Respect

The next time you walk pass an army personnel in No 4 uniform, be it a lowly recruit, or a ranked soldier, accord him the proper respect. Under the guise of national defence, these young men had been conscripted against their own free will under the "Enlistment Act" and were forced to put their personnel life and ambitions on hiatus. Their hair was mercilessly shaved off - for hygiene purposes, of cause, the SAF would never think of intentionally humilating their cherished slaves - and as recruits, they greet the civilised world every weekend stinking of accumulated sweat and dirt.

Slouching in air-conditioned comfort aboard 88, I saw a trailer for a Sammi Cheng and Andy Lau movie - "Opening 21st October". Mentally doing a little calculation, I realised I'll be in camp. Life goes on in the civilised world. People go to school, to work, to play. While I train in Tekong. Please. I understand the importance of National Service. I really do. I also know I'm not the first person going through the service, and that life is actually pretty good compared to the "old days" when a recruit has to polish his boots till they become portable mirrors, and kissing hot lamp posts was a common past-time.

I still complain. I enjoy myself most of the time in Tekong, but still I complain. The army is building up my muscles and eroding my brain. Some of the things they make us do in there crack me up. Seeing my platoon mates take them seriously cracks me up even more. Take the flag raising and lowering ceremony as an example. Till now, I've not actually seen the flag being raised or lowered, but when that sacred ritual is being carried out, all activity on the camp grounds is suppose to stop, while a rectangular piece of cloth is being ceremoniously moved. I don't even have the slightest idea where the damn flag pole is. Still we freeze. I was at the dinner table in the cookhouse yesterday evening when the trumpet sounded, signaling the commencement of the above-mentioned sacred ceremony. One of my platoon mates sitting diagonally across me froze completely. The uninformed might think that he had his vital points blocked, ala chinese period drama style. But even the victims of that amazing skill in those period dramas could move their eye balls. That joker totally froze, even his pupils were unmoving. I sniggered a little, before loading another spoonful of food into my mouth. He had his spoon buried under a pile of rice and his fork paused in mid action, a piece of chicken meat between the fork and the spoon. Amazing sight. I immediately thought of the performer who hangs around the underpass between Lido and Orchard MRT. You know who I'm talking about? The motionless guy. Whatever you call him.

Then there are the garang kings, action kings, wayang kings. Who are they? The folks who have high ambitions - namely, the ambition to be greeted "Sir", and saluted. Anyway as a disclaimer, this whole post is cheap satire, so don't take it anymore seriously than I mean it to be. I love those guys. They do all the shit. Ration I/C, this I/C, that I/C. And they take their jobs very seriously. I look fondly on my ration I/C. He does his job well, ensures sufficient eating time for the rest of us, and is always the last one to get his food. I applaud him. Initially I thought him pretenious. Now I like him. He did his job well even when he was sick. When I say sick, I mean really sick. His fever got so high he was admited into Changi Hospital. Once again, I applaud him. Actually most are pretty nice guys. There's only one guy that I really cannot stand. Okay, him and his side-kick. I can't stand both. I'm not going to waste my weekend talking about them.

Gawd. What am I doing, talking about SAF during my weekend! Sacrilegious.

Enough. Actually the truth of the matter is that Jun is over at her friend's place for a JC gathering cum birthday party and I'm left alone here at home chilling. I don't really mind though. I missed my pig sty. Haha, or what I fondly call shaun-sty.

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