'A' Coy HQ barrack room, 46th Bn SAR, August 1990
433rd Bn SAR 'B' Coy Pl 7 barrack room, December 2004
There. No more drooling over men in No.4. You may copy the pictures and paste as wallpaper. Happy? (Gabriel will be calendar boy for February).
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Especially for Scarlett, Stay cool and funky always. Love, Mr Miyagi
'A' Coy HQ barrack room, 46th Bn SAR, August 1990
433rd Bn SAR 'B' Coy Pl 7 barrack room, December 2004
There. No more drooling over men in No.4. You may copy the pictures and paste as wallpaper. Happy? (Gabriel will be calendar boy for February).
Saturday, January 15, 2005
...with our lives!
...and with that, I find myself in possession of a (comparatively) cheap sword engraved with my name.
After days of rehearsals, the SAF finally appoints me as a 2LT, bestowing upon me great trust and responsibility (although it only does so from the 24th of this month). Strangely enough, I don't remember any part of it at all. Everything just ran like clockwork, and before I knew it I"m walking back to my seat clutching a sword and scroll tightly to my chest with a dazed look on my face.
Walk down the stairs. Don't swing your arms. Don't clap. Once the guy in front of you marches up the stage, walk to the stairs. Halt. Walk up the steps, don't bounce. Halt again. Ok, they just called your name. Take 7 steps and halt in front of the BG. Good evening, sir. Hmm, he has grey hair. Wonder if he's retiring soon. He just handed the sword over. Stick hands out. Grip sword in left hand, curl inwards and hold tight to chest. Right hand guides sword inward so it doesn't obstruct when you swing your right hand. Extend right hand for handshake. Thank you sir. Sidestep slightly to the right, take 9 steps to the edge of the stage. Halt. walk down, halt. Walk to the first row of seats. Halt. Walk up the stairs, don't swing your hands. Reach your row, halt. Walk back to your seat. clamp your sword with your knees, lion head facing outwards. Relax.
I don't remember how loudly I greeted him or thanked him, or whether I returned his handshake firmly, or whether I remembered to smile as I walked up to him. When you're there, all you can see is the sword, gleaming gold under artificial light. It's tacky, but you can't help but be wowed by it as it is thrust into your hands. It may be cheap, but once you're back in your bunk and you draw the sword and hold it in your hands you start to feel the weight. Not too heavy to make it unwieldy, but heavy enough to serve its purpose: to remind you of the burden of command responsibility that's been pre-emptively placed on your shoulders by the G.O.H. that evening, and which will be symbolically placed on your shoulders by your parents in a weeks' time.
It's easy to be an officer. It's not easy to be a good officer. that is what really scares me now. Ask any soon-to-be-commissioned cadet if he is scared, and if he says no chances are he doesn't give a damn about being good enough for his post, for the SAF, for himself, and for the men under his charge.
After days of rehearsals, the SAF finally appoints me as a 2LT, bestowing upon me great trust and responsibility (although it only does so from the 24th of this month). Strangely enough, I don't remember any part of it at all. Everything just ran like clockwork, and before I knew it I"m walking back to my seat clutching a sword and scroll tightly to my chest with a dazed look on my face.
Walk down the stairs. Don't swing your arms. Don't clap. Once the guy in front of you marches up the stage, walk to the stairs. Halt. Walk up the steps, don't bounce. Halt again. Ok, they just called your name. Take 7 steps and halt in front of the BG. Good evening, sir. Hmm, he has grey hair. Wonder if he's retiring soon. He just handed the sword over. Stick hands out. Grip sword in left hand, curl inwards and hold tight to chest. Right hand guides sword inward so it doesn't obstruct when you swing your right hand. Extend right hand for handshake. Thank you sir. Sidestep slightly to the right, take 9 steps to the edge of the stage. Halt. walk down, halt. Walk to the first row of seats. Halt. Walk up the stairs, don't swing your hands. Reach your row, halt. Walk back to your seat. clamp your sword with your knees, lion head facing outwards. Relax.
I don't remember how loudly I greeted him or thanked him, or whether I returned his handshake firmly, or whether I remembered to smile as I walked up to him. When you're there, all you can see is the sword, gleaming gold under artificial light. It's tacky, but you can't help but be wowed by it as it is thrust into your hands. It may be cheap, but once you're back in your bunk and you draw the sword and hold it in your hands you start to feel the weight. Not too heavy to make it unwieldy, but heavy enough to serve its purpose: to remind you of the burden of command responsibility that's been pre-emptively placed on your shoulders by the G.O.H. that evening, and which will be symbolically placed on your shoulders by your parents in a weeks' time.
It's easy to be an officer. It's not easy to be a good officer. that is what really scares me now. Ask any soon-to-be-commissioned cadet if he is scared, and if he says no chances are he doesn't give a damn about being good enough for his post, for the SAF, for himself, and for the men under his charge.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Join the army, they said. See the world, they said... I'd rather be sailing.
From: I rock, you suck
The army recruitment department should hire me as a consultant
Recently I've noticed that there have been a lot of army recruitment posters at bus stops. Usually, the posters show one or more infantrymen in camouflage, holding their rifles and standing in vegetation with serious expressions on their faces. Those of you who are Singaporean will know what I am talking about. It's usually something along these lines.
Usually, it's accompanied by a lot of rhetorical crap about how cool being a soldier is, but that's not my point. My point is that pictures like these paint a wholly unrealistic picture of modern warfare. Let's face it, infantrymen no longer play a really pivotal role during war these days. There are only two circumstances in which infantry get sent out. The first is when your artillery, planes, ships and tanks have blown the shit out of the other country's armed forces. Then, infantry gets sent in to finish off the groaning survivors and also to pick the pockets of the dead.
Another circumstance in which infantry actually needs to be deployed is when the other country's artillery, planes, etc, has blown the shit out of your country's equipment. If I were an infantryman and I was being deployed without having been told that we've won, my knee-jerk response would definitely be "fucking what?" Seriously, no matter how good your infantry is and how hard they train, if your machines suck, you lose. And that's the fucking truth. So basically, if you've seen those posters and think that being an infantryman is all glam and shit, you're sadly deluded. Anyone who has a brain would know that signing on as an infantryman is the worst possible career choice of all.
Mistake me not. It's not that I'm not patriotic (although I'm not), and it's not that I do not respect soldiers. I respect soldiers just as much as I respect everyone else (read: not at all). It's that if you're going to ask people to sign on to potentially die for your cause, the least you could do is not insult their intelligence. Therefore, as a civil service, I have taken the time and the trouble to come up with a template for a realistic recruitment poster for the army.
Now, that's a far more attractive poster, wouldn't you say?
Recently I've noticed that there have been a lot of army recruitment posters at bus stops. Usually, the posters show one or more infantrymen in camouflage, holding their rifles and standing in vegetation with serious expressions on their faces. Those of you who are Singaporean will know what I am talking about. It's usually something along these lines.
Usually, it's accompanied by a lot of rhetorical crap about how cool being a soldier is, but that's not my point. My point is that pictures like these paint a wholly unrealistic picture of modern warfare. Let's face it, infantrymen no longer play a really pivotal role during war these days. There are only two circumstances in which infantry get sent out. The first is when your artillery, planes, ships and tanks have blown the shit out of the other country's armed forces. Then, infantry gets sent in to finish off the groaning survivors and also to pick the pockets of the dead.
Another circumstance in which infantry actually needs to be deployed is when the other country's artillery, planes, etc, has blown the shit out of your country's equipment. If I were an infantryman and I was being deployed without having been told that we've won, my knee-jerk response would definitely be "fucking what?" Seriously, no matter how good your infantry is and how hard they train, if your machines suck, you lose. And that's the fucking truth. So basically, if you've seen those posters and think that being an infantryman is all glam and shit, you're sadly deluded. Anyone who has a brain would know that signing on as an infantryman is the worst possible career choice of all.
Mistake me not. It's not that I'm not patriotic (although I'm not), and it's not that I do not respect soldiers. I respect soldiers just as much as I respect everyone else (read: not at all). It's that if you're going to ask people to sign on to potentially die for your cause, the least you could do is not insult their intelligence. Therefore, as a civil service, I have taken the time and the trouble to come up with a template for a realistic recruitment poster for the army.
Now, that's a far more attractive poster, wouldn't you say?
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Good for something
I've always told my non-NS or foreign friends that the Singapore Armed Forces are good at organising stuff, and they're doing a sterling job at the moment at tsunami disaster sites in Thailand and Indonesia. Of course, if you've watched the news, so are the armed forces of the US and Australia.
The Bronco ATTC (All-Terrain Tracked Carrier) was launched by Singapore Technologies in 2000, and my Army unit's been using it for various roles, like field ambulance and support vehicle to our armoured infantry combat team, but my fellow troopers and I have always wondered about the feasibility and cost-effectiveness of a such a lumbering automobile with a thin non-armour plated skin. Now, at least, it seems to have met its purpose. This ugly thing is probably one of the few vehicles that can carry people and supplies over debris-strewn areas and damaged roads, and the Navy's RSS Persistance & RSS Endurance are carrying dozens of these to Meulaboh in Sumatra.
Onya Singapore Technologies, Republic of Singapore Air Force, Republic of Singapore Navy, Singapore Civil Defence Force, SAF Medical Corps, Singapore Combat Engineers. Don't say I never say you good.
COE drop liao, but road tax still high for these babies
The Bronco ATTC (All-Terrain Tracked Carrier) was launched by Singapore Technologies in 2000, and my Army unit's been using it for various roles, like field ambulance and support vehicle to our armoured infantry combat team, but my fellow troopers and I have always wondered about the feasibility and cost-effectiveness of a such a lumbering automobile with a thin non-armour plated skin. Now, at least, it seems to have met its purpose. This ugly thing is probably one of the few vehicles that can carry people and supplies over debris-strewn areas and damaged roads, and the Navy's RSS Persistance & RSS Endurance are carrying dozens of these to Meulaboh in Sumatra.
Onya Singapore Technologies, Republic of Singapore Air Force, Republic of Singapore Navy, Singapore Civil Defence Force, SAF Medical Corps, Singapore Combat Engineers. Don't say I never say you good.
COE drop liao, but road tax still high for these babies
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Of foot rot and viral fever
I apologise for the really late post, but now that I finally have one whole week worth of off-in-lieu, I can finally get down to it.
You see that little badge that so many officers and specs have above their left breast pocket? The one with the little dagger, sprig of leaves and North Dipper constellation? In other words, the JCC badge? Well, for much of this December I was trying for that very badge. Though I didn't get it, I'm not disheartened, because in the sickbay I had lots of time to think, and I realised that getting the badge depends not just on your survival skills but on many factors beyond your control as well. And now that I think about it the badge would have looked really nice on my No. 4 (not to mention my No. 1, come Jan 22nd), but it probably wouldn't have been anything to me other than a grave reminder of all the shit I had to go through. Allow me to explain:
The JCC package is composed of 3 parts. Ex Nomad is a 3-day navigation package that requires a group of 6-8 to travel a distance of approximately 9km. Ex Chillhermit is a 5-day survival stint that requires one to survive 5 days without external food sources, and to build various structures and items to score the full marks. Ex Chillbone is a 5-day evasion and extrication simulation course that requires a group of 6-8 to travel a total distance of 17km and then execute a combat swim across the river. More elaboration in the following paragraphs.
Ex Nomad
Now, if you don't already know, Ex Nomad is all about navigation. Navigate well and you're set. Screw it up and... well, you end up failing the course like me (Ex Nomad was a veto factor for my course). What complicates this is the fact that you're in a group of 6-8, and knowing how to navigate alone is not enough. The most influential member of the group decides where to go, and 7 chances out of 8 you are not that guy. Even if your suggestion is propped by common sense and map evidence, this influential guy just has to move his legs and the rest of the group will travel in the opposite direction. So much of the time, you are left following the instincts of a guy you don't trust. Skirt right via the ridgeline? Bah, just bash straight ahead, up the knolls and down the ravines. It's shorter, but infinitely harder, but it's shorter. Let's go!
ChillBone
I failed the JCC package before I was even one-third of my way through it, but OCS HQ still wanted us to go through the course as a learning experience, so I took part in a condensed version of Chillbone: instead of the entire 17km, I only went through the climax of the exercise, which is to scale Mt Biang (1300+ ft) over the course of 2 days. That, of course, is nothing compared to what the badge-earners went through, so I can't speak for them. From what I see, however, the rules that apply to Ex Nomad apply here as well.
ChillHermit
Don't be mistaken. While Chillhermit may seem like it's all about survival, building your shelter and all that, it's really about body maintenance. To survive in Brunei weather you really have to look out for yourself (not at the expense of others, if possible). Get your shelter up first, so you have somewhere to hide if it rains. If it's not up, find someone else's shelter. Don't chop your own construction materials (aka wood); gather them from other sites. Don't waste energy unnecessarily. Make sure you add puritabs to water you collect from streams. As long as you're healthy, albeit somewhat malnourished, you'll be fine. Oh, and take off your boots and socks at night too. Even if it's raining and you have no shelter. I didn't do so as it was pouring heavily, and paid the price the next evening as the skin on my left foot got abraded away. Extracted on Day 3, spent 2 days in the sickbay recovering. It's scabbing really well now.
You have no idea how many times during the JCC package I wished I could have done it by myself, or with just one other guy. It is, after all, a survival situation - you are supposed to rely on no one but yourself. Throw group dynamics in, however, and the badge suddenly becomes a team effort, which I feel runs contrary to the concept of individual survival. If this is the way the JCC course is going to be run, I don't need that damn badge. Yes, I suppose you could say I'm trying to make myself feel better, but 2 days of thinking in the sickbay have convinced me that the badge really is not worth it.
Now that I'm back I'm just eager to forget all the bad Brunei memories; the Brunei training grounds are so fucked up, once you're there you wish you never have to return. During the rainy season (NE monsoon) water gets everywhere. Rain almost every night, and half the afternoons, swelling streams knee-deep that you have to cross, and a morning mist so thick you better not leave anything out to dry overnight lest you retrieve it with more moisture than you left it out with. God, to see HDB flats from the windows of a 747: that is as close to heaven as it gets.
You see that little badge that so many officers and specs have above their left breast pocket? The one with the little dagger, sprig of leaves and North Dipper constellation? In other words, the JCC badge? Well, for much of this December I was trying for that very badge. Though I didn't get it, I'm not disheartened, because in the sickbay I had lots of time to think, and I realised that getting the badge depends not just on your survival skills but on many factors beyond your control as well. And now that I think about it the badge would have looked really nice on my No. 4 (not to mention my No. 1, come Jan 22nd), but it probably wouldn't have been anything to me other than a grave reminder of all the shit I had to go through. Allow me to explain:
The JCC package is composed of 3 parts. Ex Nomad is a 3-day navigation package that requires a group of 6-8 to travel a distance of approximately 9km. Ex Chillhermit is a 5-day survival stint that requires one to survive 5 days without external food sources, and to build various structures and items to score the full marks. Ex Chillbone is a 5-day evasion and extrication simulation course that requires a group of 6-8 to travel a total distance of 17km and then execute a combat swim across the river. More elaboration in the following paragraphs.
Ex Nomad
Now, if you don't already know, Ex Nomad is all about navigation. Navigate well and you're set. Screw it up and... well, you end up failing the course like me (Ex Nomad was a veto factor for my course). What complicates this is the fact that you're in a group of 6-8, and knowing how to navigate alone is not enough. The most influential member of the group decides where to go, and 7 chances out of 8 you are not that guy. Even if your suggestion is propped by common sense and map evidence, this influential guy just has to move his legs and the rest of the group will travel in the opposite direction. So much of the time, you are left following the instincts of a guy you don't trust. Skirt right via the ridgeline? Bah, just bash straight ahead, up the knolls and down the ravines. It's shorter, but infinitely harder, but it's shorter. Let's go!
ChillBone
I failed the JCC package before I was even one-third of my way through it, but OCS HQ still wanted us to go through the course as a learning experience, so I took part in a condensed version of Chillbone: instead of the entire 17km, I only went through the climax of the exercise, which is to scale Mt Biang (1300+ ft) over the course of 2 days. That, of course, is nothing compared to what the badge-earners went through, so I can't speak for them. From what I see, however, the rules that apply to Ex Nomad apply here as well.
ChillHermit
Don't be mistaken. While Chillhermit may seem like it's all about survival, building your shelter and all that, it's really about body maintenance. To survive in Brunei weather you really have to look out for yourself (not at the expense of others, if possible). Get your shelter up first, so you have somewhere to hide if it rains. If it's not up, find someone else's shelter. Don't chop your own construction materials (aka wood); gather them from other sites. Don't waste energy unnecessarily. Make sure you add puritabs to water you collect from streams. As long as you're healthy, albeit somewhat malnourished, you'll be fine. Oh, and take off your boots and socks at night too. Even if it's raining and you have no shelter. I didn't do so as it was pouring heavily, and paid the price the next evening as the skin on my left foot got abraded away. Extracted on Day 3, spent 2 days in the sickbay recovering. It's scabbing really well now.
You have no idea how many times during the JCC package I wished I could have done it by myself, or with just one other guy. It is, after all, a survival situation - you are supposed to rely on no one but yourself. Throw group dynamics in, however, and the badge suddenly becomes a team effort, which I feel runs contrary to the concept of individual survival. If this is the way the JCC course is going to be run, I don't need that damn badge. Yes, I suppose you could say I'm trying to make myself feel better, but 2 days of thinking in the sickbay have convinced me that the badge really is not worth it.
Now that I'm back I'm just eager to forget all the bad Brunei memories; the Brunei training grounds are so fucked up, once you're there you wish you never have to return. During the rainy season (NE monsoon) water gets everywhere. Rain almost every night, and half the afternoons, swelling streams knee-deep that you have to cross, and a morning mist so thick you better not leave anything out to dry overnight lest you retrieve it with more moisture than you left it out with. God, to see HDB flats from the windows of a 747: that is as close to heaven as it gets.
Destroying A Magazine The SAF(e) Way
The following is an 'unknown' email conversation in an organization regarding the destruction of an unwanted magazine.
Disclaimer: It has NOTHING to do with the Singapore Armed Forces (SAF), which is an 'efficient', 'fast-moving' and 'high-tech' bureaucracy. (Names have been changed to protect identities of those involved!)
----------------------------------------------
Transcript begins (errors left in place)
------------------------------------------------
Gordon: Clear those unwanted magazine before you leave on Thursday. I am a person that value speed and efficiency. I know you can do it =) But don't forget to account properly if necessary to cover ourselves.
Ah Teck: Dear all, I am seeking help with the destruction of unaccepted magazine. Is there a standard form or document? Under whose authority do I carry this out and who may be approving and witnessing officers?
Mr Big: Mr TK, Please advise. Thanks.
MR TK: Kila, is there any standard form for us to dispsoe the magazine?
Kila: Are you talking about unclassified magazine?
Mr. TK: Yes!
Kila: You may used S*F1365 Disposal Certificate.
Mr. TK: Kila, thanks! Mr Big, We can use S*F1365 to dispose the magazine.
Mr. Big: Kila, please advise on procedure. Ah Teck, Please note.
------------------------------------------------------
End Transcript
----------------------------------------------------
By this time, the magazines had gone into building a 'table'. Problem solved and congratulations all round. Total emails sent = 19!
Regards,
Kok Heng
www.oikono.com
Disclaimer: It has NOTHING to do with the Singapore Armed Forces (SAF), which is an 'efficient', 'fast-moving' and 'high-tech' bureaucracy. (Names have been changed to protect identities of those involved!)
----------------------------------------------
Transcript begins (errors left in place)
------------------------------------------------
Gordon: Clear those unwanted magazine before you leave on Thursday. I am a person that value speed and efficiency. I know you can do it =) But don't forget to account properly if necessary to cover ourselves.
Ah Teck: Dear all, I am seeking help with the destruction of unaccepted magazine. Is there a standard form or document? Under whose authority do I carry this out and who may be approving and witnessing officers?
Mr Big: Mr TK, Please advise. Thanks.
MR TK: Kila, is there any standard form for us to dispsoe the magazine?
Kila: Are you talking about unclassified magazine?
Mr. TK: Yes!
Kila: You may used S*F1365 Disposal Certificate.
Mr. TK: Kila, thanks! Mr Big, We can use S*F1365 to dispose the magazine.
Mr. Big: Kila, please advise on procedure. Ah Teck, Please note.
------------------------------------------------------
End Transcript
----------------------------------------------------
By this time, the magazines had gone into building a 'table'. Problem solved and congratulations all round. Total emails sent = 19!
Regards,
Kok Heng
www.oikono.com
Friday, December 17, 2004
Rules of Engagement
My Army unit is on Mobilisation Manning this week, right after 17 days of in-camp training! If they mobilise us this Saturday just to practice, we will be very, very upset. Watch your tv screens for the flashing green man with our codewords: Flying Oyster Omelette, Soiled Sanitary Pad & Deep Fried Tofu. If they mobilise us because some Al-Qaeda affiliate tries to bash through the impenetrable barriers at Holland Village, we will still be very, very upset. Woe betide the Al-Qaeda affiliate. You joined the wrong club. Me and me mates wiw kew you dead, because we haven't had the chance to watch a midnight movie in a while.
Speaking of angry reservists, so, no one wet their beds last, last Sunday night, and the IPPT was conducted on Monday morning without incident. Later on, we went for our theory lessons in Laws of Armed Conflict and Rules of Engagement. At the lecture, they showed us slides with some basic pointers on International Humanitarian Law accompanied by some gruesome pictures. Then they showed us clips from Platoon ("My Lai" village scene), and Rules of Engagement.
Coincidentally, my platoon mate Dilbert Chua lent me a book called "Tell Me No Lies", which has a chapter on My Lai. So, in between naps, I read the chapter and wondered if Tuesday's practical portion of the LOAC and ROE (the SAF, they lurve them acronyms) could be effectively taught at the FIBUA (Fighting In Built Up Area) "village" near the ATC (Armour Training Centre).
The lesson module was such that we were not told what exactly to expect, and how exactly to react, and we were to see if our military objectives could be effectively met while observing LOAC and ROE. So, we were shot at by 'civilian simulators' from the second floors (thank goodness only second floor. No lift leh!) of the HDB blocks, shot at from an ambulance, shot at from outside a checkpoint, grenaded by a 'simulated pregnant woman', delayed by a 'simulated hostage taker' taking 'simulated hostages', delayed by a 'simulated civilian asking for food and water and getting in the line of fire' etc, etc.
It all went according to the trainers' expectations. We didn't know how to react. And because this was just a simulation, and not somewhere in Fallujah, the funniest scenario was when one section from my tactical team stormed a building only to find that two civilians had been taken hostage, and so we couldn't lob grenades into all three rooms of the three room flat from which we were fired upon.
Tired and frustrated from climbing the stairs, and perhaps also from having problems at home, the 'hostage negotiations' were opened by a member of the section and it went something like this:
What the fuck you want, ninabehcheebye motherfucker?
I want an airline ticket!
Airline ticket?? Cheebye! Simi airline?!
Emirates!
Cheebye! Emirates?! Ki tolo?! (go where?)
Anywhere!
Fuck you! Kaninabuchowcheebyemotherfucker! Limpehshootjitliaphorliseeeee!
And then there was a burst of automatic gunfire. After which, the slack-jawed trainer declared the simulated hostages and their simulated captor dead.
Then we broke for lunch, the troopers and simulated civilians and terrorists, though we could've eaten earlier if we had just lobbed grenades into the flat and saved some time. Some of us spoke up and said they were glad we weren't in a real war zone, because we might end up doing the same things the Americans are doing in Iraq, or the Israelis in the occupied territories.
But would we, me and me mates, be as indiscriminately murderous if say, an Al-Qaeda affiliate tried to bash through the barriers at Holland Village? I'd say no. Because earlier, my section came under simulated sniper fire from a simulated two-room flat, and my section commander led us upstairs to the door of the flat, knocked on the door and said, "Open up, I count to three, you better open up, or else... or else.... we come in! ONE, TWO, THREE! Open lah, cheebye!"
At our debrief, we were asked what else we could have done to meet our objective (which was to secure the junction downstairs). We could have lobbed two simulated M203 grenades into the windows where the sniper fire was coming from, and we'd be happy as larry, junction secured. But we didn't.
So all youse civilians, ang mohs and chow-keng-never-do-reservist-because-downgradeds, if an Al-Qaeda affiliate tries to bash through the barriers at Holland Village, and me and me mates are mobilised, you can still sip your Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf lattes while we think twice before fragging the whole place. And you have our Army and their LOAC/ROE lesson package to thank.
We also learned that Singapore is not a signatory to the 1st (Protection of Victims of International Armed Conflicts) and 2nd (Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conflicts) additional protocols of the Geneva Conventions of 1949. Anyone know why?
Mr Tan's neighbourhood residents' committee tended to go over the top when dealing with complaints of noisy neighbours
Speaking of angry reservists, so, no one wet their beds last, last Sunday night, and the IPPT was conducted on Monday morning without incident. Later on, we went for our theory lessons in Laws of Armed Conflict and Rules of Engagement. At the lecture, they showed us slides with some basic pointers on International Humanitarian Law accompanied by some gruesome pictures. Then they showed us clips from Platoon ("My Lai" village scene), and Rules of Engagement.
Coincidentally, my platoon mate Dilbert Chua lent me a book called "Tell Me No Lies", which has a chapter on My Lai. So, in between naps, I read the chapter and wondered if Tuesday's practical portion of the LOAC and ROE (the SAF, they lurve them acronyms) could be effectively taught at the FIBUA (Fighting In Built Up Area) "village" near the ATC (Armour Training Centre).
The lesson module was such that we were not told what exactly to expect, and how exactly to react, and we were to see if our military objectives could be effectively met while observing LOAC and ROE. So, we were shot at by 'civilian simulators' from the second floors (thank goodness only second floor. No lift leh!) of the HDB blocks, shot at from an ambulance, shot at from outside a checkpoint, grenaded by a 'simulated pregnant woman', delayed by a 'simulated hostage taker' taking 'simulated hostages', delayed by a 'simulated civilian asking for food and water and getting in the line of fire' etc, etc.
It all went according to the trainers' expectations. We didn't know how to react. And because this was just a simulation, and not somewhere in Fallujah, the funniest scenario was when one section from my tactical team stormed a building only to find that two civilians had been taken hostage, and so we couldn't lob grenades into all three rooms of the three room flat from which we were fired upon.
Tired and frustrated from climbing the stairs, and perhaps also from having problems at home, the 'hostage negotiations' were opened by a member of the section and it went something like this:
What the fuck you want, ninabehcheebye motherfucker?
I want an airline ticket!
Airline ticket?? Cheebye! Simi airline?!
Emirates!
Cheebye! Emirates?! Ki tolo?! (go where?)
Anywhere!
Fuck you! Kaninabuchowcheebyemotherfucker! Limpehshootjitliaphorliseeeee!
And then there was a burst of automatic gunfire. After which, the slack-jawed trainer declared the simulated hostages and their simulated captor dead.
Then we broke for lunch, the troopers and simulated civilians and terrorists, though we could've eaten earlier if we had just lobbed grenades into the flat and saved some time. Some of us spoke up and said they were glad we weren't in a real war zone, because we might end up doing the same things the Americans are doing in Iraq, or the Israelis in the occupied territories.
But would we, me and me mates, be as indiscriminately murderous if say, an Al-Qaeda affiliate tried to bash through the barriers at Holland Village? I'd say no. Because earlier, my section came under simulated sniper fire from a simulated two-room flat, and my section commander led us upstairs to the door of the flat, knocked on the door and said, "Open up, I count to three, you better open up, or else... or else.... we come in! ONE, TWO, THREE! Open lah, cheebye!"
At our debrief, we were asked what else we could have done to meet our objective (which was to secure the junction downstairs). We could have lobbed two simulated M203 grenades into the windows where the sniper fire was coming from, and we'd be happy as larry, junction secured. But we didn't.
So all youse civilians, ang mohs and chow-keng-never-do-reservist-because-downgradeds, if an Al-Qaeda affiliate tries to bash through the barriers at Holland Village, and me and me mates are mobilised, you can still sip your Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf lattes while we think twice before fragging the whole place. And you have our Army and their LOAC/ROE lesson package to thank.
We also learned that Singapore is not a signatory to the 1st (Protection of Victims of International Armed Conflicts) and 2nd (Protection of Victims of Non-International Armed Conflicts) additional protocols of the Geneva Conventions of 1949. Anyone know why?
Mr Tan's neighbourhood residents' committee tended to go over the top when dealing with complaints of noisy neighbours
Thursday, December 09, 2004
My Uniform Fetish
I can't remember exactly who it was, but someone commented on Agagooga's post about SAF scholars that some girls have a uniform fetish.
I proudly announce that I am one of them.
When my ex-boyfriend (the doomed one who didn't last through NS) used to meet up with me in his Air Force uniform, I would go into ecstacy. I couldn't keep my eyes off him in his uniform, even though in actual fact he really is very scrawny, with small shoulders and all, and doesn't look manly. But the Air Force uniform wrought a miraculous change worthy of a Harry Potter spell (something that would go like "Deliciosious handsomious!") on him.
As for my current boyfriend (who's in his first ICT now, poor thing), I was even more ecstatic seeing him in his No. 4. Short 4, long 4, whatever, he looks good.
The BF is quite well-built and broad-shouldered, as opposed to The Ex, but wearing the No. 4 seemed to enhance his manliness. Somehow, in his army uniform, he had this air of menace about him.
Ok, The BF, who is honestly a hot-tempered guy and quite Ah-Beng-ish in his way, always has a pissed-off look on his face. But the No. 4 made him have this look: "You fuck with me and I'll break your pussy face in."
Major, major, major turn-on. (I think I like violent guys; for more info, refer to my blog here.
And when I saw my friend's older brother, receiving the Sword thingy (can't remember what it's called; is it the Sword of Merit or something like that?) in his No. 1, upon completion of his OCS course, I swooned and had to be steadied by said friend.
When my cousin married an Air Force fighter pilot, they had a military wedding, with all the officers in their No. 1s holding swords over them and all that stuff. That was when I started wishing I could have a military wedding as well.
I do have a few theories, though, why girls have uniform fetishes.
Firstly, when a guy wears them, it gives them an air of manliness, like "I will protect you and my country, even if it costs me my life!", a la Lord of The Rings (though we know this sentiment doesn't hold true for most NS guys).
And somehow, the uniforms, especially the No. 4, has this knack of making skinny guys look bulky, fat guys look trim, and guys with good bodies look like Greek gods. I don't know why; perhaps you guys, who have actually worn the uniforms, can enlighten me more on this.
I know the No. 4 is extremely bulky, heavy, hot, uncomfortable and troublesome to wear. I was watching The BF take a long time to lace up his boots, tie his garters, etc., and I told him that if ever war came to Singapore, we'd all be vanquished before the army can even gather itself together because the soldiers will still be struggling to get into their No. 4s, not counting painting camouflage paint on their faces.
But as for me, it doesn't matter how long the The BF takes to get into his No. 4. The finished product is all I care about.
(I know I sound bimbotic but come on, you want a girl's view right?)
I proudly announce that I am one of them.
When my ex-boyfriend (the doomed one who didn't last through NS) used to meet up with me in his Air Force uniform, I would go into ecstacy. I couldn't keep my eyes off him in his uniform, even though in actual fact he really is very scrawny, with small shoulders and all, and doesn't look manly. But the Air Force uniform wrought a miraculous change worthy of a Harry Potter spell (something that would go like "Deliciosious handsomious!") on him.
As for my current boyfriend (who's in his first ICT now, poor thing), I was even more ecstatic seeing him in his No. 4. Short 4, long 4, whatever, he looks good.
The BF is quite well-built and broad-shouldered, as opposed to The Ex, but wearing the No. 4 seemed to enhance his manliness. Somehow, in his army uniform, he had this air of menace about him.
Ok, The BF, who is honestly a hot-tempered guy and quite Ah-Beng-ish in his way, always has a pissed-off look on his face. But the No. 4 made him have this look: "You fuck with me and I'll break your pussy face in."
Major, major, major turn-on. (I think I like violent guys; for more info, refer to my blog here.
And when I saw my friend's older brother, receiving the Sword thingy (can't remember what it's called; is it the Sword of Merit or something like that?) in his No. 1, upon completion of his OCS course, I swooned and had to be steadied by said friend.
When my cousin married an Air Force fighter pilot, they had a military wedding, with all the officers in their No. 1s holding swords over them and all that stuff. That was when I started wishing I could have a military wedding as well.
I do have a few theories, though, why girls have uniform fetishes.
Firstly, when a guy wears them, it gives them an air of manliness, like "I will protect you and my country, even if it costs me my life!", a la Lord of The Rings (though we know this sentiment doesn't hold true for most NS guys).
And somehow, the uniforms, especially the No. 4, has this knack of making skinny guys look bulky, fat guys look trim, and guys with good bodies look like Greek gods. I don't know why; perhaps you guys, who have actually worn the uniforms, can enlighten me more on this.
I know the No. 4 is extremely bulky, heavy, hot, uncomfortable and troublesome to wear. I was watching The BF take a long time to lace up his boots, tie his garters, etc., and I told him that if ever war came to Singapore, we'd all be vanquished before the army can even gather itself together because the soldiers will still be struggling to get into their No. 4s, not counting painting camouflage paint on their faces.
But as for me, it doesn't matter how long the The BF takes to get into his No. 4. The finished product is all I care about.
(I know I sound bimbotic but come on, you want a girl's view right?)
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Why do people take up SAF Scholarships?
A "current NJC student" asks:
"if army were so bad as you have said, why would scholars willingly take up the scholarship?"
Ah. An opportunity to analyse the minds of SAF scholars. Where to begin, I wonder?
Here are some possibilities:
1) Prestige - scholarships are prestigious and SAFOS is one of the three most prestigious scholarships in Singapore
2) Insulation - Scholars, especially SAFOS ones, are insulated from all the low-level crap that the scum of the earth suffer, because of their rank (as officers) and exalted status as scholars. They are not subjected to the dehumanising treatment that mere scum of the earth (ie enlistees) go through. Instead of getting screwed, they get to screw other people (if they choose). Even BMT, the putative great leveller, is different from them, for all, or almost all potential SAF scholars enter what are known as "Scholar Companies", or even better, companies with White Horses in them.
As someone put it: "slaves and royalty stay in the same palace but lead vastly different lives"
3) Obliviousness - Some recipients of (local) study awards I spoke to in my tenure as a slave told me they regretted signing on. Maybe some - those who get scholarships before enslavement - don't know what they're getting into.
Friends of mine tell me of those who got SAF scholarships, some on the spur of the moment, who later regretted. For example, one is quoted as saying: "I really wanted to go overseas, didn't think I'd suffer so much afterwards"; to many Singaporean JC students, an overseas education is the Holy Grail, so in their quest to get it, they neglect the fact that on their return they'll have a 6 year bond to serve. Of the above, I am told that: "now all he wants to do is enjoy himself and die young"
4) Nature of the job - As a friend puts it: "these scholars want to look for something that needs no effort, pays a lot, and gives them the ability to fuck people around. what else do u need?" He adds: "usually cos they are enslaved, they are brainwashed, and usually stay till they die, mentally or physically"
Since it's highly unlikely that Singapore will ever go to war, you get to slack and won't actually have to engage in real combat. And since you get promoted quickly to command-level posts, you don't actually have to go outfield (and experience similar messy and gritty activities) that often.
5) Affection/suitability for Army Life - Strange but true. Some people actually like army life. But then, some people like BDSM also, so. *insert latin phrase that's not good to use too often, or it loses its impact*
Some people are also better suited for the job than others, so they are inclined to taking it.
6) Future job prospects - Apparently some scholars get to become Colonels at age 30. You can't beat the job security either - even incompetent regulars don't get fired, since there's next to no way to assess their job performance, let alone scholars. Also, the SAF has a great retirement plan. Even after retiring, you'll want for naught - they'll find a way to parachute you into a suitably comfortable, important and well-paying job (even if you're not suited for it). See: Our Scholars - Success Stories
7) They fit one or more of the other criteria - As I said, there are 4 types of people who sign on. Some scholars fit into one or more of those categories, namely: being sadistic, being greedy for the money (you get a $750,000 gratuity when you retire) and being incapable of finding jobs outside.
8) Brainwashing - Some are brainwashed. A friend tells of a time when there was a recruitment talk in OCS (Officer Cadet School) and "the whole LT signed on" because of brainwashing.
Some people are taken in by the rhetoric about Duty, Honour and Country, and the old lie - Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori - 'It is sweet and proper to die for one's country' (Horace, Odes, iii ii 13)
9) Since you have to be a slave anyway, some figure that they might as well get a free education, a well charted-out career path, relatively good pay (especially for the 2 years of compulsory slavery), an effective bond time of 4 years (formerly 3 1/2 years) and "respect". Oh, and some girls like men in uniform (I know at least two with an army uniform fetish)
As for why non-scholars sign on (or get Local Study Awards or the like):
10) Getting to be an officer - Some people sign on because that's the only way they'll get to be officers. I know this guy who, while a normal slave, was a PTI (Physical Training Instructor - think your PE teacher on steroids and with a bad attitude), but became an officer after signing on. From a cursory study of him, I conclude that he was sore at not becoming an officer and signed on to attain that status.
[Ed: The above has been modified since its original posting.]
"if army were so bad as you have said, why would scholars willingly take up the scholarship?"
Ah. An opportunity to analyse the minds of SAF scholars. Where to begin, I wonder?
Here are some possibilities:
1) Prestige - scholarships are prestigious and SAFOS is one of the three most prestigious scholarships in Singapore
2) Insulation - Scholars, especially SAFOS ones, are insulated from all the low-level crap that the scum of the earth suffer, because of their rank (as officers) and exalted status as scholars. They are not subjected to the dehumanising treatment that mere scum of the earth (ie enlistees) go through. Instead of getting screwed, they get to screw other people (if they choose). Even BMT, the putative great leveller, is different from them, for all, or almost all potential SAF scholars enter what are known as "Scholar Companies", or even better, companies with White Horses in them.
As someone put it: "slaves and royalty stay in the same palace but lead vastly different lives"
3) Obliviousness - Some recipients of (local) study awards I spoke to in my tenure as a slave told me they regretted signing on. Maybe some - those who get scholarships before enslavement - don't know what they're getting into.
Friends of mine tell me of those who got SAF scholarships, some on the spur of the moment, who later regretted. For example, one is quoted as saying: "I really wanted to go overseas, didn't think I'd suffer so much afterwards"; to many Singaporean JC students, an overseas education is the Holy Grail, so in their quest to get it, they neglect the fact that on their return they'll have a 6 year bond to serve. Of the above, I am told that: "now all he wants to do is enjoy himself and die young"
4) Nature of the job - As a friend puts it: "these scholars want to look for something that needs no effort, pays a lot, and gives them the ability to fuck people around. what else do u need?" He adds: "usually cos they are enslaved, they are brainwashed, and usually stay till they die, mentally or physically"
Since it's highly unlikely that Singapore will ever go to war, you get to slack and won't actually have to engage in real combat. And since you get promoted quickly to command-level posts, you don't actually have to go outfield (and experience similar messy and gritty activities) that often.
5) Affection/suitability for Army Life - Strange but true. Some people actually like army life. But then, some people like BDSM also, so. *insert latin phrase that's not good to use too often, or it loses its impact*
Some people are also better suited for the job than others, so they are inclined to taking it.
6) Future job prospects - Apparently some scholars get to become Colonels at age 30. You can't beat the job security either - even incompetent regulars don't get fired, since there's next to no way to assess their job performance, let alone scholars. Also, the SAF has a great retirement plan. Even after retiring, you'll want for naught - they'll find a way to parachute you into a suitably comfortable, important and well-paying job (even if you're not suited for it). See: Our Scholars - Success Stories
7) They fit one or more of the other criteria - As I said, there are 4 types of people who sign on. Some scholars fit into one or more of those categories, namely: being sadistic, being greedy for the money (you get a $750,000 gratuity when you retire) and being incapable of finding jobs outside.
8) Brainwashing - Some are brainwashed. A friend tells of a time when there was a recruitment talk in OCS (Officer Cadet School) and "the whole LT signed on" because of brainwashing.
Some people are taken in by the rhetoric about Duty, Honour and Country, and the old lie - Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori - 'It is sweet and proper to die for one's country' (Horace, Odes, iii ii 13)
9) Since you have to be a slave anyway, some figure that they might as well get a free education, a well charted-out career path, relatively good pay (especially for the 2 years of compulsory slavery), an effective bond time of 4 years (formerly 3 1/2 years) and "respect". Oh, and some girls like men in uniform (I know at least two with an army uniform fetish)
As for why non-scholars sign on (or get Local Study Awards or the like):
10) Getting to be an officer - Some people sign on because that's the only way they'll get to be officers. I know this guy who, while a normal slave, was a PTI (Physical Training Instructor - think your PE teacher on steroids and with a bad attitude), but became an officer after signing on. From a cursory study of him, I conclude that he was sore at not becoming an officer and signed on to attain that status.
[Ed: The above has been modified since its original posting.]
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Brand of Bothers
"Eh, so, Diana Ser's boobs really quite big, ah?"
And another thread of conversation in the bunk commences. In-Camp training (ICT) gives us licence to become lewd, loud blockheads. It's one of the symptoms of what my platoon mate and journalist, Corporal Dilbert Chua (not his real name, obviously), calls the 'Green Disease', where the moment you put on that No.4 uniform, you leave your civilian sensibilities and common sense at home. And you feel sleepy every single minute of the day.
At 9.30am on the first day, we have our first canteen break, where we spend half an hour or so catching up on each other's lives over a cup of coffee and some oily canteen food. The ones in front of the queue buy the coffee, and tell their friends to go chope a seat. This is where we forget, no matter how many times we've been to ICT, that we're not used to being in uniform, or seeing our friends in uniform.
Reservist No.1 buys and carries a tray of coffees, turns around to look for his friends, and suddenly realises that everyone is wearing the same thing, and so can't find his friends. Ditto Reservist No.2 after getting his and his friends' drinks. It takes about two days before we get used to this, and look out for our friends' faces instead of what they're wearing.
Later on in the day, we complete our drawing of stores and equipment, and there is some free time, which is spent lounging on our beds, chatting. Our newly appointed Company Sergeant Major, a school teacher by civilian profession, comes into the bunkroom and joins in the conversation. This in-camp's conversation thread reflects the boys' ages, and most of them are turning 28. Thoughts turn to marriage, career, new cars and babies. Dilbert says he wishes we'd still talk about loose women, tight girlfriends and good blowjobs.
So, our Company Sergeant Major, 2nd Sergeant Clive Lim (not his real name also) laments that he too, isn't married, and doesn't know when he'll ever get a girlfriend. He looks at the tattoo on my arm and asks if he too, should get a tattoo so that he can get the girls. Dilbert tells him dismissively, "You getting a tattoo is like a man with no hair trying to have a ponytail".
Undeterred, 2nd Sergeant Clive carries on soliciting advice. His questions begin to reveal too much information: "Eh, I ask your advice ah, should I have a circumcision? I think my foreskin is too long".
And because we have nothing better to do, we ask him if this is giving him problems. He says not really. We tell him then don't cut. He then tells us that once, he walked into a table and injured his penis, but that it wasn't serious, because the foreskin protected him. We tell him, see? Good what! Cut for what? Then he tells us that he gets aroused too easily, and that maybe, being circumcised might help.
Thankfully, the conversation is broken by several phones going off and some of us having to answer our phones and talking to our loved ones. (Dilbert and myself excuse ourselves and go make phone calls to our loved ones.)
Some things don't change. Catching forty one winks. Kanchanaburi, Thailand, October 1989.
And another thread of conversation in the bunk commences. In-Camp training (ICT) gives us licence to become lewd, loud blockheads. It's one of the symptoms of what my platoon mate and journalist, Corporal Dilbert Chua (not his real name, obviously), calls the 'Green Disease', where the moment you put on that No.4 uniform, you leave your civilian sensibilities and common sense at home. And you feel sleepy every single minute of the day.
At 9.30am on the first day, we have our first canteen break, where we spend half an hour or so catching up on each other's lives over a cup of coffee and some oily canteen food. The ones in front of the queue buy the coffee, and tell their friends to go chope a seat. This is where we forget, no matter how many times we've been to ICT, that we're not used to being in uniform, or seeing our friends in uniform.
Reservist No.1 buys and carries a tray of coffees, turns around to look for his friends, and suddenly realises that everyone is wearing the same thing, and so can't find his friends. Ditto Reservist No.2 after getting his and his friends' drinks. It takes about two days before we get used to this, and look out for our friends' faces instead of what they're wearing.
Later on in the day, we complete our drawing of stores and equipment, and there is some free time, which is spent lounging on our beds, chatting. Our newly appointed Company Sergeant Major, a school teacher by civilian profession, comes into the bunkroom and joins in the conversation. This in-camp's conversation thread reflects the boys' ages, and most of them are turning 28. Thoughts turn to marriage, career, new cars and babies. Dilbert says he wishes we'd still talk about loose women, tight girlfriends and good blowjobs.
So, our Company Sergeant Major, 2nd Sergeant Clive Lim (not his real name also) laments that he too, isn't married, and doesn't know when he'll ever get a girlfriend. He looks at the tattoo on my arm and asks if he too, should get a tattoo so that he can get the girls. Dilbert tells him dismissively, "You getting a tattoo is like a man with no hair trying to have a ponytail".
Undeterred, 2nd Sergeant Clive carries on soliciting advice. His questions begin to reveal too much information: "Eh, I ask your advice ah, should I have a circumcision? I think my foreskin is too long".
And because we have nothing better to do, we ask him if this is giving him problems. He says not really. We tell him then don't cut. He then tells us that once, he walked into a table and injured his penis, but that it wasn't serious, because the foreskin protected him. We tell him, see? Good what! Cut for what? Then he tells us that he gets aroused too easily, and that maybe, being circumcised might help.
Thankfully, the conversation is broken by several phones going off and some of us having to answer our phones and talking to our loved ones. (Dilbert and myself excuse ourselves and go make phone calls to our loved ones.)
Some things don't change. Catching forty one winks. Kanchanaburi, Thailand, October 1989.
Friday, December 03, 2004
"Arbeit Macht Frei"
Anonymous writes:
NS hardens the spirit but it certainly isn't a violation of human rights or debasing of fine education, as so ineloquently written by the letter writer.
It does however, make many a mummy's boy more independent, toughen the resolve of many a wussy pansy who couldn't even make their own beds at home, expose many sheltered so-called 'top schoolers' to the lesser seen strata of Singapore society and thus rendering them more worldly-wise and street-wise, instead of being cloistered in a parochial coterie of academic strata and remaining ignorant for life.
Many NS men actually profess a nostalgic longing and quixotic fondness for their NS days though they have spent a large part of it griping when they were serving.
It forges close bonds between buddies, makes fit many guys who never knew that they could be that fit and exposes many 19 year old boys to adventures that they would otherwise NEVER experience if they never had to serve, like handling a rifle, riding a motorcycle, experiencing the eye-opening and breathtaking Taiwanese countryside, throwing a grenade, etc.
And there are actually men who see the value and merit of soldiering. Which explains the presence of professional soldiers. Despite the popular and widely disseminated belief that most professional soldiers are so because they couldn't eke out a decent living in the corporate world (probably the warrant officers *sniggers*), most decently educated Singaporeans concede that there ARE capable and sterling youths who see the larger meaning and merit of soldiering, which includes the good (defence) of society and the knowledge that people trust you with their lives, which is the biggest trust of all kinds conceivable.
It's all about making the best out of something thrust to you and the clever and wise know that. Whining like a wishy-washy, chicken livered pansy and trying to picket against the establishment makes one the real loser.
To which I reply:
"Arbeit Macht Frei"
If slavery is really so beneficial and exciting, it wouldn't have to be made compulsory, with no choice of alternative service for conscientious objectors and others.
If it really builds so many character traits, we would be sending our women for it, just like the League of German Maidens. And we wouldn't have so many suicide attempts, or traumatised people being seen by SAF psychiatrists, their minds ruined wrecks.
If it has so many beneficial side effects, why not find alternative, less dehumanizing activities that do the job at a lower cost and in a shorter time period?
Many old people long for the good old days when a bowl of noodles cost a cent, but they forget that back then they earned 30 cents a month, and the noodles had cockroaches swimming in them. People tend to forget the bad memories and remember only the good ones. Besides which, there are some people who are nostalgic for jail.
As for those who sign on, almost all fall into 4 categories:
1) Scholars
2) Sadists
3) Greedy for the money
4) Incapable of finding jobs outside
Most who have been slaves know that these 4 categories encompass 99% of regulars, if not more.
Trying to make people live up to society's archaic expectations of what real "men" should be like is a recipe for disaster, and continuing meek acceptance of unjust fates would have resulted in Singapore being a British colony today, South Africa still practising apartheid and fascists ruling the world.
NS hardens the spirit but it certainly isn't a violation of human rights or debasing of fine education, as so ineloquently written by the letter writer.
It does however, make many a mummy's boy more independent, toughen the resolve of many a wussy pansy who couldn't even make their own beds at home, expose many sheltered so-called 'top schoolers' to the lesser seen strata of Singapore society and thus rendering them more worldly-wise and street-wise, instead of being cloistered in a parochial coterie of academic strata and remaining ignorant for life.
Many NS men actually profess a nostalgic longing and quixotic fondness for their NS days though they have spent a large part of it griping when they were serving.
It forges close bonds between buddies, makes fit many guys who never knew that they could be that fit and exposes many 19 year old boys to adventures that they would otherwise NEVER experience if they never had to serve, like handling a rifle, riding a motorcycle, experiencing the eye-opening and breathtaking Taiwanese countryside, throwing a grenade, etc.
And there are actually men who see the value and merit of soldiering. Which explains the presence of professional soldiers. Despite the popular and widely disseminated belief that most professional soldiers are so because they couldn't eke out a decent living in the corporate world (probably the warrant officers *sniggers*), most decently educated Singaporeans concede that there ARE capable and sterling youths who see the larger meaning and merit of soldiering, which includes the good (defence) of society and the knowledge that people trust you with their lives, which is the biggest trust of all kinds conceivable.
It's all about making the best out of something thrust to you and the clever and wise know that. Whining like a wishy-washy, chicken livered pansy and trying to picket against the establishment makes one the real loser.
To which I reply:
"Arbeit Macht Frei"
If slavery is really so beneficial and exciting, it wouldn't have to be made compulsory, with no choice of alternative service for conscientious objectors and others.
If it really builds so many character traits, we would be sending our women for it, just like the League of German Maidens. And we wouldn't have so many suicide attempts, or traumatised people being seen by SAF psychiatrists, their minds ruined wrecks.
If it has so many beneficial side effects, why not find alternative, less dehumanizing activities that do the job at a lower cost and in a shorter time period?
Many old people long for the good old days when a bowl of noodles cost a cent, but they forget that back then they earned 30 cents a month, and the noodles had cockroaches swimming in them. People tend to forget the bad memories and remember only the good ones. Besides which, there are some people who are nostalgic for jail.
As for those who sign on, almost all fall into 4 categories:
1) Scholars
2) Sadists
3) Greedy for the money
4) Incapable of finding jobs outside
Most who have been slaves know that these 4 categories encompass 99% of regulars, if not more.
Trying to make people live up to society's archaic expectations of what real "men" should be like is a recipe for disaster, and continuing meek acceptance of unjust fates would have resulted in Singapore being a British colony today, South Africa still practising apartheid and fascists ruling the world.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Fan Mail and Thoughts on Safety
Dear Mr Gabriel,
I refer to your entry dated June 2003 (i think) in which you proposed several safety slogans for SAF including "Be safe, don't train".
I hope to place this slogan up on the camp's notice board as the safety slogan of the month and would like to request that your permission be given. I would also like to ask if you would like due attribution to be given?
As part of a knowledge management team in SAF, I am now involved in the unit's creativity drive. I would aslo like to thank you as your website has inspired my poster for the drive featuring the slogan 'Practise creativity! Non-compliance will be severely dealt with'.
Thank you for your time.
Regards,
*** ***
Indentured Slave
Really, I feel that the flurry of activity in the SAF with regards to safety is useless. At the top levels, committees convene and reviews are carried out. People come down to check compliance to safety procedures more often. And at ground level, people are forced to implement more useless measures for show - for example, signing more forms so higher-ups are covered and taking ridiculously-easy tests on Training Safety Regulations (as if knowing the regulations means you'll follow them). Perhaps the most ridiculous example: For a minor activity like Company Games, one particularly farcical "safety hazard" printed on the administrative instructions as this - "Serviceman is hit by frisbee".
Worse: in their desire for appearances for appearances' sake, some people like to get medics to open their stretchers and place them on the safety rover. Never mind that it is very very rare that a casualty needs to be stretchered, but opening the stretcher reduces the capacity of the rover by more than half. If there is somebody in it to man the signal set, and an insulator of ice to boot, then there isn't any space left for seated casualties. Furthermore, in the event that a casualty needs to be put on the stretcher, it takes more time to get the stretcher out of the confines of the rover than the open it from its closed configuration. The blind adherence to and fanatical obsession with hastily and poorly thought out safety regulations thus paradoxically makes training less safe.
And of course, safety is often used as an excuse to oppress slaves. For example, once we were moving a great deal of bunk furniture (for the third time in 8 months or so, but that is another story), and many of us had removed our shirts due to the heat. Our stand-in CSM came along and told us to put on our shirts because it was a "safety" issue - without them we'd "get scratched". As if the shirts would protect us much against scratches anyway. And what about the greater risk of heat stroke? Would that not have been more of a safety hazard than scratches? This faux concern with safety was merely a way to oppress us slaves because we hadn't gotten permission from higher-ups to remove our shirts. So much for being Thinking Soldiers (what an oxy-moron).
The concern of the SAF for the lives of slaves is laudable (even if largely motivated by fear of public scandal) but regardless of the final result, all they are doing is trying to ameliorate the symptoms and not attacking the root of the problem - the culture of the SAF. A culture which prizes rank over ability and intelligence. A culture of fear and regimentation. A culture which discourages thinking and encourages the blind following of orders, no matter how brainless or immoral. Ultimately, the culture and tradition, built up over 37 years, of an unnecessary conscription which enslaves the flower of our youth and proceeds to dehumanise them.
Now here are some of the odder Safety Slogans and Posters I saw before I got my parole:
Safety is everyday. It doesn't have a holiday (???)
Sign at 20th Singapore Artillery: "Safety habits need to be grilled". Wth?!
"Danger could strikes anytime"
"The hands of time can never be turned. What's done cannot be undone. Regrets should not be part of a soldiers' life. Follow safety regulations." Funny, that reminds me of the saga of my slavery.
Due to the Army's obsession with safety (which at least is better than neglecting it), on a few occasions we were forced to come up with Safety Slogans. Some of my choice ones (inspired by the gems above):
- Be safe, don't train
- Don't run, no sprain
- Know your limits. Downgrade.
[The above was cobbled together from previous posts, and so may not be as coherent as it should. But then I still have 2 exams, so.]
Addendum: This safety slogan is enlightening - "Nothing we do in peacetime warrants unnecessary risk of life"
Implications:
- There is a necessary risk of life during peace. But how much is necessary?
- What the SAF does in war can warrant unnecessary risk of life
I refer to your entry dated June 2003 (i think) in which you proposed several safety slogans for SAF including "Be safe, don't train".
I hope to place this slogan up on the camp's notice board as the safety slogan of the month and would like to request that your permission be given. I would also like to ask if you would like due attribution to be given?
As part of a knowledge management team in SAF, I am now involved in the unit's creativity drive. I would aslo like to thank you as your website has inspired my poster for the drive featuring the slogan 'Practise creativity! Non-compliance will be severely dealt with'.
Thank you for your time.
Regards,
*** ***
Indentured Slave
Really, I feel that the flurry of activity in the SAF with regards to safety is useless. At the top levels, committees convene and reviews are carried out. People come down to check compliance to safety procedures more often. And at ground level, people are forced to implement more useless measures for show - for example, signing more forms so higher-ups are covered and taking ridiculously-easy tests on Training Safety Regulations (as if knowing the regulations means you'll follow them). Perhaps the most ridiculous example: For a minor activity like Company Games, one particularly farcical "safety hazard" printed on the administrative instructions as this - "Serviceman is hit by frisbee".
Worse: in their desire for appearances for appearances' sake, some people like to get medics to open their stretchers and place them on the safety rover. Never mind that it is very very rare that a casualty needs to be stretchered, but opening the stretcher reduces the capacity of the rover by more than half. If there is somebody in it to man the signal set, and an insulator of ice to boot, then there isn't any space left for seated casualties. Furthermore, in the event that a casualty needs to be put on the stretcher, it takes more time to get the stretcher out of the confines of the rover than the open it from its closed configuration. The blind adherence to and fanatical obsession with hastily and poorly thought out safety regulations thus paradoxically makes training less safe.
And of course, safety is often used as an excuse to oppress slaves. For example, once we were moving a great deal of bunk furniture (for the third time in 8 months or so, but that is another story), and many of us had removed our shirts due to the heat. Our stand-in CSM came along and told us to put on our shirts because it was a "safety" issue - without them we'd "get scratched". As if the shirts would protect us much against scratches anyway. And what about the greater risk of heat stroke? Would that not have been more of a safety hazard than scratches? This faux concern with safety was merely a way to oppress us slaves because we hadn't gotten permission from higher-ups to remove our shirts. So much for being Thinking Soldiers (what an oxy-moron).
The concern of the SAF for the lives of slaves is laudable (even if largely motivated by fear of public scandal) but regardless of the final result, all they are doing is trying to ameliorate the symptoms and not attacking the root of the problem - the culture of the SAF. A culture which prizes rank over ability and intelligence. A culture of fear and regimentation. A culture which discourages thinking and encourages the blind following of orders, no matter how brainless or immoral. Ultimately, the culture and tradition, built up over 37 years, of an unnecessary conscription which enslaves the flower of our youth and proceeds to dehumanise them.
Now here are some of the odder Safety Slogans and Posters I saw before I got my parole:
Safety is everyday. It doesn't have a holiday (???)
Sign at 20th Singapore Artillery: "Safety habits need to be grilled". Wth?!
"Danger could strikes anytime"
"The hands of time can never be turned. What's done cannot be undone. Regrets should not be part of a soldiers' life. Follow safety regulations." Funny, that reminds me of the saga of my slavery.
Due to the Army's obsession with safety (which at least is better than neglecting it), on a few occasions we were forced to come up with Safety Slogans. Some of my choice ones (inspired by the gems above):
- Be safe, don't train
- Don't run, no sprain
- Know your limits. Downgrade.
[The above was cobbled together from previous posts, and so may not be as coherent as it should. But then I still have 2 exams, so.]
Addendum: This safety slogan is enlightening - "Nothing we do in peacetime warrants unnecessary risk of life"
Implications:
- There is a necessary risk of life during peace. But how much is necessary?
- What the SAF does in war can warrant unnecessary risk of life
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Memories from a girl
It's always very hard for a girl to see the man she loves leave for the dreaded National Slavery Service at Pulau Tekong.
There are the teary farewells, the lonely days and even lonelier nights, the worry and the boredom.
And of course, you're not helped by spooky tales, gleefully told to you by your other male NS friends, of how servicemen go missing or die easily on Tekong. And the widely-held belief that relationships never survive the two-and-a-half years (or just two years if your boyfriend is a chao keng kia like mine).
Sad to say, my first relationship added to that statistic and contributed to that belief. My then-boyfriend entered Nee Soon Camp (no Tekong then) 3 months into our relationship in 1998.
True to form, I wept buckets, moped and pined before resuming my normal routines within a week (though I did leap on him the moment I saw him on his first book-out day and weep buckets again).
3 months before he ORD-ed, we became one of those doomed NS couples that don't make it through.
Fast forward 2 years to 2001...
It was the turn of my current boyfriend (hereafter referred to as The BF) for his chance to serve the nation and get soil on his face... our soil.
Ok, I digress.
But this time, 4 years older, a little more mature, and a little more experienced with regards to boyfriends in NS, I decided to accompany him into Tekong on his first day, together with his family, because I knew this time I could control myself enough not to burst into tears.
As it turned out, I had to control myself from laughing when I saw The BF's entourage. Where other enlistees were mostly accompanied by just parents, some with friends, some with siblings, some simply alone, The BF turned up with his grandmother, his mother, his 2 younger sisters, and his maid.
But I couldn't really blame him. Being the only son in his family, The BF is exalted and given treatment befitting Prince William at home. I should have expected such a sendoff for him.
Anyway, I was really quite impressed with my first sight of Tekong. It was a far cry from, say, Nee Soon barracks, with architecture reminiscent of holiday resorts (of course, it didn't take long for The BF to inform me of the truth behind the facade). But to be honest, I was more impressed with the hunky sergeant, who had the most enticing dimples, whose duty it was that day to show families around.
When it was time for families to leave, I gave the BF nothing more than a perfunctory hug and kiss and acted all very brave.
But when he called me that night just before lights out, I really started to wail. And The BF chose that time to break the news to me that he wouldn't be allowed out of camp at all for the first 2 weeks, which of course made me near hysterical.
I was miserable, and missing him terribly for 3 days, when on the afternoon of the 3rd day he called me.
Me: How come you can call me in the afternoon?
BF: I booking out now mah!
Me: Now?! For what?!
BF: I went to see the MO, take MC, MO give me Attend C some more! So I can go home for 2 days!
Me: You're sick? What happened? Are you ok?
BF: Ok lah, no problem. Just that people tell me might as well chao keng in NS since it's a waste of time anyway. So I'm starting now! Anyway, you do miss me and want to see me sooner right?
Me: What the hell? I do want to see you but I also want you to do something good in NS and not be lazy!
BF: Aiyoh, dear, I tell you, only the IDIOTS in camp go chiong sua. Other people are smarter. They want to finish NS as soon as they can and not waste too much energy on it.
Me: ......................
This (extremely undesirable) attitude would eventually become a perennial feature in The BF's army life.
There are the teary farewells, the lonely days and even lonelier nights, the worry and the boredom.
And of course, you're not helped by spooky tales, gleefully told to you by your other male NS friends, of how servicemen go missing or die easily on Tekong. And the widely-held belief that relationships never survive the two-and-a-half years (or just two years if your boyfriend is a chao keng kia like mine).
Sad to say, my first relationship added to that statistic and contributed to that belief. My then-boyfriend entered Nee Soon Camp (no Tekong then) 3 months into our relationship in 1998.
True to form, I wept buckets, moped and pined before resuming my normal routines within a week (though I did leap on him the moment I saw him on his first book-out day and weep buckets again).
3 months before he ORD-ed, we became one of those doomed NS couples that don't make it through.
Fast forward 2 years to 2001...
It was the turn of my current boyfriend (hereafter referred to as The BF) for his chance to serve the nation and get soil on his face... our soil.
Ok, I digress.
But this time, 4 years older, a little more mature, and a little more experienced with regards to boyfriends in NS, I decided to accompany him into Tekong on his first day, together with his family, because I knew this time I could control myself enough not to burst into tears.
As it turned out, I had to control myself from laughing when I saw The BF's entourage. Where other enlistees were mostly accompanied by just parents, some with friends, some with siblings, some simply alone, The BF turned up with his grandmother, his mother, his 2 younger sisters, and his maid.
But I couldn't really blame him. Being the only son in his family, The BF is exalted and given treatment befitting Prince William at home. I should have expected such a sendoff for him.
Anyway, I was really quite impressed with my first sight of Tekong. It was a far cry from, say, Nee Soon barracks, with architecture reminiscent of holiday resorts (of course, it didn't take long for The BF to inform me of the truth behind the facade). But to be honest, I was more impressed with the hunky sergeant, who had the most enticing dimples, whose duty it was that day to show families around.
When it was time for families to leave, I gave the BF nothing more than a perfunctory hug and kiss and acted all very brave.
But when he called me that night just before lights out, I really started to wail. And The BF chose that time to break the news to me that he wouldn't be allowed out of camp at all for the first 2 weeks, which of course made me near hysterical.
I was miserable, and missing him terribly for 3 days, when on the afternoon of the 3rd day he called me.
Me: How come you can call me in the afternoon?
BF: I booking out now mah!
Me: Now?! For what?!
BF: I went to see the MO, take MC, MO give me Attend C some more! So I can go home for 2 days!
Me: You're sick? What happened? Are you ok?
BF: Ok lah, no problem. Just that people tell me might as well chao keng in NS since it's a waste of time anyway. So I'm starting now! Anyway, you do miss me and want to see me sooner right?
Me: What the hell? I do want to see you but I also want you to do something good in NS and not be lazy!
BF: Aiyoh, dear, I tell you, only the IDIOTS in camp go chiong sua. Other people are smarter. They want to finish NS as soon as they can and not waste too much energy on it.
Me: ......................
This (extremely undesirable) attitude would eventually become a perennial feature in The BF's army life.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Letter to a Son
Dear Son,
Soon, you will begin National Service.
You will pack your bags and report to a camp ringed by high wire fences and guarded round the clock by armed sentries. To keep intruders out, or to keep you in, I wonder?
You will leave the security and comfort of home to spartan barracks where you will have to live by a clock that is not yours, to a regimen of brutal training designed to break individuals into automatons who will jump to any order unquestioningly, no matter how stupid or physically dangerous.
The slogan that is shouted at you will be that you are being turned from 'boys to men' but the reality is that the training is designed to turn 'kids to killers'. You will learn dozens of ways to kill human beings. From shooting them with a rifle to bayoneting them in the chest, to a quick, silent slash with a commando knife.
During your training, you will probably learn most of the vices that you never knew as a kid. To drink, because beer will be almost as cheap as mineral water. To smoke, because that is what everybody else does. And to find release from hellish camp conditions in paid sex, when you and your platoon mates are let off once in a while. It is all part of the pseudo macho culture of camp life. You will probably learn to swear, too, because swear words are the lingua franca in camps.
You will develop a hardening of the spirit, a carelessness to life; the opposite of the sensitising influence that all your previous education instilled in you. The refinements of Shakespeare will seem far away in the coarse barracks. It will seem another world, another time.
After your 6 months of BMT, you will gradually wind down. Most of your time will be spent in aimlessness, like area cleaning, sleeping and just hanging around. You will waste 2 to 2 1/2 years of your life thus.
That is, if you are lucky. If you are unlucky, you could be shipped to 'peacekeeping operations' in a nearby country. Where you run the real risk of being killed or injured. If you have not been killed or injured in camp training.
You see, our Government is far too ambitious. Not knowing the limitations of itself, its intelligence and its men in uniform, it has a textbook approach to its geopolitical ambitions. It has military aspirations far beyond what is sensible, which may result in your possible death and the deaths of many more of your mates.
Attacking and capturing Johor to secure our water supply is probably justifiable in a crisis, if our Government is stupid enough to let it develop into a crisis, but all other military adventures are totally unjustifiable. Especially when all our neighbours know that we have atom bombs and can deliver them to their major cities. That is deterrence enough to preclude any military intentions towards us.
But no, we go on to overkill. In order to develop a powerful offensive capability, we are spending US$4 billion a year. That is enough to build several hospitals offering totally free hospital care with even airconditioned C Class wards; build several new MRT lines; pay 50% of the last-drawn salaries of all retrenched workers until they find new jobs; build all schools into single session schools, airconditioned and with the best computer and science labs; in short, even to achieve the most generous social and living benefits equalling the Scandinavian countries.
But at the rate we are going, it is we who will entertain and engage in geopolitical games and military adventures. For example, if Indonesia breaks up and descends into turmoil for several years, our politicians and generals, often one and the same, may decide to provoke an excuse to annexe say, Sumatra (if they think big enough) or at least, nearby Batam, Bintan and some Riau Islands because they are near and easily defended.
Of course, the same can be done if Malaysia descends into, say, racial turmoil. We would annexe up to the planned Segamat Line and the largely Chinese Malaysians within this territory will make it easy to consolidate.
Many lives will be needed for these adventures. Perhaps even yours.
It will not only break my heart but will incense me because I always believed that no one should be forced to fight and die for something he does not believe in. If you are a volunteer and you choose to join the army, that is fine but as a NS man, you have no choice. You are conscripted and ordered to fight and perhaps die.
I know that there are those who argue that the Government is 'elected' and therefore, once elected, it governs without further reference to us or our wishes. And that therefore, we should obey even if it means dying.
But in Singapore, the voters have no real choice. Because of the way the PAP rigs the General Election and opposition politics, the voters never had a choice of Government. Therefore, we did not choose the PAP willingly. Thus, we never gave them the mandate to order us into wars, especially wars not directly threatening our security.
Nobody should have to die for something he does not believe in. In Singapore, many, many Singaporeans have stopped believing in the PAP. You only have to visit the local websites to find the depth of feeling against the PAP. Even PAP members find no pride in being a member. It is like some dreadful, shameful secret they don't want others to know.
The GE will be upon us soon. If given the chance to vote, that is, if our constituency is contested, I shall vote Opposition, no matter who. It is a pity that you have no vote. Like they say, you are old enough to die for the country but you are not old enough to vote.
Make no mistake about it. The PAP has lost its moral authority. It is now even gagging the Internet, a futile exercise that indicates its desperation in trying to silence the vocal public. It is now engaged in a virtual war against even its own people. But it will lose. And I believe it will begin its losing in the coming General Election.
Take care, son.
Dad
Actually the above letter goes wildly out of point at some point after the first third and the writer starts to rave incoherently towards the end.
I think it's meant to be a spoof of the "letter" that was in "Shoulder To Shoulder - Our National Service Journal".
Soon, you will begin National Service.
You will pack your bags and report to a camp ringed by high wire fences and guarded round the clock by armed sentries. To keep intruders out, or to keep you in, I wonder?
You will leave the security and comfort of home to spartan barracks where you will have to live by a clock that is not yours, to a regimen of brutal training designed to break individuals into automatons who will jump to any order unquestioningly, no matter how stupid or physically dangerous.
The slogan that is shouted at you will be that you are being turned from 'boys to men' but the reality is that the training is designed to turn 'kids to killers'. You will learn dozens of ways to kill human beings. From shooting them with a rifle to bayoneting them in the chest, to a quick, silent slash with a commando knife.
During your training, you will probably learn most of the vices that you never knew as a kid. To drink, because beer will be almost as cheap as mineral water. To smoke, because that is what everybody else does. And to find release from hellish camp conditions in paid sex, when you and your platoon mates are let off once in a while. It is all part of the pseudo macho culture of camp life. You will probably learn to swear, too, because swear words are the lingua franca in camps.
You will develop a hardening of the spirit, a carelessness to life; the opposite of the sensitising influence that all your previous education instilled in you. The refinements of Shakespeare will seem far away in the coarse barracks. It will seem another world, another time.
After your 6 months of BMT, you will gradually wind down. Most of your time will be spent in aimlessness, like area cleaning, sleeping and just hanging around. You will waste 2 to 2 1/2 years of your life thus.
That is, if you are lucky. If you are unlucky, you could be shipped to 'peacekeeping operations' in a nearby country. Where you run the real risk of being killed or injured. If you have not been killed or injured in camp training.
You see, our Government is far too ambitious. Not knowing the limitations of itself, its intelligence and its men in uniform, it has a textbook approach to its geopolitical ambitions. It has military aspirations far beyond what is sensible, which may result in your possible death and the deaths of many more of your mates.
Attacking and capturing Johor to secure our water supply is probably justifiable in a crisis, if our Government is stupid enough to let it develop into a crisis, but all other military adventures are totally unjustifiable. Especially when all our neighbours know that we have atom bombs and can deliver them to their major cities. That is deterrence enough to preclude any military intentions towards us.
But no, we go on to overkill. In order to develop a powerful offensive capability, we are spending US$4 billion a year. That is enough to build several hospitals offering totally free hospital care with even airconditioned C Class wards; build several new MRT lines; pay 50% of the last-drawn salaries of all retrenched workers until they find new jobs; build all schools into single session schools, airconditioned and with the best computer and science labs; in short, even to achieve the most generous social and living benefits equalling the Scandinavian countries.
But at the rate we are going, it is we who will entertain and engage in geopolitical games and military adventures. For example, if Indonesia breaks up and descends into turmoil for several years, our politicians and generals, often one and the same, may decide to provoke an excuse to annexe say, Sumatra (if they think big enough) or at least, nearby Batam, Bintan and some Riau Islands because they are near and easily defended.
Of course, the same can be done if Malaysia descends into, say, racial turmoil. We would annexe up to the planned Segamat Line and the largely Chinese Malaysians within this territory will make it easy to consolidate.
Many lives will be needed for these adventures. Perhaps even yours.
It will not only break my heart but will incense me because I always believed that no one should be forced to fight and die for something he does not believe in. If you are a volunteer and you choose to join the army, that is fine but as a NS man, you have no choice. You are conscripted and ordered to fight and perhaps die.
I know that there are those who argue that the Government is 'elected' and therefore, once elected, it governs without further reference to us or our wishes. And that therefore, we should obey even if it means dying.
But in Singapore, the voters have no real choice. Because of the way the PAP rigs the General Election and opposition politics, the voters never had a choice of Government. Therefore, we did not choose the PAP willingly. Thus, we never gave them the mandate to order us into wars, especially wars not directly threatening our security.
Nobody should have to die for something he does not believe in. In Singapore, many, many Singaporeans have stopped believing in the PAP. You only have to visit the local websites to find the depth of feeling against the PAP. Even PAP members find no pride in being a member. It is like some dreadful, shameful secret they don't want others to know.
The GE will be upon us soon. If given the chance to vote, that is, if our constituency is contested, I shall vote Opposition, no matter who. It is a pity that you have no vote. Like they say, you are old enough to die for the country but you are not old enough to vote.
Make no mistake about it. The PAP has lost its moral authority. It is now even gagging the Internet, a futile exercise that indicates its desperation in trying to silence the vocal public. It is now engaged in a virtual war against even its own people. But it will lose. And I believe it will begin its losing in the coming General Election.
Take care, son.
Dad
Actually the above letter goes wildly out of point at some point after the first third and the writer starts to rave incoherently towards the end.
I think it's meant to be a spoof of the "letter" that was in "Shoulder To Shoulder - Our National Service Journal".
Friday, November 05, 2004
That time of the year again
Time flies. It's been six months since I received my SAF 100 notice, and now my good ol' Brigade HQ has sent me another letter telling me to cut my hair, to keep it black, and to pack my field pack items (including a diagram of how all the barang barang would be laid out during inspection).
Brigade HQ also tells me that 'shortfalls' in personal items can be purchased through the SAF e-Mart online, and can be picked up at my camp when I book-in. But there are some things I can't buy online.
The training program for this year's in-camp training (ICT) is also available at the NSMan's web portal, and I am looking forward to 17 days of Error 404, page not found.
There will also be the convenience of IPPT (Individual Physical Proficiency Test) being conducted during this year's ICT, so that we don't get charged in a military tribunal for forgetting to sign up for it. The instructions for IPPT are quite specific. Brigade HQ says to remember to hydrate yourself, 'empty your bowels' and get a good night's rest before attempting the test.
I am looking forward to the 2.5 weeks of unbridled fun and relaxation. Being an non-specialist, non-officer, low-life trooper affords you the luxury of many hours of Individual Body Maintenance (IBM) while the specialists and officers, poor sods, have to attend many meetings and planning sessions. Among my platoon mates, we also have an informal awards system to augment the Best Soldier medal given at the end of the ICT. Some of these are:
Where the fuck are the goddamned garters?
Brigade HQ also tells me that 'shortfalls' in personal items can be purchased through the SAF e-Mart online, and can be picked up at my camp when I book-in. But there are some things I can't buy online.
The training program for this year's in-camp training (ICT) is also available at the NSMan's web portal, and I am looking forward to 17 days of Error 404, page not found.
There will also be the convenience of IPPT (Individual Physical Proficiency Test) being conducted during this year's ICT, so that we don't get charged in a military tribunal for forgetting to sign up for it. The instructions for IPPT are quite specific. Brigade HQ says to remember to hydrate yourself, 'empty your bowels' and get a good night's rest before attempting the test.
I am looking forward to the 2.5 weeks of unbridled fun and relaxation. Being an non-specialist, non-officer, low-life trooper affords you the luxury of many hours of Individual Body Maintenance (IBM) while the specialists and officers, poor sods, have to attend many meetings and planning sessions. Among my platoon mates, we also have an informal awards system to augment the Best Soldier medal given at the end of the ICT. Some of these are:
Stupidity Factor Award (Formerly known as the 1st Kong Kum Do Battalion Award): Based on the reality TV show, The Stupidity Factor: Face up to your stupidity, for dumbest, preferably life-threateningly dangerous thing done during training. Last ICT's winner won on a relatively mild act: he swung his LAW (Armbrust Light Anti-Tank Weapon) around at the whole platoon when someone called his name. The LAW was a dummy (and so was he).Fun, innit? And we're gonna get paid too. Not to mention another tax rebate next year, for me and my parents!
Golden Broom Award: For the soldier who manages to convince the MO (Medical Officer) that he is sick, but not sick enough to be out-processed from ICT, earning two weeks no-outfield-training MC, and put in charge of cleaning the bunks.
东西在那里 Dong Xi Zai Na Li (IKEA) Award: For the platoon/section that signs the most SAF1206s (declaration of lost equipment), though these are combined and the whole combat company forks out for it.
Champion Dumpster Award: I'm usually the front runner for this, given my fragile digestive system, but I lost out to this bloke last year who took a dump in the woods during our 3 day outfield exercise. He won because he was the only one to take a dump outfield, and did it within sight of the camp buildings, twenty minutes before we were ordered to return to camp.
When-In-Doubt-Just-Squeeze-Trigger Award: For the misfire king of ICT. Believe it or not, didn't happen last two ICTs.
Where the fuck are the goddamned garters?
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