The families in the kampong would gather together, shoot the breeze, share recepies, help to watch over jade bracelets (considered the heirlome of families in those days), and essentially mingle together for no apparent reason, and still manage to have fun. Security was never an issue, since the bond between neighbours were so close that newcomers to town would stick out like a sore thumb.

This spirit cannot be replicated in these brick and mortar high-rise flats, where neighbours don't even know they live next to each other, and front doors are kept tightly shut in the day to keep in the air-conditioning. Of course, there are artificial substitutes for these traditional interactions, but really, instant messenging cannot replace the direct human interaction.

In fact, things are so bad that families get burgler security systems (so totally unheard of in the early days), which then go off with neighbours not giving a care in the world; no one bothers to step out of their house, go over to the unit to check on their neighbours. What if they were really robbed?

In case you were wondering why I am writing this, it is because the exact same thing is happening to one of my neighbours. I was about to go out to check, when I felt waves of resistance overcoming me:

What if it is just a false alarm?
What if the burglers are armed?
What if...

I didn't go out. I was paralysed by the typical Singaporean mindset: that it was none of my business when strangers get robbed.

It is really strange. I've read angry newspaper forum letters lamblasting the inaction by passer-bys in the face of injustice, and I was really sure at that time that I would do the right thing if I were to be around a crime scene. Instead, when it happens to me, I just stood there as a spectator.

Now what if my neighbours were really robbed? The alarm has fallen silent by now (cut by the burglers?), and I just sit here typing this confession.

All the training in national service - defending the nation from aggressors is total nonsense, especially so when I stood passively while a burgler alarm echoed throughout the block.

Ever wondered where all your blog comment spam came from?

2005-12-11T13:27:00.000+08:00

Here's the answer: http://www.azwebcity.com/brospi12/blogster.html (Undesirable link)

A recent phenomenon on the Internet, blog spam is not only distracting and irrelevant to the topic at hand, it is also a blatant abuse of the blog owner's web space, bandwidth, and his site's reputation. Once these bad guys manage to fill the comments with enough spam, the owner's blog is reduced to a mere wisp on the Internet existence, where search engines and visitors shun alike.

Yet here we have unscrupulous vendors selling programs that automate the posting of such menaces on blogs.

I leave his mailbox to your devices.

ORD Function

2005-12-02T23:30:00.000+08:00

The time is approaching fast.

Soon, most of the guys in the battalion are going to be civilians real soon, braving the storms of the working world. One where the only uncertainty is the only certainty.

No jobs laid out on a silver platter for the taking. Instead of being told what to do, for once, they would have to learn to navigate the course of Life by themselves.

It is their future at stake: already, some are blemished with a prison record for being absent from service without official leave. Some get into accidents. Some have passed on.

I wonder, how many of us would see each other again? Though I still have some way to go before I ORD, many of us would have gone on to greener pastures, become rich and famous, or simply dropped from the radar
innocuously.

We had our ORD function yesterday at the Neptune Restaurant, an unnoticeable existence among the endless row of glass facades along the business belt of the Central Business District. The building was unassuming, which partially disappointed, since we actually paid a whopping $70 for the entire event. (I wasn't totally disappointed, since this is a camp organised affair, I have learnt to keep my expectations low enough.)

I met the rest at the nearby Raffles Place MRT station, from where we streamed against an incessant home-bound crowd. They seemed to be in perpetual hurry, and kept knocking into us. In customary Singaporean fashion, the inevitable crossing of paths is met with a cold stare, a barely mouthed apology. Rinse, dry, and repeat with the next stranger.

In the same vein, Singaporeans are notoriously late. The event was slated for 6.30pm, yet at around 7.15, barely half the restaurant has arrived. We took the opportunity to take photographs with the RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major) and the CO (Commanding Officer). Those turned out red-eyed, and gave everyone who was in the picture a soulless look. Photoshop made all the difference.

Some parts of Scout platoon

Sam, Sylvester, TYS and Teck Guan

Photograph with the CO

Another one...

Photograph with RSM

I remembered to drop my lucky draw ticket stub into the bowl, and arrived at my designated table to find it fully occupied. Along with a few other displaced platoon mates, I went to an unoccupied table, where we got a sound reprimand for not following the seating arrangement.

The proceedings of the event is documented by Timothy in his blog, so I won't be a tired old copycat. Instead, I will focus on the food. I forgot to take photographs of the dishes: I got pretty engrossed with the stage, even as the
food disappeared within moments of being served.

The appetiser consisted of spring rolls, curry puffs, some minced pork cooked with herbs and rolled into rolls. The guys at my table were content to leave exactly ONE piece untouched on the plate, which I gladly polished off. There were some whole pieces of chili cut into decorations, but nobody touched them. (I am sure Mother would have. She loves eating chili at its rawest.)

Next came the sharks fins (I presume). Again, nobody took the last bowl, and I was forced to finish it by the waitress, who could not get the others to take it.

The fried rice was unexpectedly dry and tasteless, which surprised me. This coming from a caterer which charges $21 for a plate of chicken rice, is really a revelation. Nobody is good at everything. We had some fish and broccoli to go with the rice. This time, I had to compete for the broccoli. These guys seem to like it as much as I do. I still remember eating 3 servings of unwanted broccoli some time back...

The dessert came around midway through the magic show, but I was so enthralled by the illusions that I didn't notice it coming. It was when the same waitress came along the second time to collect the bowls that I found my mango pudding untouched, just waiting to tango with my mouth.

The highlight of the night was a highly-energised dance by a Caucasian group. The dancers belted out high octane moves and jumps that would look very impressive on a standing broad jump record. The dancers always managed to land within centimetres from the edge of the stage, and for a while, I thought that they would miss, and jump right onto one of the dining tables.

Like Timothy mentioned, the ladies bared their mammaries in an artistic dedication to their art. The grace of their movements really astounded me. Their slim legs could kick so high, I thought that they would hit their heads. The difficulty is raised by the high heels, yet they spin without hesitance. They could lift off the ground, and land without making a mis-step.

The entire event ended with the drawings for the top 10 lucky draw prizes. They had given out 20 prizes so far, and barely one of the drawn tickets came close to my range.

A toaster came and went, HQ CSM won a cappuccino maker. All the prizes so far had gone to tickets 80XX, 81XX and 86XX.

The 2nd prize got claimed, and we did not think that it was possible at all for one of us to claim the top prize.

The emcee grabbed a bunch of tickets, and hurled it in the air for CO to catch the winning ticket. He barely managed to grab the last one.

The emcee looked at the fallen tickets on the floor: "82XX will go home empty handed. 81XX will hold his hands and they will both leave together," he commented dryly, to the audience's laughter.

He then took a look at the winning ticket.

"Oh, look at this. It is a nice number. A repetition."

"The first prize goes out to 8...."

"Remember, this person might not be here."

"8........ 3."

The person sitting next to me pointed to my ticket excitedly. "Look, you have a chance!"

"I must stress again, the person might not even be present today."

"8...... 3...... 3."

"8.... 3....3... 8! Come on up!"

The winning ticket

I was in shock. I stared at my ticket again to make sure that it really was 8338 printed on it. Then, I dashed up the stage to claim the prize. I was in such a daze that I didn't notice my own platoon mates sneaking up on me. They sneaked up on me, and grabbed me to give me a sound poling...

... and again.

The television was rather large, so I am grateful that Timothy kindly sent me, together with the large box, home.

Timothy, Zi Yang and me

Qi Xiang, me, Boon Keong, Joey and Timothy

The TV

My Pen

2005-12-02T22:28:00.000+08:00

I don't scribble. To me, having to deal with the most minute flaws in the ink is a terrible torture. Every inflection, every curve that is not filled nicely with ink always irk me to no end. That is why my friends all gape at my pencil boxes in astonishment the few times they manage to get a sneak peek.

No less than 6 different models lie comfortably in the tight confines of the cloth. However, the extent of my collection cannot be defined by those few that I carry with me. Instead, I boast a neat collection consisting of various budget ink, gel, and ballpoint pens.

Of which I use only one.

The pen is perfect when I pick it up from the shop. The smooth writing sensation titillates my senses, a sort of an obsession. Then comes the crunch of everyday life, which never fails to trip it up, spluttering with unreliability. This frustrates me so much that I abandon the pen (at home if possible), and immediately rush down to the nearest stationary giant to acquire a new love.
Capricious.

Yet one pen has managed to capture my heart, for a far longer time than the other pens had. Not only has it provided the much needed smooth mileage, it has also accompanied me through countless outfield trainings, scratched through its outer-shell, soaked thoroughly during the enduring thunderstorms. There is only one problem.

I just lost that pen.

Office work — R & D (Regimentation and Discipline)

2005-11-27T19:05:00.000+08:00

I have not had interest in blogging for some time now. Two weeks to be exact.

It is probably just fatigue, because you can't really have time for yourself when you are out there doing other stuff.

I experienced first-hand being a clerk at one of the staff branches in camp. There is a lot more freedom than being in the combat side, where my every single move was monitored constantly, and I could take short breaks as and when I liked without the risk of being accused of malingering. I also like the shredder in the office: especially how it takes pieces of paper and turns them into little christmas confetti with a menacing growl.

But nothing beats sleeping-in back in bunk, going for the occasional run to up-keep my fitness, and then gorging myself on expensive mess food to satisfy my stomach — but I get along. I am convinced that I have a morbid obsession with the shredder, especially since I managed to shred a box of old documents within the time it took the sun to set on Wednesday.

No matter what, the fact remains that I do one of the detested job of the battalion, assisting in the charging of defaulters, and sending them to the Detention Barracks, ceremony and handcuffs: the works. Not only is there plenty of paperwork to do (it is rumoured that 50% of the entire army's charge records came from my battalion), I come face to face with detainees as they enter the bane of the entire service: detention.

I see the obvious fear on their faces as the Military Police started them on their strict regimentation right from the start.

Now if you have not seen what happens to the detainees in the DB, here is a story by the Straits Times (posted on a local JC forum board).

Here's a piece of advice to all 18 year old boys doing, or about to do your National Service: please don't break the law, either by being Absent Without Official Leave, or by stealing, etc. It hurts you and your parents the most. Paperwork is but a small matter which I can handle, but it is the thought of having to send somebody to the lock up that hurts me the most.

Fear: The enemy of success

2005-11-12T19:19:00.000+08:00

Frequent readers of motivational books would surely be familiar with the trumpet to action.

That the need to be actively taking action for success is not surprising: in fact, it is an important pre-requisite. All those lofty ambitions and careful plans are nothing but castles in the air if they born into the physical world. Yet we keep ourselves paralysed by the stifling cloud of fear and procrastination.

Personally, fear is a tough enemy to defeat. It never fails to seek out my vulnerabilities, and to exploit it like a crack in the hole. It encourages procrastination by casting doubts on my capabilities, rubbing it in liberally with its incessant nagging. It is annoying, and should have been in itself a compelling enough reason to incite me to cast this enemy aside. Yet I find myself pausing to entertain the spectre of negativity that it creates, effectively neutralising the positive encouragements that I harbour. Sometimes, I even get consumed by fear itself, preferring to hide myself under the covers of the bed, totally shut out from the world.

What I have failed to realise is that fear plays no actual part towards the achievement of my goals. Instead of focusing me upon the task at hand, I am detracted into a damaging exercise in mis-trust with myself, eventually achieving its aim (ironically) when I fail to achieve mine. So, from now on, I promise everybody to not ever give a thought to this distracting troll.

SOC remedial training

2005-11-06T00:30:00.000+08:00

Inspired by the writing frenzy generated by the over-heated competition that is the [ :: NaNoWriMo :: ], I have decided to dust the thick layer of mold off my series of unfortunate events, and to kick-start my sad story.

I had remedial training this Saturday, and this was done under the shadow of the glee those who had just passed their test on Friday. I felt a little upset at my poor performance, but credit goes to today's training, that I have finally come to realise the mental state that had previously ensured my peak performances in the past.

In fact, it was quite a coincidence that I re-discovered it at all, since I was quite frustrated at being one of the few to be still under the spectre of having to go through the standard obstacle course.

I ran the first 2 km as the warm up round, and I started walking at the 1.5 km mark, which was quite disappointing. As the Officer Commanding put it to me before, I didn't look tired or over-worked, so it must have been a mental block. I have never disagreed with him on that. I knew that by recovering my breath, I could start running again, until I lose my momentum again just metres down the road.

I knew that this couldn't be my maximum performance, so I decided to try a new tack.

For the next 3 rounds of 800 metres, we were to sprint up and down the road, beating the time of 4:30. For the first round, I tried to burst all my energy in the first lap, which severly crippled my finishing run. I came back last, sporting stiches around my left waist, and severly out of breath. Plus, Friday's dinner threatened to come out of my rear. I ended up paying a visit to the toilet, which made me miss the second round. But the loo-trip proved rewarding.

I realised that the key to my peak performance laid simply upon my legs. I only had to concentrate on it, and continually seeking to understand the fatigue that builds up in all physical activities: that is sufficient enough to take my mind off the breathlessness, and pull myself along for a much longer period of time.

I tried this re-discovery for the third round. As I sprinted, I still had my stiches, I still felt breathless, my legs were still burning as usual, but I was struck by a new thought: that I was able to tolerate it ¡ª for the very first time since a long time ago! To prove to myself that my old fitness is back, I reached the end point far earlier than anybody else.

The rest of the training session suddenly became that much easier for me. I could clear the obstacles faster, recover with the swiftness of a springboard, and cut through the tough ones like a hot wire through butter. Need I say I came back first again? (Ok, so I didn't take into account the fact that the few who participated today were not exactly expected to pass anytime soon. But, don't you agree that it is a major achievement?)

Watch out, Sylvester. I am going for the company best timing, 9:02

P.S. If you were wondering, I wrote this post in a record time of 11 minutes, without spell-check, nor stopping to read whatever I have streamed out on the keyboard. All in the name and honour, and of course the spirit of NaNoWriMo! (I won't be doing a 50, 000 word novel though. This is the best tribute I could spare, so enjoy!)

Headhunted

2005-11-03T19:08:00.000+08:00

I probably am going to regret ever bragging about my [ :: IQ test results :: ].

You see, now I am caught in the middle of a inter-branch fight for my services. Plus, I volunteered to edit the battalion ORD magazine (ORD is the term used to describe the end of full-time national service, and the return to the civilian world. Until the next call-up, that is.) To further complicate matters, I was selected for some computer simulation exercise. It is gone now, but just looking at all the work suddenly piled upon me, I think that it is probably a better idea to play the same dumb, stealthy, quiet boy in-the-back-of-the-classroom that I did in school. Did I mention that I still have to clear my Standard Obstacle Course?

You heard me, Timothy. I cannot do Javascript. My grasp of the English language totally stinks. I look forward to doing nothing in the office, taking offs whenever there is SOC or ACCT (Advanced Close Combat Training), playing games whenever I have work to do. Thanks for having me!

18 year olds: Teenager Armed Forces

2005-10-31T22:55:00.000+08:00

National service at a tender age of 18 is surely a huge amount of responsibility for the young minds that are still beginning to come to grips with the whiplashes of human relationships, gradual realisation of the many undercurrents moving the world. Not only are they forced to grow up quickly, they also learn inter-personal skills, such as back-stabbing, avoiding extra work through various antics, and a penchant for the ultimate escape from reality: sleep.

But is 18 years old a mature enough age for a teenager to bear arms?

I asked all these at the same time as I witnessed a 5-tonner truck reversed into my Company Sergeant Major's car.

The tonner, already filled to the brim with passengers, was about to leave the camp. The driver put the vehicle in reverse gear, and forgetting about the Toyota in the blind spot, must have stomped upon the accelerator, since everybody could hear the engine roar from the sudden rev. This was followed by a sickening sound of metal striking metal, and the screeching sound of protesting metal.

The impact caused the relatively new Toyota to be dragged a few metres, with its bonnet totally crushed in.

Now, cars in Singapore are extremely expensive black-holes for money. To secure one, a person first needs to bid for a certificate of entitlement from the government, of which the price floats around SGD$30, 000 (Around US$17, 000), before being eligible to purchase a car. To make things worse, these little pieces of paper only last 10 years, after which it must be renewed at the prevailing price. Can you even begin to imagine the mental anguish?

The spectators cheered, either at the the prospect of having another gambling inspiration from the car's licence plate, or they must hate the encik (a malay word which commonly used to refer to Company Sergeant Major) very much.

This, coming from the people who bear arms, and drive heavy-load vehicles. The wielders of lethal force.

Simply magnificent.

Sick: again.

2005-10-30T17:39:00.000+08:00

I am ignorant when it comes to matters of personal health.

I don't wash my hands whenever I pick up finger food from the tray (though I make the effort to soap my hands before major meals), I shake people's hands, and then neglect to wash mine. I rub my eyes with my fingers after hours at a time striking the keys of my keyboard... the list goes on.

Now, [::: a new discovery :::] to the complete health idiot here reveals that excessive work-outs do affect a person's immune system.

In fact, I am experiencing it right now, first hand.

Still remember the [:: headache I had yesterday morning ::]? It's back, with a vengance. And it is not alone. Phelgm and nasal unmentionables stand astride. All these, thanks to my hygiene habits after a week of back to back Standard Obstacle Course tests and trainings.

Updated: Ambiguity that could be construed as an insult to my friend. Phelgm does strange things to my writing.

Yet another meme

2005-10-29T21:03:00.000+08:00

Ok, so I got shot by this little meme (that's what they are called):

Rules of the game: Post 5 Weird and Random Facts about yourself, then at the end list the names of 5 people who are next in line to do this.

I am obsessed with current affairs, and history.

That always makes for a boring day with my friends, most of whom roll their eyes when I start talking about DeLay (and NO! The capitalisation is correct!)
I have a shy persona:

The internal cogs that turn me still keep me from opening up, except to my close friends. However, I can make friends fine, which is a tremendous improvement from the past, when I was the person sitting there waiting to be acquainted. My friends can also attest to how lame my jokes can really get.

"It's snowing in Singapore!" - close friend from my secondary school.
I live on the 16th storey:

... which could shock dear readers from countries without tall public housing.
I love peanut biscuits:

Hitting the chart is a mundane and uninteresting trivia of mine: I absolutely love Julie's Peanut Biscuits. Nobody bakes biscuits like Julie!
I now have many City Harvest Church friends

... for a Buddhist. I can't find anybody who is in this interesting piece of trivia. But that is the point of this meme: pure trivia.

I now fire the arrows at

Badaunt

Timothy

Han Xian

Ming Guang

Kin Chung

6th division anniversary

2005-10-29T19:06:00.000+08:00

My cell phone (Side note to concerned alarmist: also known as a "handphone", which has entirely nothing to do with terrorists) woke me up at the crack of dawn, to a similar crack in my mind. My brain was cold and protested at being jump-started. Moments later, Father came in and woke me up.

"Don't you have to go to camp now?"

"...mmm... it's just 5 in the morning... WHAT?!"

And that marked the perfect awakening that I have not had ever since I enlisted.

Today is our division's anniversary. 29 years ago to this day, the cobra division was created as a reservist formation, housing all the servicemen whom have transited back into their civilian life. On the odd occasion when they return, the old campus at Nee Soon is bound to be a gathering of beer-bellies, whom would gather jovially with their sacks of canned food for their reservist training.

To commemorate this vital event of our lives, we have enthusiastically stretched ourselves out, bowled over each other in a frenetic attempt to be selected to join an extremely coveted bunch of lucky NSFs to join in a parade filled with polished-boot dirtying mud, a sky that keeps taking a toilet break, and a murderous sun that threatened to preserve us like plums.

I thank my lucky stars that I was selected for the exhibition instead. Our display was located at a secluded part of the camp, which is very easily missed amidst the adrenaline of Bronco tank and Light Strike rides. That meant only the dedicated seekers of our exhibit could find us: The big shots.

Soon after the parade over at the other side of the sprawling camp finished, we found ourselves drowning in a crowd of Majors and Colonels, together with their family. Camera-totting, with some even delicately carrying their ladies' handbags, they seemed far from the commanding figures that hundreds of soldiers fear. The pot-belly helps too.

Taking special advantage of the situation (cameras are not normally allowed), I snapped a few photos of our motley display.

(To any potential enemies: the photos of the equipment you see are so widely distributed, you won't even find them the least bit interesting. See for yourself:)

The armour display on the parade square

The primus in action

120mm mortar

Our exhibition of infantry weapons

The humble ordinary servicemen have all left in a thunderflash, leaving the catered lunch with little takers: Ponnifer shoved a handful of chicken drumsticks on my plate, and I managed to eat many servings of ice-cream, all just for being the only few to grace the "buffet". I didn't take any photos there, since I was too busy eating.

The Week in camp after ATEC

2005-10-14T22:01:00.000+08:00

Due to some unforeseen technical difficulties with my will-power, I am forced to delay the production on the long awaited series of unfortunate events. Rather unfortunate, it is.

Anyway, things back at camp have largely settled down into a steady routine: I go on a very tiring physical training in the morning, then slump on my bed for the rest of the day, occasionally rousing to interrupt some excited debate going on in the bunk.

Lying on your bed motionless, even when you are not really sleeping helps aplenty, especially when you get to overhear interesting opinions about you that would normally never fall within the cavities of your ear... Talk about reconnaissance.

The schedule for these few days are evenly split between Advanced Close Combat Training (which teaches us to do fight unarmed) and the Standard Obstacle Course, which is an eleven-obstacle long run, with a 700 metre run down, and a 600 metre dash to the finishing line. SOC is tough, we have to finish it under 9.5 minutes to pass. The course in the camp ups the ante with a continuous upslope gradient all the way from the start till the finishing line. I can't see myself believing the words of conducting officers who claim that the ground is actually flat.

We got partially lucky today. They managed to book a much easier obstacle course in another camp. It has very steep down slopes, little hindering gradients, but a seemingly long run down and finishing dash. I took the test there before (which I very obviously failed) so I pretty much had a pre-conception on what to expect.

To further improve my chances, I applied all the psychological techniques to mentally prepare myself for the test. At around 3 pm, all the test takers assembled on the ground, and boarded the vehicles that would take us to the camp. Just as the vehicles got into the second gear, the first drop of trouble fell onto the roof. Then the second. And then came the third. Soon, the road was wet with the sudden downpour. The conducting officer had no choice but to cancel the test. This coming after two weeks of running, and an entire day of mental psyching, was a real wet blanket.

You couldn't see the urgency in my passing the test right?

Well, a few weeks ago, the big bosses up above suddenly decided to impose unrealistic sleeping timings, and have largely curbed the nights outside camp, such that the only realistic chance of even going out for a little bit of LAN gaming would have to depend totally on me passing the SOC. I won't go into a discussion into the morals of the people involved, but I have to say that I am quite disappointed. Call it the feeling of betrayal if you would.

The Specialists have ORDed!

2005-10-08T22:58:00.000+08:00

On a lighter note, I would like to congratulate all the commanders from 4th Battalion Singapore Infantry Regiment for having completed their National Service. ORD! Time for you to return to your civilian lives, and make that painful transition back to civilian life. Time to worry about your next paycheck, your future, not to mention waking up at an unearthly 11 am in the morning!

Life is full of uncertainties, but one thing is for sure: the road will reveal itself to you when you get to it. There is no point fretting too much about the dark unknown. Take the plunge, and things will fall into place by themselves.

I mean, haven't it always been this way? Remember when you first stepped into BMT as a bald head always getting pushed around by instructors? You have managed it magnificently, and had even qualified to go to SISPEC, a commander school. You have what it takes to go through the works, grit and mettle being your tools, digging your way through your national service till this day.

So lift your heads up high, strut your stuff with confidence, and all the best in your future projects!

I will be joining you come 9 April 2006. Wait for me!

Terror attacks

2005-10-08T14:20:00.000+08:00

They have done it again.

The lives of ordinary people ¡ª lives yearning for normalcy only just recently restored ¡ª have been brutally disrupted by the very selfish act of terrorists: again.

Bali, an island dependant upon the hospitality industry has been dealt a set back by these monsters, dead set against the establishment at large, and determined to establish their own regime through acts of terrorism.

But what all these dastard deeds have done is to strengthen the world's resolve to continue their lives as best as they can.

Historically, war has always been waged around the hearts and minds of people. To win them, or to strike fear in their hearts would mean a tremendous advantage to any side in a war, regardless of the original purpose of the conflict in the first place.

We also know that fear is a poor motivater. People can, and they will, eventually overcome the terror struck in their hearts by these faceless, merciless killers, and get to the root of the problem. That we see dictatorships which rule through instillation of fear collapse through the test of time is simple proof of fact that terror will not work towards the eventual motives of the terrorists. If their cause is worthy of the world's consideration, shouldn't they come out in the open to present their ideals? If what they do is rational, surely the cause would survive the test of critics? Won't the best idea be embraced by the world with open arms?

It is obvious that these terrorists have no real contribution to society. They are merely misguided folks tightly binded by their blind faith in psychotic manipulaters, whom use them for their own agenda. At the same time as I hate these people, I pity them. They would never gain acceptance in this world.

The world will rise up, and rid itself of this scourge, just as we overcame the two world wars. The world goes around, long after the terrorists are defeated.

Dedicated to the victims of terrorists:

Bali, 12 October 2002 and 1 October 2005
USA, 11 September 2001
Madrid, 11 March 2004
London, 7 July 2005
... and more.

Permethrin: the insect killer

2005-09-27T14:26:00.000+08:00

Humans don't really care about the finer details about all the things they use. As long as it works as advertised, they would be content with just the basic knowledge required to operate those technological goddesses.

With that in mind, here is an introduction to the insect killer, Permethrin, and how it affects to military personnels.

We all know that staying inside the forest for days at a time can be a disturbing experience. Campers curse about it, while soldiers lying with their faces in the grasses are resigned to their destiny. Those blood suckers really know how to annoy, taking extreme pleasure in drinking human blood, and imparting a torturous itch reflex after it is done with its business, which makes us wonder whether those pests have been unloading their wastes at the same time as they enjoy the scrumptious snack.

More fortunate soldiers (read: behind the front lines) have the pleasure of relieving themselves of the consuming desire to scratch the itch, while others (those with their faces in the grass, having to stay motionless continuously to maintain stealth) would have to expend already scarce willpower to resist the burning urge to move. Their fingers start to tremble with the effort. Soon, the body follows in harmonic motion, which sets the surrounding grass into motion, which then shows the uninitiated enemy observer the location of their potential ambushers.

To solve the problem, armies have been ordering soldiers to roll down their sleeves whenever entering an area with trees and grass patches. That usually stops most mosquitoes. But there exist an unusual breed of the elite, capable of extreme piercing and penetration, which the thick nylon and cotton cloths fail to block. Not surprising, these commandos also harbour the same ability to create bigger bumps, and itchier itches. Sometimes, it gets so bad that the itch feels painful to the touch.

Such is the suffering of soldiers having to operate in these mosquito infested forests.

As if that were not enough, to break the camel's back, many species of mosquitoes harbour vectors and parasites, which they present to its host in gratitude for the involuntary donation. Dengue, Malaria are just some of the many diseases people have come down with, days after their encounter with the pests. Many survive, while some succumb to the disease. All the prep talks by training officers about how "men don't die so easily" seems to have taken a new meaning altogether.

When all seems dark and gloomy, the policy makers from their cushy offices have come to the rescue!

Introducing.. Permethrin!

A revolutionary insect killer in a bottle, it promises to kill insects on contact!

First, you pour a little bit of the solution into many parts of water. Make sure you have those gloves on!
You should see the entire solution turn chalky. Dump one piece of your uniform inside it and soak it. Do the same with the other pieces.

The manufacturer promises that insects coming into contact with the treated uniform will drop dead and fall off.

I can't verify this claim since I've still been bitten by those monstrosities after treating my uniform, yet I have seen buzzing mosquitoes drop dead in front of me after I have sprayed them with a pure mixture of water and Permethrin, which makes me extremely suspicious about the killing mechanisms: does the chemical simply chokes the insect to death, or does it kill by overloading the mosquito's desire to feed?

Coming Soon to a blog near you: A series of Unfortunate Events

2005-09-23T18:55:00.000+08:00

My pieces of luggage still laid strewn chaotically around my room, and Mother has been nagging me to clean up the act.

Did I think I was in an action film? I doubt so. After assuring Mother that this mess was not an act, I was given a deadline to clear them out. My brother would have sniggered had he heard that.

I didn't resist the commands of the lady who gave birth to me, so I picked up the pieces, starting with all the dirty laundry I accumulated from the trip to the-country-that-must-not-be-named. I was really thankful that I had the sense to at least dunk them into ziplock bags, because the moment I opened the flap, I was treated to a cacophony of my own smells, totally corrupted by days of stewing in human sweat and pherohormones. Oh the joy the bacteria must had.

That task done, I decided to cluster the remaining pieces of luggage together in one corner of the room. As they like to say, presentation is everything, so I am sure that dressing up the room would help it look less dilapidated. Needless to say, I was only just being lazy. Playing dress up to my room is definitely a tough job, though not something unfamiliar, since I had to do it many times previously in camp.

I've started on writing about my misadventures (is it the right word?). It is a series of unfortunate events (which luckily still pales in comparison to the film/story with the same name) that happened to me while I was in the-country-that-must-remain-unamed. Inside that post, you will find fairy tale stories about how a camera decided to declare independance (not unlike the-country-that-must-not-be-named), of sore eyes and broken backs, of lost disembarkation cards, road near-misses.

Starring myself, a platoon of homesick scouts, battalion HQ, the kind police of the-country-that-must-not-be-named, taxi drivers, and hotel staff whom-insist-on-communicating-to-me-in-English-when-I-could-speak-Chinese-natively.

Coming Soon.

Headhunters take note: (Yet another IQ test)

2005-09-23T17:55:00.000+08:00

After taking that IQ test, I have been egged on by Tickle to take their advanced IQ test, which essentially picks my brain apart, dissects the choices I make, and churns out a very descriptive description (verbose would have been a better word, but for want of a pun) of my personality and thinking style. Here is a small excerpt:

Your IQ score is 117. This means that you are smarter than 87.0% of all other Super IQ test takers.

This number is the result of a scientifically-tested formula based on how many questions you answered correctly on the Tickle Super IQ Test.

But there's more to intelligence than a single number, a single score, or a single label. Tickle uses 8 distinguishable dimensions of intelligence in the Super IQ Test. By analyzing your individual scores on those 8 scales, we are able to look beyond the raw IQ score into how you process information, and which intellectual strengths you're best at.

Your test results indicate that the way you process information makes you a Concrete Thinker.

You have unusually strong verbal and numerical skills. This dynamic combination gives you an exceptional aptitude for solving equations and then communicating those solutions to others in lay terms. Your intelligence is grounded and based on a very clear interpretation of what is happening around you. Because you are so realistic, most things are crystal clear to you, while others may get confused by this or that.

Your objective is to make things real and clear. People count on you to find and give the sober, cold-hard facts. You learn most easily when things are explained in numbers and words and so you enjoy the education you get through books and lectures. Unlike others, you do not have to experience something first-hand to understand it, nor do you have a lot of interest in how things work mechanically. On the other hand, if you find the information in your books or lectures too abstract, you might tend toward first-hand experience as you'll get nothing but the facts that way.

Here's an example of your Concrete Thinker thinking skills at work in a real-life situation:

You are at a travel agency with a friend contemplating the several different types of vacations you two could take together. The agent gives you the pros and cons of each vacation (including the prices), along with the options you have within each package. All the details, facts, and figures confuse your friend, who asks the agent to just recommend the best one so you two can be done with it and get out of there. But you are able to take out a pen and a piece of paper and write down all of the relevant information. The comparison sheet you create helps you both figure out which is the best choice, and you prevents your friend from feeling overly confused. Thank goodness you think the way you do!

Head-hunters gather your weapons: grab this rare talent before your prey is seized by others!

I accept employment for a mere pittance at SGD$10, 000 per month.

(Do I see my head swelling, or is that just my ego?)

Tickle me IQ test

2005-09-22T13:22:00.000+08:00

The argument for (and against) IQ tests continues to blow hot and cold right over my head as I took

[:: Tickle's online IQ test ::].

I have always seen myself as an average kid, and people have treated me as such. So I got a shock when I saw this:

[:: My certificate ::].

You scored 135 on Tickle's IQ test. This means that based on your answers, your IQ score is between 125 and 135. Most people's IQs are between 70 and 130.

In fact, 95% of all people have IQs within that range. 68% of people score between 80 and 120. The following chart below, shows these percentages and where your IQ score is on that scale.

There's more to intelligence than a single number, a single score or a single label. Tickle uses four distinguishable Intelligence Scales in the Ultimate IQ Test. By analyzing your individual scores on those four scales, we are able to look beyond the raw IQ score into how you process information and thereby determine your Intellectual Type.

You have a strong ability to process visual-spatial and mathematical information. These skills combined with your strengths in logic are what make you a Visual Mathematician.

You're able to understand patterns visually and in numbers. That means your mind can create a mental picture for any problem. In addition to that skill, you possess an intelligence that allows you to apply math to that picture, too. That helps you manipulate multiple parts of the picture (or problem) to come up with a solution.

You have many skills that are critical to success and problem-solving. Your talents help you understand the "big picture," which is partly why people may turn to you for direction — especially in the workplace. You flourish in environments where tasks are clearly defined, and you are a whiz at improving processes and making things more efficient. Your ability to detect patterns and your skills in math and logic, make it natural for you to come up with ideas and theories that simplify processes for everyone.

Outside of work, Visual Mathematicians tend to do well at strategic activities like chess. It must be that ability to recognize patterns — both as they are and how they develop. Regardless of how you put your mind to use, you've got a great set of talents. You will be able to envision a clear path and calculate the risks, and more importantly, the rewards, of anything you take on.

Great Jobs For You:

Because of the way you process information, these are just some of the many careers in which you could excel:

Physicists

Chess player

City planner

Astronomer

Physicists

Mathematician

Researcher

Some of Your Greatest Talents:

You've got tons of strengths. It wouldn't surprise us if you:

Can give practical application to abstract thought

Can predict patterns

Are resourceful & practical

Envision the "big picture"

Your Mathematical Percentile

You scored in the 100th percentile on the mathematical intelligence scale.This means that you scored higher than 90% - 100% of people who took the test and that 0% - 10% scored higher than you did. The scale above illustrates this visually.

Your mathematical intelligence score represents your combined ability to reason and calculate. You scored relatively high, which means you're probably the one your friends look to when splitting the lunch bill or calculating your waitresses' tip. You may or may not be known as a math whiz, but number crunching might come a little easier to you than it does others.

Your Visual-Spatial Percentile

You scored in the 100th percentile on the visual-spatial intelligence scale.

This means that you scored higher than 90% - 100% of people who took the test and that 0% - 10% scored higher than you did. The scale above illustrates this visually.

The visual-spatial component of intelligence measures your ability to extract a visual pattern and from that envision what should come next in a sequence. Your score was relatively high, which could mean that you're the one navigating the map when you're on an outing with friends. You have, in some capacity, an ability to think in pictures. Maybe this strength comes out in subtle ways, like how you play chess or form metaphors.

Your Linguistic Percentile

You scored in the 90th percentile on the linguistic intelligence scale.

This means that you scored higher than 80% - 90% of people who took the test and that 10% - 20% scored higher than you did. The scale above illustrates this visually.

Linguistic abilities include reading, writing and communicating with words. Tickle's test measures knowledge of vocabulary, ease in completing word analogies and the ability to think critically about a statement based on its semantic structure. Your score was relatively high, which could mean you know your way around a bookstore and maybe like to bandy about the occasional 25-cent word to impress friends.

Your Logical Percentile

You scored in the 100th percentile on the logical intelligence scale.

This means that you scored higher than 90% - 100% of people who took the test and that 0% - 10% scored higher than you did. The scale above illustrates this visually.

Tickle's logical intelligence questions assess your ability to think things through. The questions determine the extent to which you use reasoning and logic to determine the best solution to a problem. Your logic score was relatively high, which could mean that when the car breaks down, your friends look to you to help figure out not only what's wrong, but how to fix it and how you're going to get to the next gas station.

What factors helped determine my score?

If your score isn't as high as you thought it would be, remember that there are plenty of external factors that can affect your performance on the test. If you were tired, hungry or distracted, you might have scored lower than you expected because you were less able to concentrate.

Your level of formal education and your familiarity with taking these kinds of tests also influence how well you do. That's part of the reason IQ tests aren't a perfect measure of your intelligence. Your score would probably be quite different if the IQ test was designed to take into account your musical, artistic, emotional and social skills.

On their own, IQ scores can't predict someone's ultimate success or definitive potential for success. Many of the qualities that lead to great achievements are learned through culture, experience and schooling - not solely from doing well on an IQ test.

What your IQ test can help explain, however, is how your brain works best. By looking at the kinds of questions you answered correctly and the kinds of questions you answered incorrectly, we can tell you more about your intelligence type — the type that explains the kind of information that makes sense to your brain.

I remember taking an IQ test conducted by the Ministry of Education back in primary school. It was a nationwide exercise to sniff out high IQ students to join the special elite programs created then. I don't recall them revealing my IQ results to me, though. My conspiracy theory goes that they were too afraid to recruit me into those programs for fear that I would find the program too unchallenging.

Ah, the big ego strikes. (I wish.)

Writing trouble

2005-09-20T23:36:00.000+08:00

I had wanted to post Day 2 of my trip in Taiwan, but after several drafts, a few cups of Milo (I don't do coffee), a few IM messages later, I decided that I hadn't written about the right stuff yet. Or was I not made of the right stuff to write that? I am confused.

So, I hope that the best decision was to freeze that until I could get myself together. It is a monumental task for me these days, since I have been trying to get some real maintenance run done before going back to camp a few days from now, yet I get distracted by the television. Yes, the old disease from my childhood days is back with a terrible vengeance! And this has no attribution to the quality of the shows: in fact, in my opinion, there has never been more junk shows then I had ever encountered since the industry consolidated at the start of the year.

You will agree with me when you look at the newspaper listings, and find celebrity game shows ¡ª featuring celebrities playing pointless games filling in the prime time slots. If this is MediaCorp's idea of a reality show, I guess they need a reality check themselves. While the government has been encouraging innovation and promoting creativity, I certainly think these herrings were not what those scholars had in mind when they were drafting their grand designs inside their cosy ivory towers. They were thinking about "The Amazing Exam" (after "The Amazing Race"), "The Scholar" (after "The Bachelor"), "Extreme Exams" (after "Extreme Makeover").

I digress. I have been receiving e-mail messages from Dear Readers demanding for the photos I took in Taiwan. I assure you, it is all safe inside the camera. But I can't say the same for the camera itself, since it is currently riding in an unknown location in a cab somewhere in Taipei. Guess we would all have to wait for the camera to come back to Singapore before we can get something out of it, eh?

All the while that I was wallowing, I noticed that Dear Government has decided to throw the book at three bloggers. Their crime: Sedition. The trio have been posting racist comments on their blogs, and Dear Government thinks that they have gone out of line. Thus the book. My guess is that it will be a rather heavy tome, since this is the first time it has been thrown at anybody. Ladies and gentlemen, please be on the lookout for the dust gathered on the surface. The fall out might be reach quite far.

Perhaps I might raise a suggestion to Dear Government? Find out the cause for those heartfelt comments by the trio would you? I am sure that you won't be so far detached from the rest of the world to know that those people were merely the more vocal racists.

P.S. I am not me. Again. This is not my usual writing style. Oh goodness, somebody help me. I am writing like an eccentric. (Or maybe I am weird)

Blog in the newspapers

2005-09-18T22:47:00.000+08:00

While I was away from Singapore, the weekly Digital Life supplement of the local newspaper, The Straits Times, decided to talk about my blog.

Not that it did much to draw more traffic to this blog, but I noticed more and more visitors from government agencies.

Am I under close scrutiny?

Digital Life, 16 August 2005 (Section: People, Netizens)

The First Day Back Home

2005-09-15T01:05:00.000+08:00

First day back in the country after a brief period away, and I am noticing significant, yet at the same time gently subtle changes to the places.

The airport itself has a new layout after a considerable amount of hacking and regeneration. Not only has it been a surprise to me, it is also a resounding knock on my head towards this country's needs to constantly innovate and rebuild herself in a bid to progress amidst the constant storm of change. The strange thing about it is that the characters involved in this are always everybody, yet we find ourselves powerless to halt the call to change.

Hitting the tarmac at 9 am here meant an unearthly take-off time of 5 am. That meant compulsory reporting to the airport by 3 am, and the distance from the capital to the airport further pushed my reville time to an unearthly 1 am. The hotel staff commiserated with the poor (intentional?) scheduling of the flight, but that was all they could do to alleviate my weariness. Again, being the packet IC didn't help matters. And I still had my lost disembarkation card to further stir the plot. Thankfully, dealing with stuff one at a time helped tremendously, so I managed to get off to snoozing on the plane by take off.

I reached home to discover another trip waiting for me this weekend. It turned out that my cousin in Malaysia was getting married on Sunday, and had invited me to her wedding. A pleasant surprise, although I didn't expect to be leaving the country again so soon after arrival. I consider this a blessing, since a few of my platoon mates are playing the part of busy jet-setters, leaving for Thailand only 3 days after touch down.

My RSS feeds have been bursting at its seams for some time already, and I found clearing the backlog of information after a period of total news blackout satisfying, yet overwhelming. We have too much information at our tips, that is for sure.

Creationists have been trying to mislead the world with yet another piece of totally unverifiable nonsense: Los Angeles Times

Have the Americans forgotten their drive to seperate Church from the matters of the state? Then we must worship the spaghetti monster, as Boing Boing recommends!

The creativity of the human mind knows no bounds: What's next after books, CD-ROMs and the Internet for the library? People for loan!

To the few of you mad volunteers bound for Thailand, good luck with your trip there, and have a good exercise with the combat engineers!

In the meantime, it is off to more civilian pursuits for me. Sleep. Play. Enjoy.

Day One: Arrival (14 August 2005)

2005-09-14T23:21:00.000+08:00

Day One: Arrival (14 August 2005)

I couldn't sleep the night preceding the flight, whether that is due to my excitement at air travel, or the jitters filling my stomach with acid on a warm night. Studying physics hasn't been a sufficient relief: I don't really get comforted at the idea of a piece of aluminium floating in the air purely on Bernoulli's effect alone, and the fact remains that August is open season for typhoons. But I get over it... almost.

The icing on it all was when I was tasked to fuss over twenty people due to board the same plane, ensuring their punctuality on board the plane and taking care of all the mudane administrative stuff before the flight. So I laid on my bed, simultaneous thinking about nothing, while fiddling with the cell phone by my bedside every few minutes to check the time. There went most of the late evening of August 13, and a little of the morning of August 14.

At the airport, my mind was unusually numb and switched off, as I went through the task of passing out the boarding passes and immigration cards to the people under my charge (that's an egoistic way to put it, but you get the idea). Also thrown into the bundle are t-shirts, which we would wear to the battalion's activities during our stay in the-country-that-must-not-be-named. I took a lesson in FAQs when I had to field multiple repeat queries from 20 people: it pays to get everybody together before commencing upon one major verbose brief.

Anyway, the flight took off as planned, and we touched down in a city in the-country-that-must-not-be-named smack in the throes of the afternoon heat. Clearing the immigration building, I immediately reeled as memories of the same place ran head-on with this new experience, and went immediately for the air-conditioned coaches that would make the trip down south.

While I alternated between snoozing and watching the scenery, I took pictures of the destruction that the previous storm had laid upon the island. (I don't have them now, details will be revealed in later posts...) As the bus purred down the main road, I could see the roiling seas mixing around, framing a perfect picture of a veiled threat to the coast. I wish I could show you the pictures, but... never mind. (It still breaks my heart now just to think about it...)

We reached camp around 2 in the afternoon, upon which I left the bus with my luggage, and leaving my precious disembarkation card (for use when departing the country-that-must-not-be-named), and a copy of The Sunday Times in an envelope snugged into the netting on the seat in front of me. It was only the bus drove off that I realised my mistake. The matter reached S1, who boiled over and demanded my head served up on a chopping board. I can't say what happened to me, for it would breach confidentiality agreement, but I must say that it is a huge lesson I have learnt. For some time, I was paranoid that I would be a permanent resident here. I fretted that my parents would disagree with that arrangement.

Anyway, unpacking took up most of the day, and I hit the sack early, as the spring inside unwound. I had some driving to do the next day. On the wrong side of the road.

Long overdue meme...

2005-09-13T21:40:00.000+08:00

Here's a long overdue meme K.C. cast to me while I was overseas. I sure hope that given my current state (I sure identify with plenty of jet-setting executives right now), I am able to carry out this sacred mission:

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:

1. Gunny Sack
An endearment by my primary school mates, inspired when we won the fun race during one of the school's sports day. I was involved in hopping in that sack for the relay.

2. Pikapi
My nickname needs no explanation if you have watched Pokemon. Otherwise, please Google Pokemon! I embroided this on my jungle hat.

3. Gun
It sounds exactly like my surname, so there it goes...

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:

1. Pikapi/Pkchukiss

2. MakePeace

3. (Censored)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:

1. My natural optimism

2. A sense for the dramatic, though it is severely dulled these days. Either I am losing it, or I am gripped by the tentacles of cynicism.

3. Responsibility. I dare say that nobody cares more about his own work than I do. Or has cynicism consumed me?

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:

1. My need to be alone for stretches at a time

2. I can't tolerate irresponsible people

3. I hate overtly arrogant fools.

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
(I assume this is talking about my culture)

1. Food. We are very mad about food. Cornerstone to every important festival in our country is the very stuff we put inside our mouths.

2. Queues. We automatically go to the longest queue, because we think that the best stuff is where most people would be.

3. Rants. A product of the unrelenting pressures of life here, we rant a lot. Plus the lack of a true outlet causes mini holes to explode here and there...

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:

1. Being ignored by my friends.

2. Being bored and deprived of entertainment.

3. The pain of losing loved ones.

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:

1. My computer

2. Cash

3. Cell phone.

THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:

1. Nothing?

2. Underwear?

3. Shorts? I don't know.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS:

1. Michael Jackson
I know he is an eccentric person, but that doesn't affect my admiration for his music. Some of my favourite songs are humanitarian in nature.

2. F.I.R.
The new-comer to the chinese music scene has managed to capture my attention with their innovative tracks.

3. (none)
Some may mention Jay Chou or David Tao as their favourite artiste, but I don't identify enough with their music to justify their listing...

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS:

1. Heal the world - Michael Jackson

2. A chinese song by F.I.R

3. Another piece by F.I.R

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:

1. To be understood

2. To be able to build a happy life together with a partner

3. To understand

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order):

1. We all die eventually.

2. My identity card puts me down as a male.

3. My identity card puts me down as a female.
(I am getting quite bored about this... I frankly don't like to indulge in such trivia about myself, it feels egoistic. But then again, I am slightly narcissistic.)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:

1. The ability to listen

2. The ability to understand

3. (none)

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:

1. The Internet

2. Cycling/Swimming/Running

3. DotA
A custom map for WarCraft III played like a mini-RPG where players try to kill each other with one hero each.

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:

1. Sleep
The jet lag is really annoying, but I prefer to wait for my normal bed time to sleep it off. No use wasting my up time tomorrow morning.

2. Eat

3. (none)

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING/YOU'VE CONSIDERED:

1. Journalist for an independent newspaper

2. Catalyst for political betterment

3. Multi-billionaire with at least 3 charities in my name...

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:

1. The States
Experience life in the champion for democracy. I might plan a visit to the lesser affluent communities, which appear on television as majority asian and hispianic poverty pockets. Life isn't a bed roses for many people.

2. Japan
I am curious about the controversial WWII shrine that has gotten Japan's neighbouring countries' ire. Has the hurt gone so deep that 60 years down the road, resentment stil breeds in the place of forgiveness? I have also heard that the shopping is great there - if you have the money, that is.

3. Tasmania
To truly get away from it all, I would dump my cell phone at home, and get there just to swim all day in the famous reefs, and experience the life Down Under.

THREE KIDS' NAMES YOU LIKE:

What good would answering this do?

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:

1. Properly arrange my financial succession, and take care of my personal affairs.

2. Reflect on my life, and be proud that I have lead a meaningful life.

3. Be with my loved ones.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:

1. I commit most of the unspeakable private things a boy does.

2. The wall is the target of my anger: the shoe prints are testament to my wrath.

3. I love Pikachu.

THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:

1. I have absolutely no idea.

THREE FEMALE CELEB CRUSHES:

1. None
Crushes are a tad bit hard on the body. Certain parts of the anatomy might get crushed out of shape, or require extensive calcium replenishment to repair.

THREE PEOPLE THAT I WOULD LIKE TO SEE TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW:

1. Desmond

2. Kester

3. (none)
I don't think Badaunt bothers herself with such aimless memes, since all the ones she has done so far are things worthy of discussion...

Back in Singapore...

2005-09-13T19:17:00.000+08:00

After a 4 hour flight with a cowboy pilot, I find myself back in Singapore.

Technically, I lost myself instead.

I see people driving on the right side of their vehicles, and now on the left side of the road, just when I was accepting the rebellious as the norm, people start spewing forth Singlish, and taxi drivers show off their erractic city driving in their manual clutch releases.

And the weather. No typhoons here.

More when I get over this strange desire to sleep (I heard that it is called "jet-lag").

Towards the land directly south of Japan

2005-08-13T21:05:00.000+08:00

Metaphorically, I have butterflies in my stomach.

In reality, I am tossing and turning in my bed.

Less than 9 hours from now, I will find myself on board a plane bound for the land of Jacky Wu, Nono and Kang Kang. No, not to see them, of course, but I would be in their country/province (antagonists in that famous debate may pick your word) for a whole month.

Cheap milk tea makes me salivate, but the thought of scaling the mountains there has only given me more butterflies.

You see, they like to start small. Disguising themselves as easily dismissable feelings, they hide in your stomach. Then as the departure date rolls nearer, they start to get big — exponentially.

So here I am trying hard to keep the butterflies inside my stomach. (I won't want them out, though, it kind of messes up the floor tiles.)

For one month, I will miss my family, my computer, my favourite hang outs, my favourite food, and most important of all: my room. I like the mess, it has made my mother nag, but it is the only place which I am legally permitted to let loose without prosecution.

But don't worry about updates. The computers in the camp are outfitted with speedy access to U.S. servers, so much so that the only limitation stopping me from updating this blog is my lack of time. I have no doubt that I would be busy, and the 3rd biggest boss has already given an indication of the things to come.

There they go again. Them butterflies really begin to annoy.

Let's see: I will miss the strict traffic order, especially driving on the correct side of the road, the reassurance that I won't get lost...

Well, now that has come, let's see what I would have one full month of:
Betel nuts (reddish stuff that people chew and spit out), cheap milk tea, interesting toys, huge dildos (I saw one on my last trip there), mountains, ninja vans, mountains, photos (I have learnt my lesson: my camera is coming with me this time around)... Have I mentioned mountains?

I am sure that things would turn out just fine, and I would probably just come back a very happy person, since that should be the last of my outfields.

Yup, it would turn out fine...

Till the next post!

Of Crave and Greed

2005-08-11T20:07:00.000+08:00

What is exactly the driving force of the world, Crave or Greed?

To me, Crave is a want for something. Greed is the desire for more. In such a context, that makes "insatiable greed" a repetition. To others, the lines between the two lexicons are blurred.

That is not inferring the incompetence of ordinary folks per se, but I question the strength of their convictions, on the risk of being labelled a lingual purist.

In everyday life, the two terms are used interchangeably, without regards to their degree of severity. Hardly surprising, but there comes a time to draw a line between fair use interchangeability, and wrong use.

It is like "red" and "maroon".

But then again, word contexts change over time, so I probably am an alarmist with nothing better to do with his time, and should just shut up.

Yet again, subtleties are what makes up the finely defined world of Language, and should be dealt with absolute care to avoid a dull future where everything is black to the same degree.

You are good.

You are... good.

Erm, whatever. I haven't got anybody to proof this, so my argument's probably nonsense. Please don't lam-blast me, I am just a poor "A" level holder, forced to serve the nation's army.

What do you think?

Post National Day

2005-08-10T13:03:00.000+08:00

I tried calling the forum host a few times yesterday, but nobody answered, strangely.

So there hangs precariously on the precipice all the previous comments made in that forum host. I won't be surprised if it has gone over the cliff already.

Meanwhile, my bad cough is improving somewhat: my throat no longer launches into an obstructed fit thanks to the cough medicine, but I can still feel the phelgm clustering in a choke point in the wind pipe.

My pen pal from the U.S. suggests that I try a cigarette or two, to induce those slimey invaders into my mouth. As arcane theories of using "poison to counter poison" filled my mind, I had to say, thanks for the suggestion, but no thanks, John. I really don't need more stuff clogging my airway now.

For those who have missed the National Day parade which was broadcast over all the free-to-air channels yesterday can watch the repeat telecast on Saturday, 1pm. If you would like to catch the exciting repetition on demand, [:::> Internet streaming has made it possible <:::].

Fireworks enthusiasts may take a look at the nitrate display repeated over and over again, [:::> courtesy of a blogger lucky enough to be invited to the view from Southeast Asia's tallest hotel <:::].

[:::> Badaunt <:::] has gone travelling again! This time, she brings us updates to her travels in Budapest.

Budapest in August is full. At the airport informatzion desk we started bz asking about the place we had originallz wanted, then moved down the price list until we found one that had rooms available. This means that we are now stazing at the cheapest place in Budapest, a zouth hostel. It is prettz rough, but clean. It is also incrediblz noisz as the zouth stazing there are apparentlz into partzing all night.

How I wish I could travel on my own free will, on my own time, without nonsensical restrictions! Each time I go abroad on training trips with the SAF, they like to impose weird rules on our R&R, which sometimes mar the experience. Here are a few of the sillier ones:

NO entering any water body:
That automatically excludes the beach from the itinerary.
NO rental and driving of local transportation
What is the use of your licence if you cannot drive? How many attractions can we visit without a vehicle?

My final trip with the SAF is Exercise StarLight. I am forbidden to say where it is located. Anyway, I really would love to meet the nice girls in Taipei :-P. After my ATEC there, my battalion would be standing down soon. Most of the guys would end their full time national service in December, while the rest of Support Company would leave for the civilian world in March/April.

I would save the farewell speech in another post, but I would just like to mention that it was nice knowing everybody here. All those whom I had quarrels with, I totally enjoyed bickering with all of you :-). It really adds flavour to life. Nice to fight ATEC with you all, and Towards Greater Heights.

National Day

2005-08-08T22:43:00.000+08:00

It is that time of the year again.

Boring introduction suits cliched event that happens every year with the same monotony of brushing a teeth.

However, as far as the MCs of the National Day parade are concerned, National Day is the most exciting event to happen to Singapore since eons. They bounce around like a fevered bunny on steroids, marching the spectators and home viewers through the same menu of events year after year.

As if things were not bad enough, we have an organising committee which switch-a-roos between the armed formations each year. While I agree with the over-stressed point on how fresh hands are willing to try new stuff, I question their rationale: what is the use of having new people on the job when the same inefficiencies are repeated year after year? Sure, these people try new stuff, which are in essence the old mistakes made by their predecessors.

Definitely innovative.

I could list the events for the day:

Pre-parade Segment:

Teenagers from the ITE would bound around (think rabbits) in a song that embodies "joy", "youth", and "hope" (smaller than usual capitalisation intentional). Choir bursts into a national day song.

Parade marches in:

A few commercial entities, in addition to the armed forces, march in military formation, to symbolise the five facets of Total Defence. Choir bursts into a national day song.

MPs arrive. Choir bursts into a national day song.

Prime Minister arrives. Parade does a salute. Choir bursts into a national day song.

President arrives. Parades does a salute. Colours salute. Choir bursts into a... (you get the idea)

Show One/Two/Three: Themes can range from "unity" to "prosperity", etc... provided that it is a cornerstone of the current national thrust. Choir bursts into a national day song every now and then. A video show, or two of proud Singaporeans...

Fireworks go off to the tune of a national day song sung by - you-know-who.

Everybody present says the National pledge

President goes off

Spectators find themselves being ushered out

It is the same thing over and over again. It is akin to a salesman peddling his wares on the street. He does the same thing, only difference is the variety of his wares year after year.

I was at the National Day parade last year as a serviceman on usher duty. I was there too the year previous as a civilian. Before those two, I was witness to the same cookie-cutter for 18 years.

Given that I have seen the same show repackaged in the same box every year, I feel justified in doing anything other than watch the National Day parade. It should have sounded stale to everybody 38 years ago (Singapore celebrates Her 40th Independence day tomorrow), and I find it a curious social phenomenon that Singaporeans continue to find inspirational value in it.

Happy National Day! (And for the umpteenth time, Singapore does NOT celebrate a birthday. It is our Independence day we are celebrating!)

P.S.: I have no idea why I sound so cynical today, but the fact remains that I am peeved. Whether my medicine has any links with my fits today is still an untested theory.

P.S.S: I am still feeling drowsy from all the medicine I am taking. My doctor has advised me to get a chest ray done if my bad cough still persist.

Technorati Tags: Singapore, National Day

Sleeping online

2005-08-07T01:01:00.000+08:00

If my MSN contacts were paying any attention, they would have found me in a perpetual snooze all through the sun and the moon.

Yes, I am in a medically induced snooze. (As to why I was compelled to type "Medical Induced Snooze" in my status text instead, I have only the influence of Phenexpect and Actifed to plead)

As I take yet another dose of the medicine, I have only this prequel of a post to put up: I am probably more sick than I have previously thought.

Goodnight!

Smelly Social Experiement

2005-07-31T15:41:00.000+08:00

Entering into the army virtually strips any person of his civilian identity. You don't call yourself "Mr. so-and-so", and former-fellow civilians take special care to steer a wide berth from you whenever you attend a formal function in that dizzy green camouflage pattern. I know, it is like getting a contagious disease.

I was made to be extremely self-conscious on my very first book-out almost 2 years ago. Decked out in the smartest uniform, yet smelling from the physical activity I was forced to do for the ritual book-out bunk inspection, I could only flap my hands helplessly while commuters wrinkled their noses in their blatant expression of disapproval.

I can't blame them. Multiply me by the entire company of recruits on the train, and you get the picture, or rather, the aroma. Thank goodness for the Arctic air-conditioning on the trains (at least during that time). I doubt that recruits nowadays are fortunate enough (ever since the train operator decided to keep the thermostat at a warm 26 degrees) to dry up as easily as I did.

Come to think of it, surely the other passengers are suffering from the overwhelming stench of male pheromones? I doubt so. I was sure that hiding somewhere among the seated crowd pretending to sleep (while the elderly and needy stand) was some obsessed girl with a morbid fetish for men decked in army uniforms ogling at me hungrily. I could not put my finger on it, but I definitely felt watched.

The same thing happened all through my days booking out in uniform. It stopped the very first time I took the train home in civilian attire. No eyes boring through to my skin, nothing to make me stand out, which suited me fine. So recently, I decided to conduct an experiment, to see if I wasn't simply being pickled in paranoia.

There was once I had to attend a function in full uniform, and I took the opportunity to dress as immaculately as possible, before taking the train. I was surprised when girls actually picked seats next to me (on an empty train), in turn snubbing other males.

I didn't know what to make out of all these. Either I really was paranoid as a recruit, or I smelt too nice on that particular day, looked too smart, or it was really just girls with a fetish for men in army uniform.

What do you think?

ATEC Stage One

2005-07-23T22:58:00.000+08:00

My stomach is not exactly a very cooperative partner whenever an examination is immenient. It apparently chooses to seize up into a tightly-knotted bunch, which of course does not make breakfast any easier to go down. I didn't take any on the day of my battalion's ATEC stage one. That this is "paper one" of the finals for my unit made my throat scratchy, and I came down with bouts of coughing fits. Then again, it might be a cold, since I was wringing nasal discharge from my nose every few minutes, topping off each round with a snort, which I hoped would contain the worst until I could sneak into the bathroom.

The testers evaluate only a handpicked few from each platoon, and these lucky people are tested on one expertise out of the vast myraid of skills organic to the platoon.

None of the commanders escaped the gaze of the ATEC evaluators. Some were chosen for the thermal imager test, some had to go to Khatib Camp to be tested upon their directing of artillery fire.

Initially, when the name list for the tests first arrived, I had thought that everybody would be examined in one field or the other. As luck would have it, the rest of the platoon escaped unscathed, with the exclusion of five team signallers, whom were chosen to be tested upon their medical skills.

I pondered the irony for a moment, while the Platoon Sergeant shook his head with a smile and wished us luck.

The trouble was, I was not rather profecient with the entire test itself, since all my medical lessons in camp have revolved almost solely around the IV test. For a mere component of the evaluation, it was given a disproportionate amount of attention. Meanwhile, I struggled to recall that lesson far too long ago, and conclusively drew up a total blank. I knew that I had to rely upon the single practice session the day before the evaluation to get things up to scratch. That I could only practice one medical emergency (which included one haemohrrage and fracture in each scenario) at one single go, and the variations of the haemohrrages and fractures further complicated things. Without a proper re-learning of the entire lesson of haemohrrages and fractures, I was stuck with the scenarios that I have already practiced. I was pretty rueful that we didn't have time to re-do that lesson. The rest of the day before the test was spent going through the test format, after which the 5 of us had a choice pick of victims to do some needle poking practice. I immediately snagged the buddy who sleeps next to me, feeling confident. What are the chances that I miss his fat veins?
It turned out that I really messed up. Not only was I terribly off the mark, the catether was also slightly kinked when I drew it out.

"Oops..." I said.

The Senior Medic came around, took a nonchalant look at the blood on the newspaper (it is easier to throw newspapers than to disinfect the floor) and promptly droned urgently, "Go and take another shot at him. Go! Go! Go!" At which I could only give an apologetic shrug.
In the end, it took the Senior Medic's personal advice that I managed to successfully poke the other guy sleeping next to me. As he laid there with the arm outstreched, and I knelt there confounded by his invisible veins, the Senior Medic came around and guided my shaky hand (and needle) smoothly into the bloodstream.

In case you were wondering why I was bantering so much about the day before the test, when I actually started off with the day of the test itself, I ask that you bear with me. The links become apparent after it is revealed.

But back to the test itself. That morning, after the breakfast that I didnt eat, the 5 of us trudged beary-eyed into the medical centre for a crash lesson. With just 1.5 hours to the test, we were really hemming it in on a razor thin line.

The Senior Medic came back with some drinks a while later. To bribe you guys into doing well, he said. His eyebrows were furrowed into a temporary cast mold as we laughed at his joke.
Promptly, the examiners arrived at 8.30 and proceeded to hustle everybody out of the place. Something about not letting us have a sneak preview. The first was escorted into the hall, leaving 4 of us to do the handwringing routine, along with a few other medics unfortunate enough to get chosen for the same test.

The Boss came and gave a few words of encouragement, before floating off to another venue to dish out more of his canned words to others taking the other tests.

It was 11 when I finally got called up. At that point, I was already sick of the worrying (not to mention the frequent trips to drain the dripping nose), and went into the room with my guard down.
The lady gave me a once over, and decided that she didn't like me. Her frown told me so. I then proceeded to blotch my fractures and haemohrrages in a spectecular blaze of glory. She gave an audible sigh of frustration, and proceeded to re-tie the dressings with such a medical profeciency that I couldn't even recognise it from my lessons. I then realised that I was being tested by a civilian expert with the utmost regard for standards. I knew then that I had flunked my first two tests. At least she was pleasant enough to inform me that I had at least met her requirements for a pass.

My heart sank, since my next test would be on my IV skills, something that I was apprehensive about, since I had flunked so may times before. With no hope of a break in my failing spree, I sat there stoned. I wasn't even thinking about anything. Then my partner appeared.

"How's your veins?" he asked.

"Pretty fat, but they like to run, so you've gotta be careful when you stick them in. How's yours?"

"Volumous."

"Er... Perfect."

When it came to be my turn to IV my partner, I took a long time to gather the stuff. The station tester smiled encouragingly at me as I fumbled with the pouches. Another shot consipring looks at me. I had to be careful. I took my partner's hand and examined it for the most obvious target for the needle, and the second tester immediately came up to me.

"Time starts the moment you check for the veins."

The other tester disagreed, an undercurrent of conflict passed between them.

"Er... Never mind that. I can start now." I cut in sharply.

And it went even smoother than I thought. The needle found its mark, and I was able to feed my partner some of the salt solution through his arm, gaining a satisfactory comment from the first tester.

"Good!"

The final test was on CPR, a dead gift, since I had done it so many times previous.
The Senior Medic was astonished when he heard how four of us managed to succeed in our IV test on the first try. He beamed so much that he called the company line up to spread the news. Which naturally made us feel really great. He didn't care that most of us only managed a pass mark for our fractures and haemohrrages. Which made me relieved.

The final results are not out yet, but it is the end of ATEC stage one.

IV, anyone?

[<::> Comments <::>]
(The comments software is currently down. I will post the link once it is back up.)

Update 1: It has been one week since that software is down. I guess I will go back to using Blogger's in-built comment system.

National Kidney Foundation — the scandal

2005-07-16T13:39:00.000+08:00

NKF: Personal thoughts about charity

I have the utmost respect for charities: they are aid organisations which reach out to the needy, and provide much needed assistance, in the form of information, treatment, rehabilitation, etc.
A family which takes care of their charges, much like how the government serves the people at large, without the exhorbitant fees we affectionately label "taxes".

Yet their day to day operations requires funds to function (supplies need to be bought, supporting contractors need to be paid), and the government is not going to be responsible for the income of these charities. (Ok, so the government does give grants, but such money is always insufficient, given that it is a case of many mouths fighting for the small pie). Charities therefore have to resort to goodwill money from the public to continue to operate.

Making matters worse is that other charities have to do the same in order to meet their costs. We end up with volunteers totting donation tin cans in the street every day, fund raisers on television on Sundays, and advertisements solicitating for monthly contributions. Other charities put up big prizes as a reward for donating. Among the ranks of charities in Singapore, the National Kidney Foundation musters the most might, with deep reserves.

NKF:

Since young, I have always looked forward to fund-raisers: not only were they few and far between, they were also sincere, and were treated with good taste. I could still remember dialling the NKF donation hotline back when they still took $2 donations. I took money out of my pocket money to support the cause, and that really felt good.

However, in recent years, the landscape of NKF's charity shows have changed. No longer do they treat the suffering of the patients with dignity. Continuously reminding kidney patients of their suffering with many videos of real life cases in the bid to boost sympathy, not only do these patients get a harsh reminder of their exceptional vulnerability, they also feel exploited.
Television artistes commit dangerous stunts to awe spectators and their money. Some are hurt during practice, and make it to the actual event to drum up more sympathy votes instead of concentrating on recuperating in the hospital.

In addition to that, the NKF tries to lure in gamblers and practical donors with big prizes. A condominium. Big cars. Small prizes for multiple donations. Loyalty rewards for past donations. Call now, and get a chance to win these prizes!

This seriously undermines the aim and cause of charitable giving, degenerating it into a simple case of a business deal between a consumer and the organisation. The product? A chance at winning a nice car.

If this is the case, we need to relook the NKF's status as a non-profit organisation. With such a obvious purchase and sale of services, it is evident that NKF is operating as a commercial entity, and should thus be registered as such.

Entry into cancer and impact

These fund raising tactics, together with aggressive flag days, donation cards, monthly pledges by donors, have allowed NKF to reap in substantial profit over the years. In fact, a recent audit found that it had reserves capable of sustaining the organisation for 30 years if all fund raising activities were to halt at this point.

With all its aggressiveness at fund raising, and that massive reserves, kidney patients with NKF still find themselves paying hundreds of dollars for dialysis treatment. NKF subsidies only $300 out of the $2000 payable per month for an average kidney patient, who earns $1500 a month. With its runaway success, shouldn't NKF do more to help kidney patients?

Instead, the organisation chose to set up a cancer fund, in order to justify continuing their fund raising activities, muscling in on the Singapore Cancer Society and its patients with its massive marketing strength. Now, NKF Cancer patients are the only patients in Singapore with cancer. With its smokescreen advertising, it would appear that the Singapore Cancer Society and other charities do not already support cancer patients. This has resulted in funds originally destined for SCS being diverted to NKF's Cancer fund, leaving SCS's original patients with lesser support.

After cancer, what's next on your hit list NKF?

Scandal exposed

http://www.newsintercom.org/index.php?itemid=337

Recent events have shocked the country. More in the link above.

It appears that the CEO has been drawing so much bonuses without even justifying it to the public. He could fly on business class seats to other countries on public's donations while supposed recepients of NKF fork out money every month to continue dialysis, and bare their real life stories out to the whole country, to solicit for donations, all for the sake of more extravagent purchases by the management.

There is really something fundementally wrong with this system. Is this a real charity?

[<<::: Comments :::>>]

As promised...

2005-07-10T16:12:00.000+08:00

The difference between something left alone in its wrapper and the same object sitting naked is something uncomprehendable.

Dust and water vapour introduces weird congs into a previously smooth and efficient running machine. I ran my printer for the first time in a year toay. Not having used it for such a long time, I had assumed that it would run with the same flawlessness as the very first time it did running out of its bubblewrap.

So it came as a total shock when I returned from the kitchen to find my whole stack of plain paper printed with nonsensical symbols. Almost immediately, thoughts of a paranormal entity entered my head: was my printer possessed?

I toggled the power switch. It flashed its led indicator lights randomly, before spewing forth even more weird symbols.

The printer stopped in the midst of chewing up another hapless piece of paper after I pulled the plug out of the neurotic machine.

It seemed to work fine again after I forcefully dragged the victim right out from under the entire feed tray. I printed a test page, which came out with alternate bands of light and darker ink, something that did nothing to reduce my ire. Though things improved after cleaning the cartridges, I knew that this printer would not survive another period of dis-use.

In The Cashflow Quadrant, Robert mentions the typical man (or woman, for that matter), trapped in the rat race of constantly fighting for raises in a job. When he gets one, he finds himself nudged into a higher tax bracket, which means more money out of his pay even before he gets to see it.
To make things worse, banks encourage these people to upgrade to a new and better property, with a very attractive refinancing plan, and of course, the nice interest to boot. After all these, the happy man goes out on a spending binge with his apparent raise (after all, he deserved it), and gets into all kinds of debt.

I am not particularly good at explaining such concepts (and I know that this is not an accurate portrayal of his ideas), since they were never my forte in all my years in school. (Come to think of it, neither were any of my friends.) But I assure Dear Readers, if you have been thinking that a job is all you ever need to be financially secure for life, then The Cashflow Quadrant is going to be a wake up call; rude but hopefully timely.

I am not going to get any benefit out of promoting this book, since I am not an affiliate selling the book (I should probably join though). So take my word for it. Get the book, sit down for one afternoon, and get financially educated.

Footnote: There is no particular reason why my typings have gotten so rotten (at least it looks so from my point of view). Perhaps if somebody would be kind enough to point out any blatantly obvious flaw, I would be really grateful. Thanks. I really had some tough time hammering this out on my keyboard (it is taking the brunt of my annoyance with the printer). Inspiration escapes me these days.

[::: Comments :::]

Enlightened Friday

2005-07-10T02:12:00.000+08:00

I didn't go home when the rest of the battalion took off for the weekend.

Though I was officially not confined, I had a day-long bike orientation to driving on the WRONG (i.e. Right) side of the road on Saturday. Either I could book out at 7 pm and reach home around 9. Sleep early, wake up early, take an early train, and it's back to camp, or I could go on a crazed LAN session with a few others, and go back to camp to play the company's X-box, before collapsing into a similar heap, and end up with a splitting headache the next morning. Play was more than compelling enough to make up my mind.

And it turned out totally different from what I expected. I didn't touch the X-box, though the others who stayed behind were deeply immersed into "Winning Eleven". I was curious about "The Cashflow Quadrant", another book in the Rich Dad Poor Dad series. Financial intelligence is a remote, if not a completely alien topic to me. So far, the furthest I have stretched my mind upon this topic is when a broker-sponsored television series on investment aired. I knew that it wasn't what I wanted. $1,000 in seed money was something I had been unwilling to put up, so that stray thought on investment stayed at that: pure speculation.

Things moseyed along until I spotted a bunkmate reading "The Cashflow Quadrant". Having lent him the predecessor, I was rather tempted to find out just how much more this Japanese author had to offer, and I borrowed it for one weekend. Speeding through this book, I realised insights into the breadth of the financial world.

Robert exemplifies the predator-prey relationship (though these were not his actual terms) where people pay to take a risk in a piece of land, while the bank happily sits upon the loan agreement, secure in profiteering from the extreme interest rates due to it. Neither is it ever worried about payment lapses: they can simply foreclose the property and sell it again to another sucker.
As an "employee", I need to think like an "investor" in order to be able to achieve greater wealth: I should not be using the monthly paycheck for expenses: a prudently acquired asset (something which causes money to come in to me) would be a more suitable to finance my expenses, and to balance out liabilities (something which means money out of my pocket).

There's more which I would type about, if my brain were half-awake. More to come in the afternoon!

[::: Comments :::]

Office Politics

2005-07-03T19:20:00.000+08:00

A pure combat vocation is neither immunity nor a shield to office politics (and its derivatives, part thereof).

Don't get me wrong: we have none of the blade-wielding back-stabbers that are as common place as dust mites in our company line (such stuff are found in offices where people clamour for glory, promotion, and a lucrative pay rise, not among national servicemen), and the numerous quarrels we have back in our bunks are nostalgic experiences reminiscent of our childhood bickerings. In fact, I have never seen a fight break out.

However, absence of office politics doesn't mean that somebody isn't harbouring ulterior motives for their actions. One such person has recently revealed his master plan towards skiving. The premise was simple, yet at the same time, deceptively ingenious: get yourself involved in another big project with a deadline that wraps around you like a noose, then ask to be excused from the original program (~~usually~~ always something unenjoyable, like getting IV-ed). It helps that you look at your boss with beady eyes, almost as if you were pleading to be arrowed for that big project. Spending time on these projects were worthwhile, since incentives are almost always guaranteed once the job is done, and there is the additional benefit of escaping tough (and probably necessary) training.

For anonymity's sake, I won't reveal the perpetrator's name, since his high-profile has already exposed his rear to some serious whacking by the commanders in recent days. For dear readers whom are my platoon mates, I am sure that this person's identity is crystal clear, so I need not risk exposing more hints of his identity.

But back to the project: this time, by consensus from some of the kings of sabotage, I got arrowed (trust me, I spent a lot of energy trying to deflect it) to aid the organisation of a battalion level charity car-wash. My inexperience in dealing with major projects (those puny projects we took on during junior college days were mere child's play compared to the scale of this one) probably led to frustrating episodes in bunk where I would fret over the undone work while the other two guys spent their time slightly happier: with their GameBoys. Thank goodness for guides on dealing with people.

I would just wait for them to panic, and let us all tear our hairs out together. It is lonely being the only one doing all that worrying.

[::: Comments :::]

Practise your skills!

2005-06-23T15:13:00.000+08:00

Before my secondary school's wildly successful course on studying methods, I was stuck to inefficient and mundane rote memory work, which really took up plenty of my time after school. Staying back in the quiet environment of the school library then happened to appeal to me, and hence I was able to accomplish the mammoth task of memorising scientific facts, mathematical formulae.

Some were not so lucky (or are they just not disciplined enough?). They had to resort to interesting tricks to get past the numerous tests the teachers had to impose on us (by the ministry's mandate). To help these people improve their skills, a [:: two-part ::] [:: program ::] has been created for their practise and perusal.

I got intravenous needles stuck in me again ¡ª by my platoon mates. The anticipation on Monday morning (when it was announced) mounted into a great climax that saw me trembling behind another guy as I saw somebody else getting poked in the arm. Not that I mind other people practising their skills on me, but the sight of a needle in any human flesh is enough to drive me nearly bonkers.

It was easy for others to poke me: I only had to look away from my arm for it to be a nonchalant experience (though I was in excruciating pain the entire time, because my buddy was doing some major topography inside my flesh), but I tried to plead with them to excuse me from poking my buddy. Which of course was a no go.

"You are a scout, and you will be alone with zilch logistics support! Not only do you have to carry your own food and water, but you will also have to take care of your team mates in case anything goes wrong!"

Oh well, at least they didn't do the usual scream-at-you-and-make-you-do-push-ups routine that was reminiscent of my earlier days in the platoon.

First I tied a tourniquet around my buddy's arm: it was supposed to restrict blood flow to expose the starved veins. Next, some alcohol swabs would fatten the vein further, making the catheter thirst for blood, literally. I didn't. Thankfully the catheter did. I had to avoid looking at my buddy as I pricked his skin with trembling hands.

"Don't tremble... Calm down." (The same advice again. Either I am really nervous, or there is something wrong with my hand.)

Thankfully (I've got tons to thank), the needle made its way into the vein easily and the catheter slid in with a surgical ease, upon which the medic congratulated me.

"See! You have done it!"

I guess he just didn't see the pool of sweat on my forehead... It sure wasn't easy to do that: I had failed five times previous, with only one success (with the medic's help), so this is probably some major accomplishment. A few moments later, another medic came up to me.

"Is your arm free?" He grabbed it, and started examining it carefully.

No it isn't. It's attached to my shoulder.

"Yup, my arms are free. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Your team commander."

[::: Comments :::]

Distracted.

2005-06-19T19:28:00.000+08:00

Finally, I find myself getting some real e-mail!

Amidst the flurry of money lenders clambering for me to borrow from them, I found a tiny piece shouting out, desperate to be heard above the cacophony. Rubbing my hands in glee (and glad to have somebody write to me for a change), I opened it.

And found another future scout! It turned out that he was looking around for more information into this very obscure vocation. Of course I was quite happy to find somebody else trotting down the same path I bashed into just a year ago. It would be nice if you could put your journey down on your blog too!

I am re-discovering the joys of watching television. The feeling is not unlike a cave man learning to start a fire for some purpose other than to burn his hand. The goggle box holds my attention for half-an-hour at a time, and my computer is left in screensaver mode most of the time. Even this blog entry took hours to conscruct! I would write a sentence at a time whenever the commercial comes on, but my train of thought is lost as soon as the program comes back on.

Oh.. Where was I?

Yes, television. I remember vividly my childhood addiction to television shows. They didn't have 24 hour screening back then, and all they showed throughout the few hours it was on air were mundane local dramas with those similar themes of family, children, and job woes. Although times have changed (my platoon mates sedate themselves in front of the box whenever we are not doing anything), the theme remains the same. Thank goodness for imported shows.

Ok, the distraction is getting frustrating. I really should be concentrating on either one of these two, but the television is situated strategically in the living room, along with my computer. I can't help cranking my neck to stare.

Shucks. Sorry for this mess. I will clear this up when I get the opportunity to turn the box off...

[::: Comments :::]

Computer Games, and me

2005-06-13T21:42:00.000+08:00

A minion monster my character has become, a minature bug manifested on the game mini-map, just pleading with the other players to come and put me out of action: for the umpteenth time.

It has been some time since I have touched DotA, and not only have my skill level fallen drastically, I also made some stupid mistakes that qualified me for the hall of the greenhorn. Should I say that I would be an old greenhorn? Never before have I suffered such a humiliation under other players. Ok, I admit that they are good. Multitudes better than me.

I can't help finding excuses.

I was a poor player, a big cheater when it came to games: the very first computer games I played were offline ones, which enabled me to hack and crack, tilting the scales very much in my favour. I never failed to do this with all the computer games that I played offline, so that pretty much accounts for the lost opportunity I could have used to develop my basic gaming skills. Later on, as newer games came out, and the specifications of my computer stood still in time, I found myself unable to play, and had to resort to exhorbitant LAN shops. That made me play even less often as compared to those privileged enough to splurge.

The end result?

A total push-over. The cannon fodder whose blog you are reading right now needs some time alone.

To mope.

[::: Comments :::]

Spendthrift...

2005-06-05T13:55:00.000+08:00

It is quite ridiculous that I am so predictable. It gets worse when I realise that I am unpredictably predictable.

The moment I entered the show hall, I was gravitated to one of the booths set up by locally unknown brand, Shiro. They had a professionally set up booth in the centre of the exhibition, with green-clad sales executives milling about busily behind the glass counters displaying their digital cameras and MP3 players. At the side was a promotion poster announcing a $369 5.2 megapixels camera. Without knowing, I found myself fondling with the sizable bulk, which led me to plenty of questions on the camera, and finally led my ATM card out of my wallet...

I also bought a MP3 player, though it was not Creative as I had expected earlier. Samsung won my heart with its digital surround sound, coupled with voice recording functions and its support for OGG Vorbis files (though there were a few cheaper imitations of this model floating around elsewhere on the exhibition hall). Here are pictures of the boxes of my recent indulgence: (taken by my new camera of course!)

Coincidentally, I organised an outing to the zoo on Saturday, which provided me an excellent opportunity to flaunt my photography skills (the lack of). My first attempts at manually controlling the shutter speed to achieve natural lighting for my shots all failed (the samples are still with me, due to my false hope of the miraculous Photoshop wand). Some of the better photographs taken from my house (taken courtesy of the camera's automated function):

My Rig (Notice the huge mess)

Oh my goodness! It's a long way down from here!

The industrial estate just before the horizon

[::: Comments :::]

Sorry I left out the comments link... Oversight on my part.

Leave!

2005-06-02T14:51:00.000+08:00

The middle of 2005 crept upon me before I realised it. Two more months, and I would be packed off to Taiwan for my unit's ATEC; This final bastion marks the ultimate peak of my national service stint, and precedes an inexorable slide into skill decadance and physical irrelevance all the way till my reservist stints.

So far, the last two weeks have been feverishly fast-paced, with a marathon exercise (4 days spent humping a monster load on my shoulders and waist) sapping my physical energy, while re-defining my leg muscles out of the useless mush that has ensued from months of neglect on my part. Today is a cumulation of a week of "recouperation" getting ready for the last exercise before ATEC: a day leave, unexpectedly cleared from the dusty leave book (which has not been touched since March last year).

I woke up this morning to be completely aroused by the companion guide to the local electronics exhibition on the dining table. Flipping through the guide was a total disappointment: not many retailers were participating this year, and the [:: official website ::] was a reminscient of a website straight out of the early 1990s. The buzz online confirmed my suspicions, there was only one retailer selling digital cameras, while the rest were small resellers contented with displaying alien brands like Shiro (surprisingly, a Singaporean brand, which is something to be ashamed of, given the bad experience my friend had with their MP3 players).

I am going down for a reconnaissance session, though it is likely I will find myself saddled with an MP3 player from well-known Creative long before my conscience catches up with my card.

[::: Comments :::]

About my late nights

2005-05-23T11:20:00.000+08:00

I don't understand my recent penchant for late nights, late mornings. It all started approximately one and a half years ago, when I found my liberty rudely robbed by this necessary evil called "National Service". We would stay in camp from Monday till Saturday, before a long march out from the camp grounds to the jetty on the outlying island of Pulau Tekong, where we would sit, dazed on the ferry back to the mainland. There, it was a crushing exercise on the bus as drivers tried to pack as many recruits as they could. I still remember the overpowering stink emanating from the already sweaty uniforms, which the poorly equipped air-conditioning was struggling to overcome, and failing valiantly. Once we reached the first bastion of a town, the clock starts. Thirty-two hours of free time to play, sleep, eat... We raced for the train station (and ended up dripping sweat all over the train floor, to the utter disgust of other commuters; they seem to dislike sharing seats with soldiers, even if they had been cleaned up in camp), and reached home fully mindful of the sand trickling away. No time for sleep. It's playtime after a quick shower (which would always be useless, since in the rush to get ready, the tropical weather would ensure that everybody leaves the house with droplet-stained shirts).

It is easier for me, since my friends don't really have the time to keep in contact with me. I boot my computer, and get online. After the initial hour spent checking out useless chain mails, and the effort spent emptying the trash can of spam mail, I decide to hang around the multiple on line communities: since that is where intellectuals hang their egoistic works to be impaled. Many hours are spent there instead ignoring flame wars, troll postings, and useless me-too replies to great discussions. Never mind. Sifting through the chaff is part of the job too. I cherry-pick a few topics of interest, and am begin my discourse when I realise that it is mid-night (no kidding). Outside is a soundless night, occasionally punctured by the sounds of the insects, which would continue their company till my head substitutes my hand on the keyboard.

The next day is spent fretting about another week spent in camp. Yet another weekend gone past. More days in camp. Total despondence. Despair. I was even dispirited enough to lie in bed all through the afternoon (I admit that the late night played a part) with my eyes screwed shut in the fruitless hope that the clock would just halt there and then...

That was then.

Now a relative veteran (in the NSF system of course), I can safely say that my late nights are a legacy of my early recruit days. Where Saturday mornings are spent in camps are Friday night book outs, drastically boosting the amount of time out of camp. I gladly continue my favourite haunting sites dead in the night, sometimes till early morning (remember my experiment with not sleeping?)

I know of others who have a propensity for night owl sessions till daylight, before collapsing a messy heap on their beds for a few winks. Then, it was back in action for them. For them, time is not to be wasted away moping in the house. Sleeping is but a necessary nuisance, to be done away as soon as possible. Sometimes I agree with them, but never in camp. Time in camp is meant for sleeping.

[::: Comments :::]

Cut submarine cable leads to astute observation

2005-05-22T01:36:00.000+08:00

It's official: the underwater pipe responsible for my Internet connection's international link [:: has been crushed ::] and unusually, the papers didn't follow up with their usual whistle-blowing. In fact, the dearth of news report regarding the incident arouses suspicion: it isn't every day that submarine cables heavily tasked with connecting an entire region to another get chopped without major wire agencies making at least a minor mention tucked deep within their website.

This disruption caused much angst amongst the telco's customers. Ping times rose 20 fold, to 19000 miliseconds, where previously pages snapped to screen within a quarter of a second. I tried online games on international servers, and watched with bored anticipation as my character went to his 16th consecutive death. My usual game mates were quite curious about my sudden suicidal strategy. Short of crushing the cable at home (thereby creating another crushed cable), I could only stick to stalking mudane forums to pass time.

Nobody else I know has the slightest interest in writing online. Their keyboards remain immaculate, with a few choice keys worn out from their favourite games. Mine looks like it was used as a substitute for a plate, courtesy of my persistent habit of dropping food in front of the computer, not that my mouth is defective or anything... There was a time long ago I asked my inner circle about their online habits, and came away thinking that I was the one with the habits.

Back to the cut cable: it brought me a new insight inside the securely hidden bowels of Singaporean society. Where tourists don't visit on their casual trips around town are common hang outs for the new generational hippies, innocuous they are in their dark leather suits in the hot and humid tropical weather, dazzling each other with multiple shiny metal studs jabbed meticulously onto the smooth cloth. One of them looked at me as I was observing the group even as he wound a roll of tape around his leather boot. The McDonalds outlet was quite crowded, but I could pick out the members of their group with their outlandish tastes, even as I ducked underneath my burger with their occassional stares. A few moments later, after a mini ice-cream war, which left the restaurant cleaners with a half-an-hour of non-stop clean up work, the gang left, probably to another quieter locality for their boring juvenille acts.

In case you were blinded by this post's sudden spot of brilliance, here's [:: the inspirational blog ::].

I need to rest my weary mind now: the fiery forum topic I started about those guy's leather fetish really squeezed the liquid out of my proverbial sponge. Insufficient water intake was probably part of the act too.

[::: Comments :::]

In my honest opinion...

2005-05-21T12:03:00.000+08:00

Having a blog stitched to my personal bio can really be a pain in the proverbial backside: I can't comment about people I know online, simply because the resulting backlash would be a total pain in the (I guess you know).

But now, I am making an exception. Much aside to keeping my opinions in the dark about certain people on the job, I am breaking my silence for once on one very pivotal person in my national service. Recent events have made me quite dark and gloomy (apart from my failure to fully use my motivation books), and he has been quite irrational, if not totally uncomprehensible in the past weeks.

As any caring leader would, he usually finds time to visit our bunks, even to pop in for a few moments to chat for a few moments. The trouble is, most of us would be off in dream land whenever he arrives, which seems to trouble him a lot. Unknown to him, our little act of escapism was really our only way of passing time: there is only this amount of television and newspapers that we national servicemen will read, and frankly speaking, most of us were not in the army by choice.
Just yesterday, determined not to leave the idle ones to the zee-monster, he pushed the whole platoon to the central motorised transport line (CMTL), activating around 4 vehicles, when just 2 are sufficient. If not the insufficient number of vehicles at our disposal, surely the huge assembly at the vehicle HQ would have been a strange sight, not to mention a waste of time.

Furthermore, his friendly and open demeanor seems to have been shelved: I can see some disturbances, and feel them, yet I can't even begin to put my finger on the exact trouble. His jokes have shifted from small jabs about our perpetual sleeping ritual to outright disapproval, of which I am tired of hearing.

I cannot understand his obsession with doing physical training on the same day as outfield training: I do my own runs on weekends, and the day before, I had even gone on my own fartlek, in the erroneous belief that there would be sufficient rest before bashing about up knolls in the afternoon. Regretfully, I totally crashed out for mission that day, after my legs went numb: even some of the commanders shared our agreement about the morning run.

Before I let you dear readers jump to a conclusion, I must add that he is an excellent commander: so far, nobody else has exceeded his nice attitude towards us, and I am glad to say that I am happy to be under him. He drives for the best out of everybody when it comes to the crunch time, and he really gets our support with those little things, and his jovial personality. I really hope that this is only a small patch in the long path on which we are running.

To you if you happen to read this: I wasn't sleeping on the MB back to camp, I was meditating.

[> Comments <]

Skirmish on train

2005-05-07T22:07:00.000+08:00

I usually have quiet and restful train trips for my rides back to camp on Sundays. The journey to the western part of Singapore is usually accompanied with many similar sullen faces who happened to have to work the next day in the nearby industrial area. I would take the opportunity to spend that 45 minutes either reading a book, or day-dreaming about the day I finish my national service...

Last Sunday, I happened to be doing the former (since I am married to my computer at home) with great relish (it is a great book, but I accidentally left it in camp, so I am left with no title, and bookless when I have to get back to camp this Sunday evening) when I became aware of a skirmish between a Chinese expatriate and a local Singaporean.

The man sitting beside me, for some reason, wanted to swap seats with the lady opposite me. As they were getting up for the switch-a-roo, the chinese expatriates' son dashed for the lady's new seat. She told the young boy nicely to return her seat, which the sensible child did, to the total annoyance of his expatriate mother, whom exclaimed loudly, "My son sat on that seat first, why are you stealing his seat?"

The lady tried to explain herself: "I was just switching seats with the gentleman over there. Your son is right to return me my seat."

Of which the mother was thoroughly pissed, but was unwilling to confront the lady. She continued to grumble loudly, much to everyone's annoyance. To complete her condemnation, she berated her son many times for "giving up his seat to somebody who is not needy".

The mother-son alighted at an interchange a few stations after, and I thought that it signified the end of the whole episode. Far from it.

As I was hungrily pursuing the book, relieved again for the quiet, the lady started to do what the mother did, just minutes earlier.

"That china woman just now, you know? She very unreasonable!" She began, an anguished victim struggling with Singlish.

"These people, come here to steal our jobs, now they also want to steal our seats?"

"I tell you, we must send these people back to the cunning China hole they come from!"

It was at this juncture that I was really grateful for the timely arrival at the terminal station where I alighted, annoyed at both women, and the disturbed book reading. As I left the exit gantry gates, I could still hear her behind me with the poor passengers she managed to accost.

[:: Comments ::]

Excellence... or comfort?

2005-05-02T20:46:00.000+08:00

While swimming is my perpetual obsession, I never really found a way to tear myself from my computer to even do it as an indulgence: the lure of the Internet is even greater than my physical need to expend energy.

But this being one of the rare days where I found myself able to get up at 8 am (a relatively unearthy time for a public holiday), I managed to get a few friends along (dragged them, really) for a dip in the nearby pool.

The hot weather made the coolness of the water seemed even more inviting. I did a few somersaults, immersing myself in the hugging comfort of the water. Disappointingly, there was not much to see on this day: all the kids were staying away for some reason, perhaps they are mugging for their mid-year examinations this early? I saw a few toddlers frolicking (is this the right word?) in the wadding pool, and could not help but feel a pang of nostalgia: how I wished that I were small again, without any care of the world, my parents looking out for me, and the heavy burden of the world seemed so far, so far away...

Ahead of me lies another busy week inside camp: there is some marksmanship test coming up, IV revision (I always hated that thing!), and the Standard Obstacle Course. I still wonder why I bothered to even make an effort to go through all these things, when many of my friends chose to downgrade and satisfy themselves with deskbound jobs. Less pain, more comfort. Perhaps I am just too dedicated towards all my work? I don't know.

But the conflict exists: between my want for a less tough national service, and my instinct for wanting to finish all that I have started, I stand perched precariously (and painfully) impaled on the sharp spikes of the fence. Here's to hoping that I don't get in too deep.

[::: Comments :::]

To all you linguistic purists:

2005-05-01T20:25:00.000+08:00

I have a never-ending curiosity about languages: how we are able to sense a word's meaning through continuous exposure, or even deduce an approximate meaning simply from the context and intonation of a speaker (or even with pure words)!

Not only has it proven true with English, it has also applied with Chinese, Malay, and Singapore's local mixed potpourri called "Singlish".

Recently, some guys at my place mentioned about a person being a Lau Ti Ko (in Hokkien dialect). It was my first time hearing that word, but the lusty looks on their faces gave me a hint that this phrase applied to an old man filled with dirty thoughts.

Which brings me to another point: Language is a living entity, and continues to evolve throughout its usage. Therefore, there is no truly a pure version of any language, especially with the influences of other languages tugging at it, inserting or mutating current phrases and usage rules. That I totally agree with [:: Mr Brown ::]

I just don't understand the rationale of linguistic purists to put a drag on the language's natural evolution. Perhaps they are too lazy to catch up with its improvement?

We are using languages as a form of communication between people. If two or more can understand each other on a standard, why not let them carry on?

[::: Comments :::]

Interesting and Loathsome characters

2005-04-30T17:51:00.000+08:00

I find it an interesting experience to be in contact with so many people from all walks of life: There is one poor guy back in my BMT company who is already married (26 if my recall is not flawed at 19 and a half years old) and having to spend 5 and a half days away from his wife just to complete his national service stint. He deferred his NS during his university days (how he managed to escape the maximum age cap for deferment I still wonder), and met the love of his life in 2004. 6 months later he was packed into Pulau Tekong along with the rest of us young 18 year olds.

Surprisingly, he managed to meld in well with the nonsensical sensibilities of us freshies out of junior college (my intake was comprised solely of that), and even managed to pass himself off as one of our own (so to speak) before I met him during the company BMT field camp.

In contrast to this is another person that I met later, when I got into this camp. He is quite a stark contrast to the other "misfit" in the whole lot. Without sparing any restraint, allow me to call him a self-righteous, boot-eating jerk. Where I normally do not stoop this low to label a person, his incessant pietistic preaching to the rest of the platoon has made him the most unliked person. Wrong. He is the most unliked person in the whole company, coming in runner up after a certain platoon sergeant in the company (but that is another story).

At first sight, he appears to be like me, a slightly chatty and cheerful soul who loves to go around meeting new friends: (I might even suspect that he was simply just trying to be like me, since I really have so many nice friends). A few months of contact with him still did not alert me to his underlying problem, until this conversation happened between him and another guy (who I shall call Anonymous). You see, Anonymous has this bad problem: he is always thinking about something else, and does not really care much about hygiene. Here's what I-am-right told him:

I-am-right: Ooi Anonymous! Why are you picking your soles?
Anonymous: What? I was just cleaning them.
He: (in total exasperation) Tsk, I tell you, tsk, you must go and clean yourself. Like that how can people survive with you, right?
Anonymous: But...
He: (cuts Anonymous off) Tsk... When I speak, you do not speak, understand. That is basic respect. Now go and shower, now!

At least some consistency in his behaviour would not have people calling him a total hypocrite:

I-am-right: (to a superior) Oh, Sergeant, there is something I need to tell you. (voice in full awe)
Sergeant: Uh-huh?
He: Erm... Can I go smoke upstairs? (smoking is prohibited in the bunk levels during office hours)
Sergeant: No.
He: Please...?

I have ignored his self-righteousness outbursts on me, but his recent actions really hit my raw nerve: Darth Vader would really crush his trachea.

It is amazing how he has escaped any form of punishment for his bungling of the book-in/out book: That is if anybody bothered to check and see that the signature, date and time have been filled up in the wrong order for ONE particular entry for a given Friday. This is his third time, and in my thoroughly furious state, I was shocked that I helped him cancel out his erroneous entry, and spoof his signature in a totally new line while he leaves camp blissfully unaware...

Now allow me to steam it off and regular programming will resume as soon as possible...

P.S. Geez, it is not that I was fishing around for any sympathy or something, but there really is a need for action to be taken, if all the guys there are to prevent any bottled up feelings from gushing out in a drink can styled explosion. I can feel it... The gas is bubbling already.

[::: Comments :::]

16 drafts, and nothing presentable

2005-04-24T19:21:00.000+08:00

Beer must really mess with one's mind. (Does its effects prevail two days later?)

You see, I had a few cups (not mugs, mind you) at one of the many little niches in Singapore's frequent haunt of night owls on Friday night. It was my first time actually drinking alcohol in any significant quantity, but it was enough to slow me down. Though I could walk in a straight line and talk without slurring, my face was red (as my buddy was assuring me). I am quite happy that I managed to get past my first time in a pub without actually announcing my newbie status (the vomitting routine).

But somehow, since then, I have not been able to come up with any piece of writing that I am satisfied with. (I am as disatisfied with this post as with the rest of the 15 other candidates that I have thrashed, but it will have to do) Since I am booking back into camp soon, which would mean another week of no updates, to stem any guilt for not updating my blog (I still wonder why that happens), I am writing this post! This is a post. There, I have done it. Now I can go back to camp and sleep over what I was trying to continue from the post prior to this... and hopefully take less than 15 drafts to finish it.

Arrrgh! Thrash this post!

[::: Comments :::]

Disappearing Act — again?!

2005-04-17T16:53:00.000+08:00

20 days of update-less days, I wonder how you have been living without fresh content from my blog :-)

Not that I could have helped it in any way, I was in Formosa, better known as Taiwan nowadays for a 14 day trip as an enemy to the First Guards Battalion, which was being evaluated (not unlike a year end examination for army battalions) by ATEC. I did consider doing it via WAP, but the exorbitant roaming costs really muted my interest in keeping this front page in vogue. Heck, even as I see my phone bill (which came halfway through my trip there, and hence a little preview of my roaming costs), I am already looking at a month or two of instant noodle meals. Now if only I had a camera to show you my bill! All $95 in total, $40 of them for a few calls and SMSes!

Anyway, I took off on the 2nd this month dead in the morning (7 am flight, but I had to be at the airport by 5 am) on Singapore's very own renowned carrier. All through the entire 3 and a half hours, I was restless, not only because of the in-flight entertainment (we had those small LCD TVs in the individual seats, complete with a remote control which allows you to play games), but and also due to the freezing cold in the cabin. I know it is pressurised and all, but sometimes, I wished that SIA would bother to keep their thermostats at a higher temperature. My curious behaviour exhibited itself when I spent the entire flight staring at the flight path information displayed on one of the dedicated channels. The officer sitting next to me (didn't they all sit in the First Class?) was interested that I didn't go for the entertainment:

"Hey, why are you staring at that stupid thing? Wouldn't you want to watch a movie?"
"No, I am really interested in this thing... Ground speed, altitude, wind speed, current location..."
"You are a strange one... Are you a scout?"

Ignoring the obvious fact that I was wearing a shirt that proclaimed "RECON" on my chest, he was right.

We landed at around 11 am in the same morning, and being the packet I/C, I had to shepherd my brood into proper order, and bring them through the Taiwanese customs, along with immigration officers with such penetrating eyes, it appeared that he was probing my mind. I shuddered, until he looked down on my embarkation card, and finally stamped it, with a sigh of satisfaction.

Then we subjected our cargo to the inspection by a very adorable and cute — dog. He/She went around sniffing our luggages, happily licking the occasional bag, and the handler was barely able to get her to finish our row, so that we could leave the airport. It was then that the rude shock came.

It wasn't hot outside.

[To be continued... in another post]

[>Comments<]

Personality Diagnosis

2005-03-27T19:44:00.000+08:00

Inspired by [ ::> Badaunt's post <:: ], I have decided to take the same test.

I am diagnosed as Histronic!

70% Histrionic isn't exactly the lowest of values, especially when the rest of the web is only 43% histrionic. Do you see the diagnostic in my blog writings?

On the topic of personality tests, I took one by similarminds.com matching my personality to a famous leader in the world. Coincidentally, I got matched to Bill Clinton, to who I look up to as a role model. It just so happens that he and I share the same birthday, August 19th!

I am a social chameleon! I change my personality in accordance to the people I am around. Probably a good complement to my histrionic personality?

If the diagnosis is correct, then that might explain my dominatrix stance towards some of my friends, and why others see a pussy cat in front of them.

I finished my tour of duty on Jurong Island recently, and I have seen some really interesting things.

Fact #01: Long trailers travel faster than the average car
Fact #02: Long trailers do not need to obey traffic rules (I have seen some of them travelling against the traffic flow, and most of them don't even bother to stop at red lights)
Fact #03: Jurong Island stinks (the plethora of alkanes, alkenes, esters, and other petrochemical derivative mixes together to form a deadly drowsy concoction that strangulates appetite, murder the lungs)
Fact #05: People like to stare at the handsome young man sitting at the back of a truck mounted with a 7.62mm calibre weapon (especially when he is wearing that cool shades under the hot sun)
Fact #06: The same young man gets burnt by the sun by day, and the clouds make sure he gets his appropriate amount of water per day (though the method of delievery is slightly inaccurate)
Fact #07: The truck drivers drive like those trailer drivers (see facts #01 and 02)

Interestingly, the frequent police patrols always look the other way at all the balatant abuse of the road. I have long since given up hope, and have since concentrated on hoping that the Light patrol vehicle that I am on doesn't collide head on with these trailers.

I would hate to bother the road cleaners with this little mess.

[> Comments <]

The passage of Time...

2005-03-22T23:49:00.000+08:00

Time does fly: As I go through all my old entries (I like to read them as my own diaries!), I have realised how much I have gone through — already, I am staring at my first trip to Taiwan.

Meanwhile, so many people have come in and out of my life: acquaintances and friends, contacts lost when the magic touch of a face to face meeting is no longer there: sacrificial lambs to our unceasing progress in life. At this point in time, the radio station happens to play [>>> Vitamin C's Graduation (Friends Forever) <<<], bringing my already poignant mental state to its peak. I would rather not think of it as a weakness on my part, but a regret at not contacting the many people who I have chatted, joked, played with.

Perhaps making things worse, I stumbled upon my very own [>>> Death Clock <<<], of which I doubt the veracity (working on the line and all that). Oh dear, perhaps it is time for me to start doing some catching up with my friends!

A rather shocked Platoon Sergeant told me about our flight details a few days ago, and it appears that I, a mere Corporal, was picked to be the packet I/C for one of our flight details — out of so many other sergeants! Initial details were sketchy, but I am suspecting some mischevious manipulation on the part of my friend (who is the liason clerk for my Taiwan trip)...

The flight would be on the morning of 2 April, and in keeping with some weird SAF tradition of flying last/first in a particular day, we are expected to be at the airport at 5 am. That means no train services, bus services, and an entire plane load of people are arriving by taxi! What a windfall for those cabbies eyeing the exhorbitant mid-night surcharge. Sometimes, I wonder whether all these is a nefarious scheme by the govenment to increase spending...

[> Comments <]

Me, give tuition?

2005-03-15T23:23:00.000+08:00

While I was pondering over the available business opportunities, I chanced upon tutoring as a cash supplement. I have not asked around yet, but it seems that many of my friends are doing it: the market for complementary studies looks lucrative, and the plethora of tuition centres are testimonials to that fact.

Even though things look good, I am quite hesitant to take it up — I am afraid that I might be a deviant teacher imparting the wrong information to some promising young kid, and harm his future (would it be that bad?)

Compound this with the fact that my command of English has probably slid down the sewage pipe (did that expression sit well with you?), I probably am the last resort for parents looking to boost their child's English scores. Scores. They seem to mean everything in this country.

Oh well, two more days on Jurong Island to think it through, and perhaps make some queries! (I am now there to protect some key installation on that island; two days on duty, two others spent loofing at home/typing in my blog/thinking about getting rich).

[> Comments <]

Addicted to electronics

2005-03-10T22:39:00.000+08:00

I went to the [>>> ITShow 2005 <<<] with a bunch of close platoon mates, after a refreshing LAN game of DoTA (and no, to all of you Googlers out there searching for [> prostitutes in Singapore <], I did not come close to any of these dangerous women.)

Amidst the disorienting arrays of cool gadgets flying off the shelves (literally) at promotional prices, I found my ATM card's magnetic stripe hot from all that swiping. Hmm... That optical mouse looks like a great addition to my desktop! Swipe. What was that? A [>>> call back system <<<] that charges 3 cents per minute from my mobile? Swipe. I came close to shelling out even more for a camera before Bing De (one of the platoon mates) trounced me in the spending category by shelling out almost $200 for a Creative TX MP3 player. In fact, his hands were still trembling as he held his prize with high emotion...

Those merchants must have used some sort of subliminal influence on us! We were totally awed, and feverish as we jostled our way around the crowd on the exhibition floor. The addictive high was still coursing through my veins when I reluctantly left after the other guys (wonder why they didn't seem to be affected) dragged me out, kicking and screaming like a drug junkie deprived of his cocaine fix.

Bing De was not about to be denied his drug: We tried to re-enter the exhibition hall past the closing time of 9 pm, wanting to savour a few more moments of oggling at the silicon chips, lusting after the smell of freshly packed electronics, but were denied by a security guard who insisted that we go back tomorrow, and would we please stop drooling like a dog all over his carpet flooring.

I had to be dragged out — again.

[> Comments <]

Friday Shock

2005-03-06T21:21:00.000+08:00

Before I book in to camp now, I would like to mention something that I only found out on Friday:

I am now a Corporal.

See you in a few days!

[> Comments <]

HaloScan Commenting Removed

2005-03-06T12:30:00.000+08:00

I have decided to remove HaloScan's commenting system from this blog. It turns out that they don't tell you about the 4 month limit for comments: Once your comment is 4 months old, they hold it hostage, and will show it to your visitors only after you part with $12.

I have no credit card, so HaloScan's comment system has got to go. Meanwhile, I am still trying to find a suitable system (other than Blogger's pathetic offering of a comment system). If you have any suggestion, please do not hesitate to leave a comment — in Blogger's system.

[> Comments <]

Virgin trip to the prostitute

2005-03-05T23:38:00.000+08:00

My friends were all keyed up for this trip: we had it planned for many weeks, and secrecy was really of dead crucial importance (now we don't want the parents to know prematurely, do we?). The decoy was simple: I would tell my mother that I was going to the local LAN shop to play [>>> DoTA <<<] with my friends, and won't be back until after mid-night.

Since many of these LAN shops do close in the dead of the night, I had no trouble sliding it past my mother.

Slinging a change of clothes in a bag, along with a towel and some toiletries (now was I going to the red-light district, or going on an overnight stay with a friend?), I met the guys at 8 pm. I could see the prostitutes hanging around the streets, eyes peeled wide open for potential clients. Meekly, I approached one of them:

Me: Excuse me, erm... do you provide that kind of service? (pointing to the condom I had purchased at 7-eleven earlier)
Girl: (as she was finishing her compulsive hair-tying) Yes, what kind do you want?
Me: What do you mean?
Girl: You want express or full?
Friend: He wants the express (pulls me aside)

"Trust me, you will want the express service," he whispered as the girl suddenly turned on her charm, and flashed her dark eyebrows at me.

"What? I don't even—" I started to protest when he simply went up to the girl (she must have looked at most around my age) and the two started to haggle. Before long, they were done (I was amazed by the amount of cash he handed over to her), and the girl came to me, and pulled me into one of the nearby bargain hotels: "You sign in, I wait for you."

Dumbly, I passed the completed form to the receptionist, who tried her best not to look at my already flushed face. After hitting a few keys, she took a key fob from a hidden drawer, and gave it to me, and kindly reminded me of the presence of condom dispensers in the staircase away from the main entrance.

In case you were wondering, the above account didn't happen at all. I didn't lie to my parents about any hidden trip to a prostitute. Rather, this post was inspired by BadAunt, after she ~~ranted~~ wrote about bloggers whom [>>> felt that they had nothing interesting <<<] to write about. Yes, I am a guilty party.

Though the raging male hormones in me plead otherwise, I remain comitted towards retaining my virginity — all for the joy of sharing it with my future love of my life, whoever she may be.

Disclaimer: Kids, do not try this at home! Lying to your parents can be an extremely habitual addiction that can lead to you being grounded, or having privileges revoked, or caned severely. Not to mention visiting a prostitute. (This is controversial, since certain parents are more open to this than, should I add, most others.)

[> Comments <]

Numero Uno!

2005-03-04T22:26:00.000+08:00

Plowing through my visitors' record, I realised that somebody had used Google with the search terms "[>>> BMTC Ninja <<<]", which meant that they are looking for anything related to my BMTC company, which is Ninja. Guess what, I am numero uno for that search term! As you can see from the photo below:

As you can see, I rank number ONE! My BMT section mate's page is number 4, by coincidence...

Upon scrolling further down the page, I come across a [>>> curious attempt at mockery <<<] of the National Service system. Affectionately found inside are many choice phrases and sentences usually made by the people inside the Singapore Armed Forces, and with their English equivalent in bold.

Don't you find it weird that I don't really post about the operational stuff that my battalion goes through? The fact is that we do have them, but even when we are activated for them, I am not allowed to even breathe a word to another person. I am not sure about what happens after the whole thing is over, but the stance is that during operations, we can't talk.

The reason I am here blogging right now is that I am not involved in something that some people have been activated for. It is something quite big if people found out what it is, especially with the backdrop of terrorist activities around the globe. In fact, orders came so late that we had to postpone our book out timing to get things sorted out.

This morning my platoon went to Pasir Laba Camp to get briefed on our April trip to Taiwan to role-play as enemy scouts for one of the other units' ATEC (a sort of a final exam for all national service battalions before they finish active service and return to the civilian world): we were furnished with disembarkation cards to fill (which were printed in traditional chinese characters, something the whole auditorium had trouble reading, since we were more used to the simplified characters). I didn't know how the Indians and Malays in the room managed, but they had to fill the same thing in chinese characters (I wonder what they put under the "Name in Chinese characters" field — even I had trouble filling mine in traditional script; I just wrote it in the simplified form that I have always wrote in). As we know, certain things are sensitive to the Taiwanese, and probably the current political situation over there does not make them favour the simplified script at all (the simplified script is adopted by mainland China, and Singapore, while the Taiwanese retained the traditional form)...

Military Mind Block

2005-02-27T16:09:00.000+08:00

Sometimes, being handed a blank piece of paper, and asked to write about anything is just about the toughest topic anybody can be handed. Ironic, since we all like to complain about the limitations that certain topics would confine us to. Remember your essay writing in college? There were many fallacies to avoid, ambiguous points you couldn't make. Heck, you even had trouble thinking about what to write.

Now an empty page just sitting there waiting to be filled! Many of my blogger friends have been stumped by the lack of stuff to write, with some resorting to avoiding their own blogs for a certain period until they can find something to write about.

I have thought about leveraging this lack of topic to jump start our creativity. After all, we all have tried to occupy ourselves when we were young (us 1980s, before the age of wide-spread computer games and consoles), and didn't we manage well then?

I still remembered that I loved to play "Family" with my playground mates. I would be the father, and some of the smaller ones would be the kids, while the girls fussed around them like protective hens. I didn't remember going to the playground that often after I got my own computer and internet connection (which was around 2001).

In case you were wondering: yes, I am suffering from a certain degree of writer's block... not only has my time spent in the army dulled my vocabulary (I find it tough to throw up descriptive words, and those that managed to come up are the simple ones you see here), and my spelling has gotten so atrocious that a spell checker is no longer an optional program on my computer, where once I could wield a magic pen in my secondary school days (hey, I got A1 for my English, didn't I) and dazzle readers with my imagination, but it has also limited my involvement in activities outside the military. Help me! My world revolves around the army!

People used to come up to me to ask me about everything: I used to have answers for most of them (that's what reading does to you), but nowadays, I become the dumb one. Not that I did not have time to catch up on world affairs — but I am either sleeping off mental and physical fatigue, or am fighting them during my physical training... The rest of the time is spent cooped up with books (should I say, military thriller books?) or evading the [>>> usual internal quarrels <<<].

As they might say, my transformation is complete: I now breathe, eat, sleep, and read the army. Long live the military!

P.S. (I have just edited my post: I realised that I have made more mistake than I could catch in my proof-reading.) Thank you, army!

Complacency?

2005-02-26T21:27:00.000+08:00

In a surprise turn of events (after an announcement of compulsory registration for online access), local newspaper The Straits Times' online service has decided to start charging subscribers for access to the same articles that can be found in its print edition.

Given Singapore's small size, ST's coverage of Singapore news far out-rivals that of its competitors (Channel News Asia and Today, both owned by MediaCorp), leading them to believe in their dominance, and (probably) monopoly on local news.

I say they had better stop dreaming! The Straits Times' coverage of local news has been known to be skewed, and with its reputation as a [> Nation building newspaper <] with government (which is, as we know, the PAP), it is about as reliable an independant new source as a PAP issued press release.

With rumours of [> declining print edition subscribers <], I am not surprised if the proposed charging for online access will lead to decreasing traffic, not to mention lower bandwidth bills with their angry upstream provider.

In fact, such an act only deters casual readers, only hard-core ones desperate enough would bother to type and make available articles online through reproduction from the Straits Times' print edition, as can be seen on local online forum communities, which in itself defeats ST's plan of valuing its content, and is in itself not illegal, as the physical media has already been paid for, and all articles are paid by advertisers in its print edition.

Visit [> Straits Times Interactive <] while it remains free to see for yourself the plethora of articles: you can find nothing complimentary about any party in opposition to the PAP.

[> A short commentary by Mr Brown <] on ST's plan to charge for online access.

Italy versus Europe

2005-02-26T13:15:00.000+08:00

In a cute cartoon that reminds me of the eccentrics of Singaporeans, Italians distinguish themselves from the rest of Europe, making them, [> Uniquely Italy <].

It is that time again. (Sometimes I wonder whether men do get PMSes) I felt totally closed off, and tempted to hide from the whole world. Yet, I find comfort typing stuff down on my keyboard. Yes, ego-centric me seems to find solace in blogging.

My world isn't that shabby, but it ain't a rosy picture either. Here's to me thinking about what to do with my life next, and maybe my blog posts will stop reminding me of how jovial a person I used to be, until recent events... :-)

6 Division Cobra Challenge Day

2005-02-25T22:36:00.000+08:00

It actually turned out that I was not selected for the main Cobra Challenge team, which in turn happened to be the company's dream team. They had an elaborate ceremony, where everybody turned up in their battle attire (read: skeletal battle order), and had the battalion flag handed over to the BoB (Best of the Best) team.

Probably just as well. I didn't think that my legs would last me the whole of 13 km without cramping like an old man.

Another good side-effect: I became a station I/C for one of the reverse SOC (Standard Obstacle Course) stations. In fact, I made it a point to be impartial to all the teams: I simply closed both eyes to all the blatant and vagrant violations to the game rules. Besides, there were other station I/Cs out there determined to suck the morale out of the various teams with a blood sapping 30 points deduction for minor infractions. Losers. Let's see them try to complete the obstacles after a 13 km run!

When my own platoon finally reached my station, it was tough for me to pretend not to know them — the neutral was breathing down my neck, and the flames quite suffocated me... After remembering to wish them "Good Luck", they proceeded to complete the obstacle in the fastest time I had ever recorded for all the teams: a cool 15 seconds out of 60. Nobody ever beat that time. Needless to say, I was quite high on the cloud for the rest of the teams.

In the end, my platoon did not win the championship. We placed around 7 or so, but only because of a 30 point deduction by one of the stations I/C as mentioned in one of the above paragraphs. Penalising for a camouflage net touching an obstacle is a radically absurd case of extremism. It is almost criminal discrimination! That I/C did the same for many other teams, causing much distress, and needless to say, completely quashed the reputation of the Station I/C. The team managed to came in at the fastest time for the whole battalion, yet failed to beat the other formations taking part... Without that 30 points deducted, they would have placed 5th, and a trip to the stage (which would have earned them instant fame, and 3 days off to boot).

They were quite crushed when they realised the irony of the situation. Another team from the same battalion came in at an absurd timing (I didn't know what it was, but it was quite late), yet managed to earn 3 days off for getting marksmanship, and taking their time to stroll through the whole 13 km.

This world ain't fair...

Inexorable Decline?

2005-02-20T13:53:00.000+08:00

Being with my platoon mates always evoke a feeling of belonging — they seemed to contain certain dynamics that make me feel especially close to them.

Is it their bitchiness? The same bitterness about our common suffering under inefficiency?

Whatever it was, I might never know, for I can feel the fabric of our unity unfolding, maddeningly thread by thread. What started out as a platoon of almost 50 people last March is now a ghost of its former shell with 17. It could be 16, if one of the guys manage to get his downgrade letter, 15 for the one down from [> dengue <].

The inexorable slide into decline started soon around May last year, when it was revealed that slightly less than half of the platoon actually belonged to another division, and that they were posted in here only to train for their Advanced Infantry Training phase.

And so, with a little bit of regret, we parted ways. The rest of us subsequently went for the vocation course in June (if you read the archives around then, you will know all about it). During that period, three more guys dropped out, and subsequently left us. 2 more followed, after finishing the tough 9 day summary exercise and passing out with their own jungle hats.

3 more new blood came in, and of that, only 1 has finished the vocation course. 1 returned to where he came from (I guess he felt more welcomed there), and the other is currently down with dengue fever. Now, 1 more is struggling to cope with his leg problem, and may downgrade soon, reducing yet again the number of people.

I have not seen such a high drop out rate in any other platoons, either Support, or the other rifle companies. Not only has it affected me psychologically (I feel quite distressed that so many people are leaving), but the rest of us also have to do more work to compensate. Everyday, we look in envy at other platoons with spare men lounging around. Even my platoon sergeant seems to have lost some heart in what he had tried to built:

He scouted (no pun intended) for us back when we were still in BMT. Young and green, he promised that being a scout would be an extremely honourable thing to do. The whole training shed of short-listed candidates whom volunteered their names vested their trust in him.

So far, even though the rest of us try very hard, we still fail to meet expectations — perhaps they would have done better with the other batch whom were posted out: they seem to be physically stronger. The brigade inspection found us to be wanting in many skills, such as intraveinous injection, vehicle technical data, tools.

It turned out that there was much that we did not know that we needed to know, so we did crash courses for everything. That seems to fray tempers more. Nowadays, my days in the bunk are marked by quarrels, occassionally punctuated by a few items hurled about, while I lie on the bed, hoping to sleep through it all. Intolerance to other people have led to snide remarks, and many open insults have already broken out in the open. People to people relations have not reached such a low before. If quarreling is a sign of care for one another, I might wish they start to be a little more indifferent about our differences.

Now that I might feel better about it after typing it out, I must add that I am a natural optimist. This happening cannot bode well for the integrity of this platoon. Dare I say that we all need some serious counselling.

Here's hoping that things will be better when we return our pagers, and end our stand-by duties.

Shave closer than Gillette®

2005-02-08T22:14:00.000+08:00

Remember the company cohesion that I had some time back?

While yesterday's platoon cohesion programme had nothing to do with it, I was constantly reminded about the bad experience at Sentosa, and that led me to keep my fingers crossed all throughout the whole of Monday.

In the morning, in the stead of the usual 5 km runs, or other assorted demanding physical training done at 8 am in the morning, we were very pleasantly surprised when word came up that we were allowed to play games. Yes, finally we get to join the other platoons in the company in their usual games. We went happily to the basketball court cum street soccer court -- to find it occupied by the other platoons.

After a few minutes of harried co-ordination, the whole company decided to take turns playing. Not wanting to disturb everyone's fun with my bumbling novice play, I decided to occupy myself with a spare ball that happened to lie around the shed in that area. It was curious how that ball (I assumed that it was a soccer ball, because it looked like one) was able to bounce like a basketball. Come to think of it, now it looks like a volleyball. I augmented my own confusion by idly alternating between dribbling, bouncing, and otherwise playing with the ball. Then a few guys came along and wanted to join in the fun.

And it so happens that they were light years my senior in terms of ball handling skills. They managed to manipulate the ball like a professional, while I was stuck looking like a total raw greenhorn with my clumsy dribbling. I took comfort in the fact that I was chasing after the ball most of the time.

It was slightly later that we were scheduled to leave camp - provided there were not any major stuff scheduled for that period. Then came the bomb-shell (and a rather big one). 10 minutes to get all the sweat out of the body, change into uniform, and get ourselves into the hall for a lecture. (In case you want to know, it was about our pending duty guarding the various key installations in the country).

The lecturers were nice and all, but I was terribly impatient throughout the two and a half hours that they were talking: the cohesion programme was in the evening, and we had planned a few other more exciting activities than listening to lectures! I couldn't say for the rest of the battalion present, but the last I looked, heads were drooping, and I swear that I could see some chains of semi-saliva dripping slowly out of some of their mouths...

I was slightly disappointed over dinner. With myself. I watched everyone else in pure envy while they managed to wolf down plate after plate of steamboat stuff, while I struggled to finish half of the delicious lumps of food that I still had on my plate. After that over-bloated dinner, we split up to do our stuff, with a stern warning to get back to camp before 11:59 pm. The threat mentioned vaguely about burnt Chinese New Year holidays, but we were extremely confident that it wouldn't happen.

Guess what, it almost did.

The small group I was with was too engrossed in our LAN game that we forgot about time. We rushed out, ear to phones connected to taxi booking hotlines. With an hour and twenty minutes to spare, we waited to be connected to an operator. All the way until the only bus in that secluded area arrived in front of us 25 minutes later. By then I was knotted up in worry. That the driver drove like a tour bus did not help matters. The bus made a loop around the area (to our despair), before reaching the nearest train station. We dashed out, and ran into the next train out. Getting off at the nearest city area station, we ran to the front of the taxi queue (T-time minus 30 minutes), and cooked up a hot story about how we had to rush back to camp because we were activated, and that it was a national emergency...

The couple at the head of the queue took our story whole (I guess that was because of our frantic looks), and we hopped onto the taxi, pleading with the soft-spoken man to floor the accelerator. To be fair to him, he did, but with not enough urgency I almost started biting my nails (an action I am always tempted to try whenever I got stressed). Tearing down the expressway at 110 km/h, we managed to get into camp with less than 10 minutes to spare. Safe? NO!

The final 500 metres to the company line and real safety took almost that 10 minutes, because one of us hurt his leg during the mad rush for the taxi earlier.

So that was it. A close shave. Considering how valuable the Chinese New Year break is, I would say my life was saved. Even now, I still think back in amazement at how we managed to escape from that secluded area... 4 cell phones, 4 different cab companies, no takers. Maybe next time I should neglect to tell the operator that I am going to an area known for its cemeteries?

My past

2005-02-06T20:32:00.000+08:00

It is not that I wish to dig up my past, but there are certain lessons we can learn from my experiences in my youth.

You would have too, if your school were full of rich bastards (yes, the memory still hurts me whenever I recall it. Never have I been able to forgive and forget those years).

It all started in my secondary school, which happened to be a very chinese oriented school, supposedly with reputable rankings (around 25 to 28 each time) in the whole Singapore. Many rich parents chose it to deliver secondary education to their precious sons and daughters, whom seem to tot fanciful items flagrantly. Pagers, cell phones (remember, they were not hot back in 1999), Tamagotchi, the whole works.

I happened to be without those status items.

They started to tease me, first about how fat I was (I did look flabby then, but I was not that FAT!). They started calling me names like "action packed fatty", "fat-ass", "pig-whore", etc.

I actually took that into my stride, and ignored them. That's when the real trouble started. Those f****ts (sorry, I don't usually get so worked up) started throwing stuff at me in class. They hurled 5 cent coins when the teacher wasn't looking, they shot rubber band at my back during chinese lessons, and stole my stuff when I wasn't looking. In fact, it got so bad that I couldn't do my work. It was a surprise that I managed to pass decently that year.

My teachers tried to consel me: they just want attention, they have too much money to flaunt (you know the routine). But I got angry enough that I swore to do better than them, and show them that I was the boss. I pushed myself, stayed back in class after lessons are over, went through my work many times before I allowed myself to go home, and got acquainted with like-minded friends (whom also liked to stay back to study), who eventually helped me get over those people, and concentrate on my work. I didn't want those people to detract me from my life. In the end, these new friends of mine gave me an affectionate nickname: iron-assed. I didn't mind it a bit. In fact, I thought it cute that they imagined I could stop a 5 tonner truck with my backside.

But the most important thing that happened was I never gave up. I didn't look hard enough at first, but there exist people who actually quietly support you: you just had to look hard, and then those ^$&&%*# (sorry, here I go again) won't get on you anymore. That is what I gained through my secondary school life.

Perhaps those people (the f****ts) might have been a catalyst for me doing so well in my O levels. I didn't do so well for my A levels, partly because I was not motivated enough. Nowadays, I keep losing whenever I go to play WarCraft with my platoon mates during our Wednesday nights off camp. In fact, I am so weak that they were at level 20 while I languished at level 11. No matter. I am now training to beat them, and when I do, I would love to see their faces :-).

Here goes my life story. To the person I wrote this post for, I personally really wish that you won't do it, even though you don't realise it. I think we have gone through too much for you to do that. Persevere. I went through something like what you are going through now. Now's not the time to stop.

A business in camp

2005-02-06T17:59:00.000+08:00

Life in the army can get pretty monotonous by day, deadly boring by night.

While I get pushed to my physical limits during the day, my mental mettle gets tested by night when we have nothing to do (short of those little LAN sessions during our Wednesday nights off camp). Television isn't my cup of tea, and I seriously wished I could haul my computer rig to play in camp, but I had to settle for the humble book to cosy up to in the bunk: it was either that, or sleep. I figured that I didn't need 11 hours of sleep a day, so self-improvement paperbacks accompany my evenings in camp.

I came across Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki (sorry, no affiliate link to Amazon, I have not taken action on that book yet, if you understand what I mean), and was curious ever since: How would I be able to achieve a life free from financial worries?

That first book led to the next, and then onto the plethora of online resources on improving my financial life. It is shockingly easy when I come to think of it: you use the cash you get to invest in assets, which then you use to generate passive income.

Anyway, right now my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, especially after a few guys in my camp approached me recently to get me to join their network marketing scheme. I have yet to given them a solid reply even though I am seriously tempted by their proposal - it sounds feasible, and would only cost me three hundred upfront. With the Chinese New Year just around the corner, I guess it is a good time to probe my relatives a little, not to mention get all those hongbao packets to help start up my little down-line.

Maybe I can start a business with all those time spent doing nothing in camp, and turn a handsome profit when I finish my active national service? Financial education versus professional training?

[What is it?]

HongBao: Little red packets containing money, usually given by married couples to un-married teenagers and children. The red packets are supposed to ward off evil and help a child coast through the new lunar year.

3 Free invites to GMail

2005-02-05T15:12:00.000+08:00

I currently have 3 G-Mail invites to give out.

Yes, you can now have an account with the coolest e-mail service around, with 1,000 megabytes of storage space, for all those spam mail, hate mail, fan mail, chain mail that you get in your e-mail. Plus you get to archive it so that years down the road, you will dig out that tearful farewell e-mail you sent your girlfriend...

I got my account with Google due to the grace of a stranger (whom I might never get to know, because he didn't contact me even when I have finished creating my account with his GMail invitation), so I am giving it back, 3 fold. This is also to thank all you blog readers for reading my blog. But if you already have a GMail account, please don't ask for more. Let's keep it for those who have not been touched by the magic of GMail.

Hurry now, while stocks last.

Email me to get the invites (limited to the first 3 who asks for it, for obvious reasons).

Remember to give out your invites when you do get to! Let's spread the love of sharing around!

Criticisms, promotions, and people leaving - all in one week

2005-01-29T22:37:00.000+08:00

Dealing with criticisms by people has never been an easy job. Even the most popular person can't help but bend to its negative powers, though temporarily.

I am not talking about myself, but rather another platoon mate. He is on the verge of downgrading his medical status. If it is successful, he will be posted out of the platoon. He has this foot problem bugging him for some time now, which always makes sure that he stays well behind the rest whenever we do runs or fast marches. (I won't reveal who he is, but his blog is in my links list.)

The trouble is, not only does he have to deal with the pain in the foot in the aftermath of the activity (in the heat, to quote BadAunt), he also has to bear the brunt of criticisms from some of the less understanding people. They heap much scorn, much of it due to jealousy borne because he is a designated driver, and does not join in missions, except as a ferry. So far I would say he is handling it pretty well (I broke down when something similar happened to me in secondary school), but judging from his sleep-shouting (usually rude words) I guess he is at his breaking point. So far he has threatened to get the downgrade letter and leave.

Deep down inside, I really hope that he would stay. Now I don't care if there is a logistics nightmare when he leaves, but I really liked him as a good friend. I didn't really talk to him (except for the night before we came back from Brunei), but he is a likable person. It would be real sad if he were to leave right now, especially after 9 months of weathering tough training together. Another person lost in the high drop out rate. So far, 8 have left since this platoon was formed. Now with this Friday my platoon commander's (PC) last day here (he's posting out), it might seem as if we were old men sending off our friends... I really hope that this is the result of a high-attrition job.

So far, I've tried to deflect some of the gossips (humans are at least compassionate enough to do it behind the subject's back), but the visual stimulation they get when they see him struggle with everything would always distance my words from their minds. Well, I can't do anything to stop them from gossipping (heck, I bet they also gossip about me behind my back), but I feel that there is a need for them to be a bit more kind in their words.

Before the PC left, he gave us a final talk. During the last day with him, he revealed the promotees slated for the next promotion. I was one of them. Not to draw a parallel with a rocket blasting off into the sky in excess of 11 km/hr, but the close vicinity of these two promotions make me wonder whether they could have done it only just once, instead of forcing me to sew on one rank, and then tear it off and sew on a new one just weeks after.

Anyway, his announcement propelled me to cloud nine (I was dazzled that I was going to be the forth corporal in the platoon of 16 troopers), but I landed with a thud. This high is artificially generated by the CO (Commanding Officer, essentially the boss of the whole battalion) who only wanted to promote people in select batches, instead of raising everyone in a one off parade, as was the norm. Once again, I silently cursed him.

I was a bit taken aback when Badaunt was shocked that I found 3 km a short distance to run in the sweltering tropical heat. Today, I present to everyone: I did a 8 km fast march without any rest breaks in between on Thursday, and managed to complete only 4 km of alternating between walking fast, and running like crazy before breaking ranks with the rest, and became a laggard. I finished the whole event limping on a cramp in my calves, with the fact that my platoon managing to finish before the rest of the battalion the sole comfort in my mind. To put it mildly, I was crushed that I couldn't keep up. The two other guys inside my section (section 2) also had trouble catching up. Is this it? The end of Section 2? I didn't want to relive the glory times, but we were the most outstanding section (not bragging) before we went to Brunei. Did we do something wrong? I doubt so. So were the other guys getting stronger faster the cause, or is section 2 just plain lousy? I am still trying to figure out.

Maybe I will go and sleep on it.

Cobra Challenge training starts

2005-01-23T11:39:00.000+08:00

The recent days seem hotter than usual, and my subjective body seems to be right (as usual). I could feel the dry breeze blasting in through my bunk door, and thoroughly dry our mouths - all while we are dozing off inside. It was particularly worse for me (the water buffalo), so I ended up taking frequent trips to the water cooler, which incidentally didn't have time to cool the water properly.

On Friday, we did a 5 km combat run, followed by static physical training. My body actually groaned when the memories of my failed 8 km route march nauseated my mind. The weather was very similar.

I lined up at the front, confident that I would soon need the help of my platoon mates to push me on. As I ran, I not only sweated, I actually rained on the ground in front of me. I only managed to last 3 km before faltering to the back of the whole group.

It made me kind of embarrassed to have to make them wait for me, but they did patiently. (Thank goodness they didn't try to fuss over me - that would have been devastating to me.)

And so I managed to struggle through this week's tough physical training. I was actually surprised my muscles didn't hurt like they used to when I was doing my Basic Military Training.

I seem to be attracting a lot of attention to myself recently. With the high (it was actually meant to be a non-event) profile promotion recently, I found myself in the limelight again when I got nominated to run in the Cobra Challenge.

Right now I am jumping around, unsure whether to bask directly inside the attention that is coming down in a torrent, or to hide (very much against the principles of the Leo in me).

It is sort of a conflict within me. Normally, the way I do things tend to attract people's attention to me. My firebrand style of bursting into the room, the lame jokes that I crack. Now that I've got unwanted attention, right now I just wished I could find a rock and hide inside it.

Anyway, I am still waiting for the whole excitement to die down before I start to seek attention once again. That's me.

[Background Information]

Cobra Challenge is a special endurance race held annually for all units under the 6th Division. Consisting of a 12 km run in combat attire, with rifle shooting mid-way, it is one of the toughest competition Singapore NSFs can go through.

When a private becomes a Lance Corporal.

2005-01-15T16:19:00.000+08:00

I found out that I was promoted.

It probably should be a good thing for me - except that promotion is a local promotion, and that I would not get any pay raise for that. Implications include me getting sabotaged for all those jobs I never would normally do before this promotion, not getting a pay raise (have I mentioned that yet?) and having to pay to sew the new rank on my uniforms.

Before I go deeper into the problem, I must add that I will eventually be promoted (yet again) to Corporal under the SAF system. That means this intermediate stage would mean that I would have to pay again in a few months time to remove this rank, and to sew on my final rank for my national service stint. This intermediate stage would have been eliminated, had it not been for this special policy on the part of my CO, who insisted on promoting a few people at a time based on "merit", instead of the usual practise of promoting all the enlistees to Corporal all at the same time. Given our status as enlistees, it would bring about problems, such as jealousy and cause the promotees to be the subject of arrows from above and below.

It all started when everybody was quite impressed with my performance. The peer appraisal was also favourable. The commanders were also pleased with my improvement (I got a silver in the physical proficiency test, and passed my Standard Obstacle Course on my first try.) Everybody thought I would be promoted to Corporal. I admit that I thought so myself initially. At this time, 2 slots for Corporal and 4 for Lance Corporals were open. Then came the bombshell that I was going to be promoted to Lance.

Frankly speaking, I wouldn't have minded this promotion but for the fact that I would not get additional cash reward along with this rank. Right now, I am still feeling the pinch over the amount of money I had to spend just sewing the rank onto my four sets of uniform ($20 out of $500 a month). Effectively, I am just another private with additional responsibilities.

I get people coming up to me with looks of jealous evident in their eyes. Some tell me that I am lucky to be promoted before all the rest. They are right. I am lucky to be promoted earlier. I just hate to be that lucky to miss the cash.

My purpose.

2005-01-09T18:50:00.000+08:00

Well, I am dis-inclined to talk about my less than perfect life (who is ever perfect?), however I seem to be somewhat dis-heartened nowadays.

Have I lost my direction, my purpose in life? On Friday, before I booked out of camp, we had a fast march competition with the full combat load humped on our backs. I did not manage to complete it.

Not with my full load anyway. My legs developed multiple cramps, while my back started to hurt very badly. That is, if I had ignored the multiple blisters that were forming rapidly around the soles of my foot.

Since it was a competition between sections, with the prize being early book out, everyone gave their all. I completed the first 4 km without much difficulty, yet I had hints of a sore back developing.

I knew I should have told somebody about it, but my pride seriously doesn't allow me to. My ambitions totally depended on my ability to finish that 8 km.

After the 10 minutes break, we set off at an even more hurried pace. This time, my feet reached their maximum stretching point, and I got hinits of a cramp developing. I pressed on, determined not to give up. With 1 km left to go, I lost my battle with the cramp, and my legs collapsed on the road in uncontrollable spasms.

The Sergeants came around to help me stretch both legs (which were very painful after). My section commander took my field pack and left me only my rifle to walk with. I was undeterred. I wanted to finish that 1 km myself. I pestered him, pleaded with him. He didn't let me.

So I limped back to the finishing line, last, and most important of all, without my sense of purpose.

I told myself (as the platoon sergeant and platoon commander came), I was a burden. Then I gave myself a mental slap. There is always another time for me to prove myself.

It turned out that I dehydrate faster than other people, and needed to drink more isotonic drinks. When we finally dismissed to go back to our bunks, I wanted to bring my own load back, at least affirm to myself that I could do that little bit in my current state. No. My team mates grabbed hold of my stuff and went up with it.

I cried.

This feeling is even more strengthened when I watched the Japanese anime series, Naruto (there were English subtitles). A boy filled with a sense of purpose...

I guess I take some time to recover from these set-backs, don't I? Right now, I couldn't have used this as an affirmation anymore. I needed something new. So now I am going to train as hard as before to get myself that Gold award for my physical test.

Even as of now, I am still wondering whether I am harbouring the correct direction towards my national service. If I were wrong about myself, I need Time to tell me.

I love my blog

2005-01-02T20:37:00.000+08:00

There are so many blogs that are online that I can't decide which ones to choose to read!

There are those who write solely about their own lives (maybe Badaunt will agree with me on this), some who love to write about other people's lives, and others who write philosphical stuff that I myself can't understand.

I still don't understand why I am blogging in the first place (Oh no, this person has lost his focus!), perhaps I might be able to find it once I get my usual box of ice-cream to nurse.

What a conflict in writing style, don't you think? I probably will make a mess out of my own blog with this capricious changing of my writing. I bet it probably confused you too. I remembered that I last made a decision to re-direct my blog to write more about my thoughts. It seemed that it isn't quite successful as I would have wanted it to be: I keep slipping into reporting my daily events! To make it worse, I write badly when I am sleepy, angry, or purly crazy!

I still remember the lessons from my English teachers: as with every piece of writing, make sure you are clear about your audience: what would attract them, captivate their attention, and force them into a spell such that they would happily lick up your words like a hungry man (ok, the description is a bit too much, I guess).

So here we go again, a new style of writing on this blog! What do you think?

A New Year - A Renewed sense of hope

2005-01-01T13:11:00.000+08:00

Following up hot on the heels of 2004 is a brand new year of potential.

While disaster struck late in that year, current efforts at aiding the victims of the tsunami and earthquake are proceeding in full force.

Businesses in Singapore have chipped in to aid relief efforts. Donating a percentage of a day's profit takings is a good gesture, though I would have preferred that they either donate all of the takings, or simply come up with an out-right donation. Advertising their products with a pledge to "give a percentage of takings to charity" certainly does benefit the needy, while at the same time en-riching the business when well-meaning donors flock to buy these items. Talk about taking advantage of a disaster!

Besides that, the high profile of the disaster in the local media has ignited a renewed sense of charity in the local populace. Never mind that they had already donated their fair share to charity - Singaporeans opened up their wallets once more to give - perhaps a small glimmer of hope of recovery for the victims in Indonesia, Phuket, Sri Lanka and India. Not only were people killed in the earthquake and its tsunami spawn, more were displaced from their beloved homes (treasured belongings destroyed, family members washed away to some other place). Epidemics threaten their very survival.

I am glad that the world has stepped up to the challenge of saving the people affected by this belated "Christmas Disaster", even though the sum raised so far is nothing compared to the amount spent in the New Year celebrations. At least some people have bothered to acknowledge that others are not as fortunate as them, and extend a helping hand to these people.

We are the world.

Death of Creative TV content in Singapore

2005-01-01T00:00:00.000+08:00

A new year dawns upon the land.

A completely new slate fresh from the tree press and ready to be imprinted with stories. Words depicting tales of people, hardship, loyalty, leadership, tenacity.

As such, news from the old year spill over into the new year, episodes and un-paid debts make appearances to haunt the start of the new year.

At exactly 12:00 am 1 January 2005 (GMT +0800), Singapore mourns the passing of creative local TV with the merger of MediaWorks with MediaCorp. MediaWorks has always been a symbol of originality in the local broadcast scene, with plenty of new initiatives and shows that thoroughly entertained Singaporeans, young and old.

However, the vision of competition was mercilessly buried in the back seat as operating costs were held up as reasons for not sustaining MediaWorks, and inevitably, had to be forcibly merged. Artistes from MediaWorks would have to suffer the consequences of having betrayed their former (and future) employer (Since they were artistes who jumped ship from MediaCorp 4 years ago). Viewers would have to suffer the same old monotony of stale content again.

Thank you MediaWorks, for everything:

R.I.P

2000 - 2004

You can still view MediaWorks' website at The WayBack Machine

New Year Resolutions - an obligation?

2004-12-31T13:18:00.000+08:00

I have never been one to break traditions, nor do the people who have been in my life remember me as a person to rock the boat. But instead of posting the obligatory "New Year Resolution", I am going to tell you what I will have done by December 2005:

My class 2B civilian motorcycle licence, along with a basic bike to boot (I intend to upgrade my licence to the "free for all" class 2 category when I become eligible for it).
I will have decided on my next stage of my life: Even though I failed to gain entry into a university, there are many other alternative routes that I can take to receive training in specialised fields - even though it isn't the end of the world, these routes are definitely less trodden, and probably tougher.
I will have finally finished my website (long overdue since 1998 *gasp*). Procrastination has been a killer for me this year, so to put myself on the line and finish it, I am going to go for a professional web host to serve my future website. Nothing like a little financial commitment to motivate myself.
A business - no solid plans yet, but I am looking into the possibilities of network marketing. Tough concept to grasp (for me due to my lack of an economics background), but I will have read up totally on this business, and have created a proposal and presented it to like-minded friends.
Built up a muscle bulk that allows me to sustain 15 chin-ups whenever and wherever I do them.
Get the Gold standard for my camp's physical test

I have been there, and tried it: vague resolutions are great for placating beloved ones, but don't do anything to further your personal well being. Hopefully these solid goals are powerful enough to set my direction for 2005 (I get easily distracted by chocolates!)

So what would you have acheived by 31 December 2005?

Company cohesion: (correction: platoon cohesion)

2004-12-28T22:41:00.000+08:00

In a show of ~~division~~ unity, our company went on a trip to Sentosa (a very tourist paradise with pristine beaches, and $1.30 cokes).

Apparently, punctuality is lost (especially by superiors) when they are not in uniform. I was quite struck by the irony of the situation. I barely dragged my half-dead body to Sentosa, and was handsomely rewarded with sights of higher ranking people strolling off the different bus loads. The rest of us were so bored by their tardiness that we started our own breakaway "cohesion".

Finally, when some semblence of an instruction was somehow passed down, the entire herd moved in the general direction of some hall (which turned out to be some over-decorated shed). Workers were setting up temporary struts and other small platforms for the new year countdown. There, we sat twiddling our thumbs, and talking - among our individual cliques.

(I am sure you would have known by now my reason for writing like this...)

A few of us were even bored enough to strip somebody and send him into the welcoming embrace of the equatorial water. Sorry there are no photographs to post here because I am too poor to get a digital camera, not even a low end model.

Essentially things got so dry (the so called cohesion program was actually only a monotanous beach volleyball "league") that many of us broke away and started doing our own stuff. The lechers among us (I am quite sad to report that I am one of them) put on our best shades and took a stroll (swim and dunk) along the beach to (ahem...).

As of this writing, I am having serious reservations on continuing my narration (Yes, it is THAT boring, and I am not that bad a story teller, am I?), so I am going to stop by saying that we ended the whole program with absolutely nothing to take away (nope, my platoon didn't win anything, and would be thankful if relationships were not damaged today, let alone maintained.)

Platoon level cohesion was supposed to be next on the agenda, but as the guys put it, "No mood. Go home. Sleep." (I am quite annoyed that they have succeeded in making my blog entry sound like a teenager's whine. Thanks very much.)

Army Recruitment Centre Posters - Not

2004-12-27T23:05:00.000+08:00

Advertisement posters with a twist:

(AWOL stands for "Absent Without Official Leave")

More posters can be found here:

http://forum.aiomobile.com/showthread.php?t=183

Who said that people in the army were boring?

FireFox Evangalism

2004-12-27T01:17:00.001+08:00

I was quite curious when StatCounter showed me some disappointing figures: (as a crazied supporter of open-source software) the uptake of FireFox .

Only 1 out of 100 visitors to this blog is using FireFox to browse the website.

Now that I have nothing related to my camp to write about (a break from camp and all), I am going to evangalise (quite unusual for a Buddhist).

FireFox is a revolutionary web browser that embodies the "open source" concept: That means many eyes are upon the coding of this application all the time, and any flaws or potential security problems are fixed with very short turn around times. Compare this to Internet Explorer, of which the development has been stagnant for 3 years now. The number of security problems are numerous. FireFox, on the other hand, is under constant development by volunteers, who add more functionality to improve your browsing experience!

So far, major features of the program include tabbed browsing, which saves tons of your window real estate, and an advanced privacy manager, which allows you to remove your tracks, all without much fuss. For those who want more functionality, it is achieved through Extensions.

Give it a try! It is only a small download, and you won't lose a thing (you can uninstall it easily in the event you find FireFox unsuitable for you, but I think that it would be highly unlikely!).

[End of promotion speech]

On a personal note, I have used FireFox for a few months now, and I have not come across any security problems so far - in fact, FireFox load pages much faster than Internet Explorer, I have since relegated IE to the doldrums of the hard disk.

Pioneers do write too!

2004-12-27T01:17:00.000+08:00

It seems that the guys from Pioneer platoon blog too!

Kavan's blog

Eugene's blog

Patrick's blog

Promise and Play

2004-12-26T01:45:00.000+08:00

There are no apparent links between Promise and Play, except perhaps the fact that they exist under the same category of "Words Starting With 'P'". However, they happened to make my life miserable today (or rather yesterday, for that matter).

You should remember from my last blog post that I played the night over at Orchard (the photos show it all), but being the crazy NSF (that's National Service FullTime) that I was, I decided to continue playing through the night. (Lest some readers mistake my intentions, I currently have no intention of delievering my maiden voyage to some well-powdered woman on the street.) I stayed at home to chat with some of my friends who also had trouble sleeping.

That was when my troubles began. I had promised one of my platoon mate that I would turn up for his church's commemoration of Christmas in the Indoor Stadium the next morning (which was yesterday as of now). I ended up sleeping late and subsequently missed the event.

He did call to remind me just an hour before the event, but the comfort of my own bed proved too much to bear (I had answered the phone from my bed), and the next time I woke up, it was bright noon, and SMSes were piling up on my phone.

He called me a while later, and I had to suffer the guilt of having to tell him the truth (I couldn't have lied anyway, I was too tired).

Three hours later, I found myself leaving the house again, to meet another group of friends.

Perhaps I would have felt better had I just slept this day away...

Merry Christmas!

2004-12-25T13:20:00.000+08:00

I am not a believer in Christmas, but there is no harm in partying all the same, is there?

I went to the bustling streets of Orchard along with three more friends to soak in the Christmas atmosphere: (Photos courtesy of Kester with his digital camera, edited by yours truly.)

Inside the train

2 punky looking guys (Which one is yours truly?)

Beautiful Christmas tree in Ngee Ann City

The gang (Kester is the photographer)

Our camera man in the midst of a foam war

People were buying spray cans from the road side stalls and sprayed with abandon, innocent by-standers or not. I joined in, and armed myself. Too bad we forgot to take a picture in the after-math of the battle (we surrendered at around 12 am, and hurried to the train station to avoid the crowd crush for the last few trains back home. I looked like I just got out from the shower, neglecting to wash off the shampoo from my hair. Some of the strangers got beards, others multi-sported coloured streams.

The sporty attitude was in the air, skirmishes broke out with such randomness and swiftness, and ended just as fast, with strangers pretending that nothing has happened, the slippery ground being the only evidence of a foam battle having been fought there. I sprayed strangers in their backs as I passed them, and managed to confuse them (they couldn't have realised that sneaky me was the perpetrator.) [Insert evil laughter]

Merry Christmas everybody!

Blog stats!

2004-12-18T13:48:00.000+08:00

Here is the breakdown of my visitors for thse two days: (Courtesy of StatCounter)

Whatever happened to you BadAunt?

Once again, the majority of the visitors featured in my logs are Singaporeans. Am I so unappealing to the international audience?

Demise of a teacher

2004-12-17T17:28:00.000+08:00

My PE teacher from my Junior College has passed away.

It is intriguing how life can come to such an unpredictable and abrupt end.

To all NYJCians, you can send your condolences at the link below:

http://www.nanyangjc.org/news/view-article.php?y=2004&article=52

There will also be a memorial service for Mr John Lim tomorrow:

Date: 18 December 2004

Time: 1800 hours

Venue: Nanyang Junior College

Details: Please wear white to the service, and bring along a white candle and flower.

Reflection of the real world - without the choice

2004-12-17T16:25:00.000+08:00

National Service can be a stunningly accurate simulator of the real working world out there.

Yes, it took me this long to realise that. It happened while I was griping about the lack of benefits that others take for granted: not that I would have played soccer more frequently were I to be allowed to, it was a matter of principle.

I rationalised that being the best platoon that does the toughest work in the battalion, we must be accorded with corresponding advantages that should remain out of reach to others. Sounds reasonable? The sad reality does not even match the benefits others enjoy: while we scouts continue to go for training in the out-field, others stayed back in camp to conduct sleeping sessions in their bunks. Some even had the opportunity to go on off.

I was already starting to be-moan the situation when something inside took hold of me (sort of like the kind of feeling you get when "realisation smacks you upside in the head"). Isn't this the real world? Differing work loads, differing kick-backs, and hugely differing forms of treatment. I sat down next to my bed while the rest of the JC graduates in my bunk continued to rant against the unfairness bestowed upon their unfortunate self. For the first time, I understood the downgraders who left the platoon, the actions of men who hate their current situation, but are afraid to rock the boat. The sad thing was that short of breaking one's limb, there is no real way of changing vocations (this being national service, and already, this platoon is short of fit guys to go out there and die for the country). It would have been a terrible thing, if not for the fact that this is National Service.

As the word connotates, we are in the service of the nation: that means we give up personal comfort, insecurities and even our lives for the nation, and the differing amounts of sacrifice that we make is immaterial: we are all just doing our part for the country. So what if I suffer more than others in service? The nobility in such a sacrifice more than makes up for the discomfort of "not being able to play soccer". Already, scouts are recognised for the amount of tough work that they do, and isn't the jungle hat an affirmation of that fact? Perhaps some of us need to take a step back, and view things as they currently stand. Maybe we are being too selfish in demanding too much? As some have put it, "Ask not what the nation can do for you, but what you can do for the nation". That is what National Service is about. Let's not forget that.

Support Company

2004-12-11T08:18:00.000+08:00

Apparently, something seized me and made me start typing. So here's a feature on my own company, affectionately known as Support Company (SP Coy).

Support Company is made up of five different platoons, each with a different job scope from the other. The scouts do the spying for the battalion, the ATGM (Anti-tank guided missile) platoon jinxes enemy tanks, the Pioneer platoon opens routes for the rifle companies (which are the actual fighting forces) while setting traps for the enemy. Support bombardment is provided by the Mortar platoon straight from some cosy spot away from the enemy.

In this particular intake, SP Coy is made up of "A" level and polytechnic graduates, so any visitor to the company line can eavesdrop on the occasional argument on "George Bush" (he is a moron by the way), or the odd philosophical bout by a literature graduate.

Another unique point? We have many vehicles. Just how many? Enough to fill our quadrant of the parade square that we have no place to fall in, and resort to leeching space from the other companies. Jeeps, motorcycles, mortar trucks, tonners are just some of the vehicles that are now gracing the company line.

Violence is generally unheard of in the company. Being cultured people (ok, crudely cultured), we do not believe in violence as a solution to any disagreements. And that has led to a clean Last parade sheet every evening (where routines, duties, and punishments are read out). The few misunderstandings that occur are usually settled through talk. It is amazing how dynamic and spontaneous people are to changes when things are reasoned out, and laid down pat with "compensation".

So that is it with Support Company. I can't reveal more without running a risk of revealing confidential data, of which I am obliged to keep confidential. Of course, these kind of stuff is floating around everywhere on the Internet, so I am probably just trying to cover myself. If anybody is determined to find it, he can. But I suggest you do not try, or you will find yourself invited down to the Internal Security Department for a good chat...

One-Year Old NSF (National Service Full-time):

2004-12-10T15:36:00.000+08:00

365 days ago this very day, I took an oath of allegience to the army, and was pushed into BMTC (Basic Military Training Centre) on the very infamous Pulau Tekong for the start of two-and-a-half years of military service. Stepping on board the ferry service was a hand-chilling experience (besides the fact that it was raining, and the air-conditioning was up full blast). As my parents sat beside me on the service, I casted a final wistful glance at the landform that was my 18 years of up-bringing as the ferry speeded across the choppy straits. Leaving it for three weeks of confinement beared tons of anxiety and anguish.

My first few weeks in BMTC as a PTP (Physical Training Phase) recruit was tough. There were plenty of physical activities to shake my sedentary body down to its very core, and even more military protocols to learn and follow. I had to address an officer as "Sir", and sergeants as sergeants, get punished for that speck of dust lurking in the hinge behind the bunk door, run or march each time we had to physically move. It was a tough change given that I had no prior experience in the uniformed groups when I was in secondary school. My close friends armed me with advice from rumours they heard: "Don't leave your bunk on Thursday nights no matter what they say, ok? I don't want you to be dismembered like the guy from Charlie.."

When I finally got home, it was alarming to see vehicles zipping past on the roads, where previously we would march on them on that isolated island.

Flash forward to March 2004. I graduated from BMTC armed with an IPPT (physical test for all servicemen) pass, and a SOC (Standard Obstacle Course) timing that qualified me for command schools. I chose to give up the opportunity to be a commander, and was posted to Lim Chu Kang (it IS on the mainland, but it is on the other side of the mainland) as a scout.

Driving course came and went. My vocation course came and went. Now standing on top of one year of training, I ask, "Where the hell is my promotion????" My friends from my BMT have been promoted long ago, and are receiving $20 more allowances than I do! Why the upset over $20? As NSFs, we are barred from doing other jobs during our service, and $20 is a substantial increase from the $500 we currently draw! I shall leave that issue at that (I don't want to turn this blog into a "complain thread").

Where was I? One year. Time seems to have flown past like a river. I went overseas to Brunei for overseas training, walked through swamps (and even slept one night in it), swam through real rivers with current (but without any line) in full combat gear, made my way through thick Bruneian vegetation. It sounds amazing how much I have done in this short period of time! (Meanwhile, my IPPT has gone from a pass to silver, in fact it is now nearly a gold standard). I have made lasting friends who go through the same challenges as I do. I have been exposed rather mercilessly to the politics of the real world in this tiny confines of the Army (remember I lost my identity card some time back?), and was treated to the positive, as well as the ugly side of human nature. It truly has been an eye-opener.

Would I do it again if National Service were optional? I would say...

Yes.
(Here's a shout-out to all BMTC "N" (Ninja) and "T" (Taurus) companies, 45th PTP Enhanced BMT batch enlistees. Happy One year of Enlistment! One year and four more months till our service ends!)

Frayed tempers - why don't we all get some sleep instead

2004-12-09T23:14:00.000+08:00

It wasn't quite a week that appealed to my mental health - a week marked by continually changing standards, schedules, and even instructions. Last week, with plenty of administrative stuff left undone with three days till the turning ops parade (there were vehicles to draw from the central Motorised Transport Line, field pack standards to be checked and followed, action plan in the case of a real activation to be briefed), the whole company went on the usual business of physical activities. Area cleaning and inspection done in true military style, along with the obligatory push-up punishments for that dirty patch beneath the cupboards, lessons carried on with the usual slack pace - until somebody panicked. Instructions started to drip down in trickles, with such short deadlines we were forced to forgo sleep to accomplish it.

Maps had to be done, equipement to be de-rusted, and inspected for damage. By right, there should have been a more organised way of notification of all these tasks, not only to prepare everybody mentally for whatever would be coming, but to give them enough time to react without placing undue stress upon them. They didn't.

"Oh, the battalion HQ did not agree on the standards for the field pack, that is why you had to change the contents again."

"Instructions are coming in dribs and drabs - even we don't know what to expect next, please understand."
The first day of my marksman traning fell on the day of the battalion's turning ops parade, resulting in everybody painting their faces in the morning for the parade, and removing it hastily for a quick rush to the rifle range.

Tempers flared. I did break down - in fact, I used up quite a few pieces of paper just writing my frustrations down, and tearing them down till the very last piece before relegating them to the black bin near the staircase. From the contents of that bin, it is probably true that people do gorge themselves silly when they are stressed. Ironically, I don't see the other companies to be as busy as we were. Perhaps it is because Support Company is an unusual company with different support platoons doing different stuff; but there are just no excuses for mismanagement.
Anyway, now that the dust has settled some, everyone has put their attention back to training: it is as if we are not under Alert Red. I now carry a pager on me, so that I can get recalled back to camp in case of any national disaster. Communication has never been such a curse. Hopefully, as things get back to normal, people would get less tensed up. After all, it is bloody tiring to be angry at everybody at the same time.

Safety compromise?

2004-12-05T20:35:00.000+08:00

I probably would have been fired by now if I were in the writing business.

Where the hell is Pkchukiss?

Well, I've been really busy recently. My battalion is turning operational (that means we start doing the real stuff of protecting the country. If there is a threat, we'll be the ones to go out and neutralise it), and there are tons of stuff to do.

Among the mudane (and I feel it is silly) tasks we had to do was to standardise the items inside our fieldpacks. We had to place the items inside zip-lock bags which had to be modified (taped up) into tight fitting pockets for all the individual items. Personally, I have no idea what somebody in the middle of an operation would do with slippers, soap, towels, and admin shirt. But since it is for show, we had to do it anyway. Just the inspections took up much of our rest time.

To further compound matters, we had to complete our range (marksman training) simultaneously. A four day affair during which we had to spend the entire day and night at the range, we ended up sleeping at 2 am and waking up at 5.30 to complete yet another day of shootings. I even found myself looking for the helmet that I had put on, so I guess it probably is a bad idea to let us handle live rounds at this time.

I finished my shootings on Saturday, while some unfortunate firers had to go back today to re-shoot, either because they failed the final test, or they were eligible for the marksman award. Since there were still stores to clean and prepare, I couldn't go home until this afternoon. In fact, I am still very much deprived of sleep (Ironically, I did a experiment similar to this experience), and now is my book-in timing, so I can't type much right now. Hopefully, I can find some time to sort out this mess of a post (I think I've made so many grammatical and spelling mistakes, this post is completely incomprehensible...)

Here's to another busy week for me! Once again, I am not dead!

My personal point of view!

2004-11-15T20:13:00.000+08:00

I have issues with the many issues that are all around us.

I have chosen to display my point of view, and let anybody come and participate in open discussion. The link (it is a re-directer to the actual website) is here:

http://pkchukiss.spydar.com

So far, I am focusing on Singapore, but the recent U.S. elections hold much interest for me. I might start a section on it soon.

Blog Enhancements

2004-11-12T21:32:00.000+08:00

Today turned out to be quite mudane, and the details are enough to bore anyone. What I found strange was that I slept around 8 hours, woke up feeling refreshed, hit the backlog of newspapers (I didn't have time to catch up on the news that happened during my suffering in Brunei), and fell asleep right there on the floor.

I only woke up to my mom's clucking. She had wanted to mop the floor, and I was in the way. When I hit the pillow, I was drooling in dreamland all the way until lunchtime. Definitely not a very healthy way to start my morning. Possibly, my body was trying to cure the huge sleep deficit that I had incurred in my slumber account.

After lunch, I had to fight the drowsy feeling that came along with a full stomach. It was tough keeping awake, but I had heard stories about how sleeping too much during the day can give rise to insomia at night. So I got myself a huge bottle of water (those mega 1.5 litre bottles), and downed it. I remained quite awake after that (not to mention the frequent toilet trips).

Then after dinner, I had an inspiration to enhance my blog, so I went shopping. The newest addition is a chat box, which I hope to use as a platform to unify all those comments which might not truly belong to my posts. I've also automated the long bar that you normally see on the right, so that it is broken up into many smaller sections that are displayed one at a time. You will see the bar in its former glory if you do not have a DHTML capable browser.

Dear Younger Brother was quite delighted to see me when he got back from school, and stuffed my face full of food. Probably does not do justice to the tough slimming down I have had over in the steaming jungles, but my stomach now loves me even more than before I hit Brunei.

Dear Brother also egged me to come up with my own design for my blog, instead of relying on pre-made templates by other people. "It's more original, and will make you look more cool!" he extolled. Well, I might do just that, on the account that he has pampered my stomach. We'll see, tomorrow. Perhaps after tomorrow? Or the day after tomorrow?

Temburong, Negara Brunei Darussalam

2004-11-11T14:21:00.000+08:00

It has been a long time since I updated this blog. To some who fear the worst, let me assure you, no, the headache did not kill me. I was away in Brunei Darussalam for overseas training, and I touched down back in Singapore only just this morning. It was quite an adventure that I went through, I must add.

We were shipped to Temburong via a fast craft (the only legal way to reach that isolated part of Brunei without entering Malaysia, and exiting it again into Brunei, and directly into the murderous heat of the Borneo jungle terrain.

The main city is Bangar, which is a small town in itself. I had quite a rude shock when I noticed the absence of traffic lights in the whole area. We travelled down to Kampong Lakiun, where the training camp is located, and were initiated unceremoniously to the relics of Singapore army's past.

Longhouses greet one's eyes, with sponge foam double deckered beds lining both sides of the walls from one end of the building to the other. A narrow corridor serves the whole house, with ineffective fans always fighting a losing battle against the 36 degrees heat outside. From then on, the only relief from the heat would come around mid-afternoon, where the North East monsoon would bring with it temperature lows of 25 degrees, which soon proved to be a problem at night, especially when I had to stay out in the jungle at night.

Probably in keeping with the tradition of torturing trainees, we could only steal precious few hours of sleep each night that we were in camp, for the preparations and inspections for the next day's training took up much of the early night. I looked wistfully as the other platoons slept while we scouts busied till 1 am, waking up at 4 am to start the day.

Probably the most enjoyable moments I had for the whole trip were those of the 4 day 3 night navigation exercise in the Bruneian jungle. By day, we climbed up and down multiple steep slopes, some of which were so tough to conquer that we had to stop every 200 m to rest our breaths. By night, we cosied inside the hammocks, and slept the night away (which was from 6 pm to 6 am; we were not allowed to travel after sunset for safety reasons), and woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the next checkpoint.

Most unforgettable was the night we spent inside the swamps. After travelling through virgin vegetation (we had to hack our way through thorned plants, and battle persistent insects while struggling to keep our footings), we were forced to harbour inside the brackish water for the night. Certain parts of the swamp were quicksand, and threatened to swallow us at the first opportunity. When we finally reached the end point the next morning, I had a sense of achievement that I could never have gotten back here in Singapore. The feeling of helplessness, continuously proving that humans are but an insignificant part of the jungle, is truly a humbling experience. After spending one whole night cursing in the dark, we were in awe at what we can achieve if we set our minds to it.

Sad to say, I did not get to climb Mount Biang as per the schedule due to some serious case (sorry I can't say much, I am being gagged here). Instead, I spent the rest of my stay in Brunei doing surveillance. What a boring way to pass time!

This trip has made me appreciate my country more. The connectivity that we have, the easy access to entertainment and services cannot be found in Temburong without a vehicle. When my plane hit Singapore's coastline, I was full of pride as I snapped pictures of the coastline (perhaps I can share it after I develop the film). Have you ever gotten the same feeling whenever you get back to your own country after a trip overseas?

Ok, that's all I can write in my jet lagged state (don't tell me that there is no time zone difference - the sunset and sunrise timings are sufficient clues to the physical time zone difference!)

Terrible headache

2004-10-23T15:31:00.000+08:00

I woke up with my skin as though it were placed on a warm pan.

A splitting headache soon invaded my temples, and the whole of my Saturday morning was spent nursing it with a Panadol.

Hopefully, I am able to overcome this sudden attack, and post the interesting things that happened this week (We got to ride high in the sky, and were treated to a spectecular view of the Singapore skyline, all thanks to a helicopter; we also did combat swim across a man-made river. Totally cool.)

I am crawling into my bed now.

Gas! Gas! Gas!

2004-10-09T16:46:00.000+08:00

What does the sight of someone clad in a gas mask, totally hooded, sweating inside a suit made totally for temperate climates remind you of?

I only had one thought when I found myself inside one: Nobody could ever carry out a successful chemical warfare in Singapore - both sides will die from the resulting heat exhaustion. This morning, I peered out at the gas chamber (which was affectionately called the "smoke trainer") from behind the lens, and had the time to think about the horrors of rogue chemicals and biological weapons wrecking havoc onto the world. Those not dead would have to suffer the troubles of a sweat suit.

The previous detail had gone in, and there was a commotion inside the chamber. My detail instructors peered through a gap in the door and turned back to face us, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Now, you just remember not to panic when you go in," he admonished. Apparently, some earlier details had not taken the advice to their heads.

We eventually entered in single files. The room was brightly lit, and a white mist hung in the air. I entered reluctantly, not wanting to leave the comfort of the cool post-downpour weather outside.

"Let's do some stretching exercises for starters..."

After one small set of jumping jacks in the stuffy suit, we were asked to change the filter canisters on our masks. One by one, with eyes screwed tight, and our breaths held for dear life, we turned the canisters out of the mask, and screwed it back on again. The necessary drills done, we were about to have fun.

We lined up in two rows, and one by one, we took off our gas masks, looked straight into the instructor's eyes, and shouted our NRIC number, rank, name, and our home addresses, before we left the room.

Being the last in the row, I could see the effect of tear gas on my friends: Some coughed, and barely managed to control it. They even had trouble saying their own names without a pause to catch their breaths inside the gas filled room. When they got to leave the room, it was hard for them to not run ("Or else you will go for another round," another officer warned before we entered).

Finally my turn came. I ripped off the hood, and nervously fiddled with the straps of the mask. I took one last deep breath before pulling the mask free from my face. The effect was apparent. As I spoke, my eyes were starting to tear, and my face felt like it was pierced with thousands of needles. It was tough to keep my hands from rubbing my face.

Once I finished, I stumbled outside into the welcoming breeze of the outside weather. My sergeant helped me pull off my gloves, so that I could go to the shower to clean my face. However, the water did little to stop the maddening burning sensation. The sergeant took the liberty to take a photograph of me when I looked my worst. The platoon sergeant joined in, this time taking a group photograph of my detail. We looked like we had just survived a World War.

When I was finally free from the effects of the tear gas, I managed to walk back to the holding area, where I found out what happened to the previous detail: My buddy panicked when he was supposed to take off his mask, and struggled to dash out of the room. His shouting only managed to introduce more gas into his lungs, and he collapsed outside the gas chamber...

I teased him on the bus back to camp about how people reap what they sow (he stole my bread right from under my nose the previous night). What an amazing day.

Self-inflicted sleep deprivation experiment

2004-10-03T18:04:00.000+08:00

I probably am twisted, doing irrepairable damage to my own body.

You see, I had a 12 km route march yesterday, and by some unknown chemical reactions with all the hormones inside my brain, I decided to find out how long I could tax my body physically before it gave out. After the route march, I went out for lunch with my friends, then proceeded onto a protracted 12 hour marathon on my computer - all without any rest.

I had intended to last until 4 am, but I knew I had lost when I raised my head from the keyboard and saw pages and pages of gibberish keystrokes that I nearly posted onto a local forum website.

Somebody recommend a shrink.

Sheares Bridge Run!

2004-09-25T23:43:00.000+08:00

Run away! I am going to go on a 12 km fun run tomorrow!

Cool scenery boasts Singapore's highway bridge, the Benjamin Sheares Bridge. One major army event, and I can get to see many of my friends who are in doing their national service right now, because practically the whole of the NSF population is going to be running the 12 km.

Army Half Marathon Website

Residue pain

2004-09-24T21:54:00.000+08:00

In aid of the noble cause of learning the life saving skill of poking one's buddy, my right forearm was brutally sacrificed.

The actual poking was stretched out over the whole of five days, but I got my turn only today. I was actually relatively relaxed, having watched more "murder-scene" like blood spots form on the floor, and the added experience of having donated blood meant getting pierced was a relative no-brainer for me.

My buddy took his time getting the catheter. After tying the tourniquet on my arm, he took his time pulling the latex gloves on and let it snap, showing me his favourite psychotic look. He proceeded to rub the alcohol swab across my arm slowly, not unlike a butcher fattening up the cattle before the slaughter. I ignored his deliberate attempts to unnerve me, and talked to one of my other friend (another psychotic, judging by the way he poked his own buddy a few moments ago).

Then, with the assistance of the medic, he started to penetrate my arm with the needle. A dull sensation in my fingers suggested to me that he hit my muscles instead of the intended vein. I could hear the medic asking him to shift the needle here and there, not unlike a navigation exercise. When he was done, my muscles were as sore as they would be after any gruelling training.

After a few minutes (well, sixty odd minutes) of recovery time from the muscle ache, and I was prepared to do the deed on my buddy. But being in such a high demand, he was invited to be another guy's victim while I was massaging my sore arm... Probably just as well he did, because I was really jittery about inserting foreign objects into another person's body. In fact, I was slightly traumatised by the thought. My new partner made it worse. He seemed kind enough, offering his arm to be poked.

The medic encouraged the match, and hailed the new partner's hand as the "fattest vein to ever be poked by a newbie". He turned out to be a mini-nightmare. He complained throughout the procedure:

"Wah, why is the tourniquet so tight? My arm is dying!"

"Can you hurry up? I cannot feel a thing!"

"Do you know what you are doing? Why is it so painful?"

I ended up speeding through the preparation and nearly dug the needle into his arm (that should shut him up!). I managed to miss his vein (it wasn't easy, with my needle hand shaking so badly; the medic asked me to relax for the umpteenth time), and had to conduct topography inside his skin, before finally drawing blood. He winced, and cursed at the pain. But it was a success. Later, my victim drew me aside and told me what a great experience he had with me compared to his last partner. It seems that his last partner managed to cause a swell of blood in his skin a few days ago, with painful results.

Perhaps I might make a great nurse, eh?

Needle phobia or fear of scary buddies?

2004-09-20T09:24:00.000+08:00

I am pretty nervous about this coming week in camp.

Not only have they arranged for the close combat grading test to be this Thursday, they have also plonked us in the middle of a basic medic course. The highlights of the course includes poking intraveneous cathers into one's buddy, a skill which will be tested on (incidentally) Thursday!

I have not yet started on the actual poking lessons yet, but everyone is jittery about the whole thing. The senior medic who is conducting the course gave us a briefing last Friday, and he gave us a frightening demonstration of the actual poking on a guinea pig...

The poor guy was too frightened by the needle (well, it is VERY long!), and he thrashed about as the medic was inserting the cather. We ended up with blood all over the lecture room. In fact, the scene was not unlike that of a murder case. A few of my platoon mates nearly fainted at the sight of blood, while a few giggled. My guess was that they were trying to pretend that they are evil, to scare their buddies before the actual poking session tomorrow and on Thursday...

My buddy has assured me that he would try his best to target my vein (which would be a LOT less painful than if he were to poke it inside a muscle...), but failing which he would navigate the needle into the target... (I cringed at that, and he laughed his evil laughter.)

And in case you were wondering, it seems that all the guys here enjoy playing mind games with each other...

Let's Roulette!

2004-09-14T14:40:00.000+08:00

Did you still remember the very first time you stumbled onto my blog? You might like to post it in the comments box.

Previously, we had to rely on search engines to search for blogs. Not that the approach is particularly flawed or anything, but what happens is that new bloggers get buried under the deep pile of search results, and since visitors rarely dig so deep, valuable gems get unpicked. And I know how it feels, to have splurged all your brain juice onto a cyberpage without any readers: My personal home page is a deserted backwater in cyber space.

Now blog providers are giving these new guys a chance. Introducing the random blog feature! tBlog has its "Updated Blogs" feature to allow visitors to view freshly updated blogs. Blogger now has a new feature that allows us to visit blogs on its network! Look at the mini-bar right at the top. Go ahead, give it a spin. Who knows, you might even find your long lost friend's blog!

Blogger's Next Blog (Hold Shift and click simultaneously to open in a new window)