Fear: The enemy of success

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

1. 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!)
   
2. 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.
   
3. I live on the 16th storey:
   
   ... which could shock dear readers from countries without tall public housing.
   
4. 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!
   
5. 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

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.