Okay, so I really think I'm getting old. After Butter this week on Wednesday, it's like my entire life fell into inbalance. Alright, that's an exaggeration, but my body was completely tired out by the lack of sleep, and the next few days was quite chaotic cause I was sleeping all around all day, and then when it comes to night I can't fall asleep, I sleep late and the next day gets ruined etc. I kid and say that bad decisions make good stories, but I thought that was pretty overboard. I will think thrice the next time somebody's gonna ask me out for ladies night.

Anyway, went over to Gavin's for a movie marathon - which in the end really resulted in only a movie and the Champion League's finals. Got a ride home from Dylan, and the timing was just right - 6AM, at home. What else could I do? Of course, I changed into my jogging attire and took off into the direction of Ang Mo Kio Avenue 3, 4, 5. To Bishan Park. Yes, to Bishan Park. I've only been there in the late night, but woah Bishan Park in the early morning Sunday is incredulous. The activities there - the number of dogs running along the pet garden, the number of folks learning taiji or other workouts-demonstrations going on there, it's amazing. One day, I'm going to bring my brother's D7000 there, and maybe film a short film of the place. Best park in Singapore already.

So anyway, on my way walking back home and cooling down, I wrote a poem. HAHA yes, I wrote a poem. I'm not going to be bothered about the quality of it - or the nasty comments / impressions which might result from it, but I'll have to first say that it's a poem done within 15 minutes, and since then, unedited and unpolished. But it's something I've felt for a pretty long time though. Please don't laugh.

My self-directed funeral.

Sometime someday, I will hold a funeral, and maybe have a burial
I'll hide myself in a corner, and watch the guests enter
A perfect funeral, white and spacious
In the coffin a well-polished body, looking glamorous

He is five-feet five, with black hair and brown eyes
That's me, without the chance for a proper goodbye
I'll see who enters, I'll see who leaves
Then I'll see who doesn't have a thought of reminisce
I'll look out for tears, and for signs of sorrow
Maybe then, I'll know who I will miss tomorrow

Cause we'll all want to see our own funerals
Whether as spirits or as mortals
Not because our friendships are questionable
But to know how we've changed the world

If it isn't obvious enough, I've been blogging a lot, a lot less about my life recently. It seems like blogging is becoming a taboo in trying to upkeep the image of being an officer. It's not easy. I'll be honest about it, my leadership style's usually been by peer-influence, never by authority, command or seniority. In most situations, I'm the good friend you'd listen to, instead of the guy who's knowledgeable and you'll look up to being. So that's my self-analysis, and I'm realising it more and more as my cadets grow used to and become more comfortable with the system, and me, on the other hand, become a bit more shaky and uncomfortable.

Some unintended audiences (the cadets) might probably come across this doing arid searches across the net during those uneventful weekends, after book-in and book-outs start to become too much of a routine. But as I always am honest, I'll be honest about it here as well.

I'm good at being a peer, a junior (or to those who cringe when you feel that I'm being full of myself, at least - I think so). Not so much of a superior, a senior. Much of it is how I look - short figure, baby-faced etc, which eventually has formed up my personality of playing the small boy in groups of friends. 

This post was initially sparked when one of my sources told me that a cadet's comment on me was that I have a baby-face and can't be taken seriously. My first reaction was understandably, fury, which led to an initial reaction of "I'm going to show him how I can f*** his section upside-down. But instead now I'm looking at this as a friendly feedback which I should (and I do now) appreciate and take up as a challenge to change myself. I have to remind myself of what my initial goals were after commissioning. What's life without challenges, without needing to adapt? So now, as I grow up and will eventually own a corporate empire of my own (yeah, I'm hoping so, at least), I need to start looking older and being more mature. Learn to play the superior, the senior, the adviser, and roles like these. Challenge accepted.

Think recently I kinda lost focus as to where my life's supposed to be headed. No longer maximizing my time, falling into that state of reluctance to start on anything big. I'm taking very long to bring my butt to Ubi and sign up for driving as well. Planning to get up early tomorrow and start on a long list of to-dos. Maybe I'm going to do all these with my bike. Cycle to Ubi? Sounds like an idea?


I actually went to Zouk thrice the past week. Feels like post-prom period after J2 all over again huh? But not going with the Phoenix Cheerleaders just make it seem a lot more solo. Think that the more you go clubbing, the more of a lonely person you are inside as you get all too familiar with the place and routines. You break off with your friends in the club, maybe join a few here, skip over to the other spot and look for a few there. I kinda miss waiting for first bus after the last song ends in the club. It sounds amateur, but I'm always hoping someone would tell me, hey let's go get some prata and wait for the first bus! Now we're all really just cabbing back separately :(

Baby, you're mine now. So I went out to scout for the Flying Pigeon and its possible variations today, visited four different shops but it seems like all the shops only stock up the FP, most of them didn't even hear about the other brands I inquired about. A search on Singapore pages in Google turns out pretty useless as well. So, today I decided on the Flying Pigeon. It's a tad heavy, at about 25kg. To think about lugging it up three storeys back home is a pain in the ass, so I ignored it for the moment. Anyway, I'll be bringing it into camp soon, so that's at least its home for close to a good full year.

The only thing different about my FP from the one you see above is the saddle seat. Mine's black. It's quite booo, but none of the four shops I've visited stocks up the seat in brown. It's the traditional version, but what Singapore's selling is the enhanced version of the traditional one. So seats are black. Also, the lamp is an additional attachment, so while the guy is working in the workshop on my paddles and doing minor last-fixes before I bring it back home, I'm looking for a rattan basket. Either that or a silver metal one, similar to the one below. If I get a basket, I'll probably have to find some other place to attach the lamp to.


So here's where I need your help. If you know anywhere where I could find baskets like these. Well, the rattan ones are called wickers presumably, PLEASE I ENLIST YOUR HELP. Do tell me about it. Do probe your head into any bicycle shops / florists that you walk past and check it out for me. I can't thank you enough. After I've everything done, I'll be taking photos of my baby like the picture above. Totally cool. I'm thinking about a paint job as well. I'll leave that for next time.

Book-outs are rather erratic these couple of days, with the new cadets posted in in confinement period and such. I realized that being an officer means rather flexible schedule, so I have that free few-hours lapse of time in between daily activities sometimes, for me to make full use of instead of heading into Jumanji (inside joke). So well, all that free time spent in the office got me thinking. While most of the office would cab out of OCS and back in the morning, my current financial status beckons me to do otherwise. It's a full twenty to twenty-five minutes walk out to the MRT, so my legs are tired, my body is tired and my mind's tired. I end up staying in the empty office quite a lot of the time.

So, for the past day, I've been madly, excitedly researching up on bicycles. The original plan was a year in Tekong, so that wouldn't really require me a bike - till I ORD and head over to NTU, living in the hall residences but now that I'm (pretty much) stuck staying in OCS, it became totally necessary. So I've found a few interesting selections.

I'm still honing in onto a few brands, but right now it's all over my head. I'm heading out in half an hour to scout around bicycle shops all over Singapore to look for my little baby. Yes, I'm that committed. Give me a week and a half, you'll see me with a stylo bike I summpa.


Right now I've set my sights on Flying Pigeons, this China brand which has been around through more than 60 years. I know, I know what you must be thinking. China brand, probably going to fall apart into pieces within the first few rides. But no, I've researched up enough about it. It's strong, sturdy steel, originally created during the Cultural Revolution, popularized by the middle class Chinese workers when Liu Shaoqi (Chairman Mao's vice-president) dictated that the two-wheeled vehicle was the only state-approved form of transport. Some rich history there, yo! It was built to be durable, but the only problem is that while they manufactured the bicycle almost entirely in steel, it became extremely heavy. Well, and apparently so, I live in a HDB flat w/o a lift, on the third floor, so I'm going to have to reconsider it. Reviews never fail to highlight that it is a mighty-big hassle to lug it up staircases.

So, recently I've been helping lots of people. Thank you very much.

Nah, I'm kidding about my tone. But anyway, it's quite nice to be friendly to strangers and all instead of pulling a long face all the time. I'm quite chao-bin most of the time I'm alone and thinking deep thoughts, I think. I'm not extremely helpful as well. Nor gracious. I'm the kind who will give that over-the-shoulder glare when I see people squeezing into trains, or cutting lines going up the escalator. Oh, one thing I like to do - intentionally side-stepping and playing a quick blocking-game with those buggers who try to get into trains before anyone even got out. Usually balding old men who I like to tease and bully.

A week ago when I was at Fort Canning (yeah, like those lonely hearts who go to places to snap photographs alone) during one of those run-errands day, I pointed directions for these two Russian ladies who were trying to trek to Clarke Quay. Suggested them training from Dhoby Ghaut (since I was heading there as well) but well, they were all in summer singlets and all, so they insisted on finding a way there by foot. I merely pointed them the direction and gave them some pointers, so that's not much. But hey, I added "Have a nice trip in Singapore!" with a smile. At least got smile right? :) Today I brought two Indonesian old men from City Hall to Little India, and chatted lightly about NS and the nice places in Singapore. They wanted to get to Mustafa, so I actually suggested them Farrer Park (brought it up a couple of times) but I can understand how tourists are usually more guarded to suggestions, so I let them go when they wanted to alight at Little India. I did say the niceties before I bid them farewell as well. SO, YAY! Good traveler-karma points for when I head over to Europe huh?


And I've been making a few donations as well. That day I donated a few of my coins to those can-donation-thingum. Lost my vocabulary for that. Anyway that's not much, but uhm I think as I'm becoming more polite, I've lost the ability to reject people asking me for donations.

Today. Just an hour ago, this girl asked me for a donation outside NEX. Eyeliner, dyed hair, makes a pouty face and attempts to be as charming as Puss in Boots in Shrek when she tried to sell me this pair of earphones for charity. Charity my ass-kaban. Not that I'm being too quick to judge, but I can almost bet on it that she's a scam. Okay, so I'm judging. Totally judging. So she tries to explain to me that she's from this organization helping disabled children and all, inserts a few big-eyed pouts, do that thing when you make your voice close to a whimper and sobz sobz whatever. The organization name sounds somewhat like Make A Wish, just that they changed a word here and there or something but my memory really fails me. So she was selling those kind of disposable ear-pieces (you can find them on the market at $2) with strawberries on top, trying to get it for a price of $10. I couldn't stand her already, so I tried to do a polite 'no' and walk away, but she whined and begged me to stay. I exaggerate. But anyway, so I told her the truth - I've been making quite a few donations recently and my pocket's quite tight. So she replied, "oh, don't worry, you can donate small amounts as well". I brightened up. And then this was when I started to whole-heartedly (for the lack of better vocabulary) judge her. She said "you can just put it into the pocket in my bag, over here". FUCK. I mean, how can it be any more obvious? Totally untactful, totally direct. She might as well just say "oh yeah, I'm here to sell pity-sex (pardon my language), you can just slot it into my bra, over here". I questioned her and asked her for a receipt. For a proof of donation. She didn't have one, but in return, she typed in this website into her iPhone and scrolled through photos of donation-cheques made by "past donors". I don't even get her logic.

But by then I was pretty much "never mind, it's just two dollars" and slipped it into her bag pocket with a light chant of curses. HAHA no, I kid about the curses part. The funny thing was, the right side of my ear-piece had a sudden death right after I exited from NEX, right before she approached me. I mean, how much of a coincidence could that be huh? So for the fate - I let her earn that two dollars. I'm completely judging her, because the other person collecting such donations is this skinny Bieber-haired ah-beng. Sorry, was I ever a fan of "don't judge a book by its cover"? And then, for what the hell kind of reasons would an organization let loose its helpers to the streets without donation coupons / carbon-paper receipts? The girl is going to get her karma soooooooo bad I tell you!!!



Talking about all these donations. Let me end off with something meaningful. I enjoy seeing friends who are motivated help the society and do good. I'd always donate to these causes, no matter how poor I can get. Just saying. Not showing off. But I accept compliments. Thanks. HAHA nah, anyway yeah. Just like what I said about my friend, Chi Shun in a post the last time, now I've a friend Wei Liang, on this project titled Trek For Fund. My brain's ran out of ability to do summaries, so I'll just copy and paste their FB description down in the blockquote below, alright? You can click in the hyperlink to his name for his FB page to contact him for donations if you would like to. I only made a $10 donation, and I don't know how much traffic this can bring, but I do know that all the bored buggers who Google NS stuff might have a fairly decent chance of landing here since I'm so brutally honest about everything (gonna land me in shit soon or later man), and I hope you guys could really take a look at it, share it / like it if your pockets are tight. We all understand. Give a helping hand, feel motivated and inspired that you're part of it, yeah?

Hello friends. Thank you so much for visiting our page and supporting our initiative. Come May 2012, Surentheran, Siddiq Poh and Wei Liang will be embarking on a journey to raise funds for charity. We are aiming to raise money for charity by trekking to the Everest base camp with ZERO dollars in our pockets! We will start our climb without any money. Our aim is to spread awareness regarding our initiative and our charity beneficiary, and in so doing, we aim to collect donations along the way from fellow trekkers and climbers. Their donations will in turn provide for our daily lodging and sustenance as we trek towards the Everest base camp at the altitude of 5364m.

Of course, we are NOT going to use donors' money to fund our climb. We will match every dollar that we collected and used during the climb with a dollar from our own pockets after our journey ends and we will make this very clear to the potential donors there. This initiative is both risky and dangerous, as we have to balance the physical demands of trekking with our heavy loads while battling the merciless altitude, and the need to continuously raise funds all the way!

To continue reading and find out more about whom we are raising money for and how we are actually going to accomplish this venture, please take a look at our note which can be found on the main page. We have explained and elaborated in detail about our initiative within the note as well as how you can support us:) Thank you so much for taking the time to visit and explore our page.

Sometimes you forget that your friends are not always the ones who are the most fun to be with, the most outgoing ones; those you see at parties or cocktail events. You forget that they might be the ones who remind you about being down-to-earth, the ones who would correct your wrongs, be a wet-blanket when you do the crazy, thrilling things and have deeper conversations with, because they truly care about you.

As I tear down the photos from my wall one by one, before sergeant major's inspection tomorrow, memories start to flood in. Less of the memories related to the photos, but a lot of it about this place, these times. Sure, I would be staying on as an instructor in OCS. Have I told you? Yup, contrary to my one-year long dreams of heading back to BMT, I'm staying here in OCS. Lots of complaints about it, lots of disappointments - all the things I planned to do in BMT; digging shellscrapes with the recruits, inspiring them about NS life, helping them make the right choices after BMT, dashed. But no worries, I'm long past the disappointment, I think I do adapt pretty well. Next time though, when I walk through the corridors, I wouldn't be seeing the familiar, jovial faces of my platoon mates, but replaced by younger, unfamiliar looks. I hate endings.

Guess this is good time for my end-of-OCS speech, huh? More like a soliloquy, but well. Time to consolidate what I've learnt in this seven months as an OCS cadet, time to look back and reflect.

The first and most important thing I want to say is that I think I couldn't have had a better time in NS. OCS, infantry specifically, has formed so much memories in my head and heart, I would be a real senile old fella to forget about them in my silver years. To give advice to any junior now, I would strongly urge you to try and get to OCS. In BMT, I myself used to strongly detest and talk bad about those kids who wayang too much. SIT test was a complete wayang show though, I would agree. But as advice, I would say only this: work hard to get what you want, don't pay attention to those who don't understand. But of course, there's always an extent to all things. Overdoing the wayang would backfire, obviously. I mean, to be completely truthful about it, there's a way to be tactful about doing all those wayang jobs, isn't there? Not that I'm encouraging people to be cunning though, no. But honestly, OCS is really the best experience you could get out of NS. I've been to both SCS and OCS, so there's some reliability to that statement I just made. That said though, I think the right attitude always makes up for whatever short-fall anyone might have. Do your best, work your hardest, be truthful and earnest.

And I'm talking infantry. Many times throughout this past year I've thought about going the easy way out. Hoping for some vocation which didn't require so much manual labour / outfields (eg. artillery) or some posting which fighting equipments you use would be mostly... the computer. Keyboard battles, if you get what I mean. Looking back now, I at least daresay the commissioning infanteers in my batch feel a lot more pride and belonging than the artillery cadets. All those outfield missions where you stuck through the toughest tekans from your instructors with the muddied guys beside you didn't count for nothing. All the steps you took with your 'dead' buddy slung over your shoulders brings you all the more closer to each other. The times when you had to plan missions overnight with the few other appointment holders, outfield in the dark with two lantern lights, combat ration biscuits and lots of mosquitoes are etched in both of your memories. When joint term came and I saw that many of the artillery cadets who were with us in service term always joined in on our tables in the dining hall, I could see the stark difference.

As much as I hate to say it, but I did gain quite a lot in my NSF years. Afterall, it's two years of your prime dedicated to the nation. But to whine about it, sit there and look at it float by would be absolutely stupid. Someone once said that what you put in to these two years of NS is what you would get out of it. The tougher things get, the more you can gain out of them. Like how diamond is formed under all those decades of pressure. Am I right? Sorry, not too good with analogies. HAHA. 



And then all the tough times built you up. It's different for everybody, but as much as all of us hate the tough trainings, it always make you a better, stronger person. A personal experience was killing the quail. Much more than just helping me cope with my fear of furry animals, it taught me how strong the mind was. How, by simply being determined to commit a task could you overcome all those obstacles you never thought possible. It's much more than just those experiences on our chest. Those JCC and CSB badges, the markmenship or the IPPT Gold. They represent the struggles of getting something, attaining a benchmark, but yet can never summarize the OCS experience.

OCS was an experience I will never forget - both it's ups and downs. I'd hate to think about how I'm going to spend the next year in this same place, but without all my platoon mates around me.

A three hundred dollars fine for a lost SAW magazine in combat, on ・169 objective in Thailand. In the HQ discussion, it was either this or a 28 days RCP, or so they say. Thing is, it's already the 22th of March, more than a month after we returned from Thailand. Those 30-odd days they took to deliberate on what the charge is, and of course - the administration holdups. With the remaining 16 days to commissioning... well, not enough to charge a 28 days RCP is it? So they came to a conclusion of a fine of $300.

When I spoke to my Wing Commander about it, he was surprised I would rather 28 days of RCP than the fine. He thought the fine would be an easy way to close the case. Well, I guess he had my good intentions in mind, but for those who were in that round-table discussion about my charge, $300 probably wasn't anything much to them. It is for me. It's not that I'm having exceptional financial difficulties, but for a family income like mine which is probably now quite far behind the average in Singapore, it's pretty significant. Yes, I could spend a few hundreds on an iPod Touch or a Nook, for that matter, but they were well-thought out decisions and definitely worth the 'investment'. Right now, I'm supposed to pay a fine for a lost magazine during combat - and not a $10 replacement fee at that. A three hundred dollar fine.

Let's talk about the basis for punishments. Punishments are dealt out to wrong actions. Fines, specifically, mostly for actions committed on purpose, when you already knew you were in the wrong but still carried on anyway. Fines for littering, fines for parking without coupons, fines for vandalism, or more heinous crimes. A faulty weapon or magazine resulting in a loose holding of the magazine isn't my fault. The fact that I conducted an equipment check before the assault proved that I did my duty in trying to prevent the loss of equipments. Not being able to retrieve the magazine (after three separate searches) in the thick, thorny vegetation of Thailand merely shows that we're only human. My platoon stuck yellow duct tape on our magazines as a bit of a force-prep, to prevent such losses from happening. So how is it justifiable for a fine? One I couldn't really control, much less to say. Does it not fall under circumstance - to whom may be so unlucky to be holding on to that faulty weapon, to to lose the magazine in dense vegetation while bashing? So what are they encouraging? Soldiers who would tape up their magazines to their rifles? Tie up all loose parts around the rifle? Be afraid of 'bashing' through vegetation and charging up the knoll with all their might? Thinking "oh well, it's just training. I'll rather be safe, put in less effort into the firefight and instead be over-concerned about their safety, health and making sure their equipment are never damaged or lost for it might induce having to write lengthy statements or worse - fines?

Seeking a chance to represent my own opinions against the charge was a NO. My PC told me that to try and refute against the charge would be to blow things up, bring the case to the attention of a higher level of command, and would not only drag the case till after I commission, but possible resulting in a more severe charge, should I lose the case. I asked if there was some other form of punishment I could accept - extra duty etc, but was replied with a comparison to a court charge. "When the court sentences you to 10 years and 5 strokes of the cane, can you say that you want instead, a 20 strokes of the cane?" It shut me up for a moment, but then I realise that even the prosecuted could at least be part of the entire court session. His voice was heard, opinions taken into consideration and everything was pretty much transparent. Unlike what happens in my situation.

I'll be honest. These are the only two paragraphs I would be putting up, but when I wrote this note on my foolscap pad on the day it happened, the content was a lot more... hateful than this. Well, it's been more than a week since that happened. A week since I accepted my charge dutifully. A week filled with engagements with senior officers for me to think about the entire situation, in different perspectives. The one time I was in HQ working on Echo Wing's Commissioning Magazine, I had a chat with Chief Instructor for close to an hour, talking about all the complaints the cadets in our batch had about the system, about the commanders. I didn't mention my charge, but I did get an indirect answer. That would be for some other time, but I'm thankful for not making any rash decisions. The passage below was a paragraph in my written entry. I'm posting it down because I do still think that the cause for violent emotions still stand; but now I've learnt to take a step back and think for others. I've learnt to control my emotions and manage them well. Disclaimer though: when emotions are high, words are strong. By re-posting them right now does not mean that I still mean what I wrote previously.

If they are encouraging soldiers to be more careful, to put things like equipment care in front of fighting spirit on the field, I'll jolly well do that. If you'd have to care more about yourself and less about the company mission objective, I'll do that. If you have to do things which are going-through-motion like secure your magazine to your rifle, taping up the smaller rifle parts, maybe even zipping up all other controlled-equipments in a zip-lock placed safely, deep inside the full pack, I might just be crazy enough to encourage it in future. After all, what does the organization see? They don't see your efforts in the firefight. They don't see the weekends you commit to doing NS-related work. They see your flaws, the see you making mistakes, they see how you damage / lose fighting equipments which belong to them and they punish you for them.

Well, in the next few days, I might be posting quite a lot. Because I'm finally done with the Comms Ball Magazine (which I sent for printing just this afternoon) and so now I'll finally have time to clear up my mind for other things. The past two weeks have been crazy. Working every free minute of my time in bunk on the magazine. Latest I slept was 3.30AM on Monday. Now, I can truly enjoy joint-term. I plan to spend the next week in camp reflecting on what I want out of the next year of my time in NS. My year-long goal of heading back to BMT to inspire recruits, guide them to make the right choices for command preference and to help them appreciate and understand this two years of service was disrupted when my PC informed me that I'll be staying in OCS as an instructor instead. I was rather distraught at first, but thinking about it long and hard through Friday's got me much more ready to embrace it.

Went for a jog with Taoyee at 10.15pm today after we booked-out at night for the off-in-lieu from all the weekend trainings we've had. It was more like chatting though, jogging and chatting throughout the jog. I like to have deeper conversations. Ran through a few places like the AMK drive-through Mcdonalds which brings back lots of memories. After more than two hours, headed off from Taoyee and went to the usual prata place for some supper before I turn in to bed. What was unexpected was just two minutes after I made my order and sat down, mum appeared in front of me in her PJs. A split second of thinking that they were here to have supper, then it got replaced with realizing the truth. They came out looking for me. I don't bring my phone out to jogs, but never did I realized that they didn't expect a long jog. Couldn't have imagined if I arrived at the prata house five minutes later. They'd probably be driving around Serangoon, frantically searching. I didn't expect it. It shouldn't have happened this way. Well, thought about it and realized after that that our parents always see us as small kids in their hearts, no matter how old we are and how much we've grown. Always the same tiny concerns, the same naggy reminders and the same embarrassing actions, but only because they care. Felt like I've let them down a bit, making them panic at home and even having to drive out to look for me. Must have been quite a scare - always happens when you've watched too many dramas and soap operas, then the images of accidents keep flashing in your head.

Anyway, a few days ago a bunch of Russians requested to follow me on Twitter simultaneously. Weird.

Okay, so I really think I'm getting old. After Butter this week on Wednesday, it's like my entire life fell into inbalance. Alright, that's an exaggeration, but my body was completely tired out by the lack of sleep, and the next few days was quite chaotic cause I was sleeping all around all day, and then when it comes to night I can't fall asleep, I sleep late and the next day gets ruined etc. I kid and say that bad decisions make good stories, but I thought that was pretty overboard. I will think thrice the next time somebody's gonna ask me out for ladies night.

Anyway, went over to Gavin's for a movie marathon - which in the end really resulted in only a movie and the Champion League's finals. Got a ride home from Dylan, and the timing was just right - 6AM, at home. What else could I do? Of course, I changed into my jogging attire and took off into the direction of Ang Mo Kio Avenue 3, 4, 5. To Bishan Park. Yes, to Bishan Park. I've only been there in the late night, but woah Bishan Park in the early morning Sunday is incredulous. The activities there - the number of dogs running along the pet garden, the number of folks learning taiji or other workouts-demonstrations going on there, it's amazing. One day, I'm going to bring my brother's D7000 there, and maybe film a short film of the place. Best park in Singapore already.

So anyway, on my way walking back home and cooling down, I wrote a poem. HAHA yes, I wrote a poem. I'm not going to be bothered about the quality of it - or the nasty comments / impressions which might result from it, but I'll have to first say that it's a poem done within 15 minutes, and since then, unedited and unpolished. But it's something I've felt for a pretty long time though. Please don't laugh.

My self-directed funeral.

Sometime someday, I will hold a funeral, and maybe have a burial
I'll hide myself in a corner, and watch the guests enter
A perfect funeral, white and spacious
In the coffin a well-polished body, looking glamorous

He is five-feet five, with black hair and brown eyes
That's me, without the chance for a proper goodbye
I'll see who enters, I'll see who leaves
Then I'll see who doesn't have a thought of reminisce
I'll look out for tears, and for signs of sorrow
Maybe then, I'll know who I will miss tomorrow

Cause we'll all want to see our own funerals
Whether as spirits or as mortals
Not because our friendships are questionable
But to know how we've changed the world

If it isn't obvious enough, I've been blogging a lot, a lot less about my life recently. It seems like blogging is becoming a taboo in trying to upkeep the image of being an officer. It's not easy. I'll be honest about it, my leadership style's usually been by peer-influence, never by authority, command or seniority. In most situations, I'm the good friend you'd listen to, instead of the guy who's knowledgeable and you'll look up to being. So that's my self-analysis, and I'm realising it more and more as my cadets grow used to and become more comfortable with the system, and me, on the other hand, become a bit more shaky and uncomfortable.

Some unintended audiences (the cadets) might probably come across this doing arid searches across the net during those uneventful weekends, after book-in and book-outs start to become too much of a routine. But as I always am honest, I'll be honest about it here as well.

I'm good at being a peer, a junior (or to those who cringe when you feel that I'm being full of myself, at least - I think so). Not so much of a superior, a senior. Much of it is how I look - short figure, baby-faced etc, which eventually has formed up my personality of playing the small boy in groups of friends. 

This post was initially sparked when one of my sources told me that a cadet's comment on me was that I have a baby-face and can't be taken seriously. My first reaction was understandably, fury, which led to an initial reaction of "I'm going to show him how I can f*** his section upside-down. But instead now I'm looking at this as a friendly feedback which I should (and I do now) appreciate and take up as a challenge to change myself. I have to remind myself of what my initial goals were after commissioning. What's life without challenges, without needing to adapt? So now, as I grow up and will eventually own a corporate empire of my own (yeah, I'm hoping so, at least), I need to start looking older and being more mature. Learn to play the superior, the senior, the adviser, and roles like these. Challenge accepted.

Think recently I kinda lost focus as to where my life's supposed to be headed. No longer maximizing my time, falling into that state of reluctance to start on anything big. I'm taking very long to bring my butt to Ubi and sign up for driving as well. Planning to get up early tomorrow and start on a long list of to-dos. Maybe I'm going to do all these with my bike. Cycle to Ubi? Sounds like an idea?


I actually went to Zouk thrice the past week. Feels like post-prom period after J2 all over again huh? But not going with the Phoenix Cheerleaders just make it seem a lot more solo. Think that the more you go clubbing, the more of a lonely person you are inside as you get all too familiar with the place and routines. You break off with your friends in the club, maybe join a few here, skip over to the other spot and look for a few there. I kinda miss waiting for first bus after the last song ends in the club. It sounds amateur, but I'm always hoping someone would tell me, hey let's go get some prata and wait for the first bus! Now we're all really just cabbing back separately :(

Baby, you're mine now. So I went out to scout for the Flying Pigeon and its possible variations today, visited four different shops but it seems like all the shops only stock up the FP, most of them didn't even hear about the other brands I inquired about. A search on Singapore pages in Google turns out pretty useless as well. So, today I decided on the Flying Pigeon. It's a tad heavy, at about 25kg. To think about lugging it up three storeys back home is a pain in the ass, so I ignored it for the moment. Anyway, I'll be bringing it into camp soon, so that's at least its home for close to a good full year.

The only thing different about my FP from the one you see above is the saddle seat. Mine's black. It's quite booo, but none of the four shops I've visited stocks up the seat in brown. It's the traditional version, but what Singapore's selling is the enhanced version of the traditional one. So seats are black. Also, the lamp is an additional attachment, so while the guy is working in the workshop on my paddles and doing minor last-fixes before I bring it back home, I'm looking for a rattan basket. Either that or a silver metal one, similar to the one below. If I get a basket, I'll probably have to find some other place to attach the lamp to.


So here's where I need your help. If you know anywhere where I could find baskets like these. Well, the rattan ones are called wickers presumably, PLEASE I ENLIST YOUR HELP. Do tell me about it. Do probe your head into any bicycle shops / florists that you walk past and check it out for me. I can't thank you enough. After I've everything done, I'll be taking photos of my baby like the picture above. Totally cool. I'm thinking about a paint job as well. I'll leave that for next time.

Book-outs are rather erratic these couple of days, with the new cadets posted in in confinement period and such. I realized that being an officer means rather flexible schedule, so I have that free few-hours lapse of time in between daily activities sometimes, for me to make full use of instead of heading into Jumanji (inside joke). So well, all that free time spent in the office got me thinking. While most of the office would cab out of OCS and back in the morning, my current financial status beckons me to do otherwise. It's a full twenty to twenty-five minutes walk out to the MRT, so my legs are tired, my body is tired and my mind's tired. I end up staying in the empty office quite a lot of the time.

So, for the past day, I've been madly, excitedly researching up on bicycles. The original plan was a year in Tekong, so that wouldn't really require me a bike - till I ORD and head over to NTU, living in the hall residences but now that I'm (pretty much) stuck staying in OCS, it became totally necessary. So I've found a few interesting selections.

I'm still honing in onto a few brands, but right now it's all over my head. I'm heading out in half an hour to scout around bicycle shops all over Singapore to look for my little baby. Yes, I'm that committed. Give me a week and a half, you'll see me with a stylo bike I summpa.


Right now I've set my sights on Flying Pigeons, this China brand which has been around through more than 60 years. I know, I know what you must be thinking. China brand, probably going to fall apart into pieces within the first few rides. But no, I've researched up enough about it. It's strong, sturdy steel, originally created during the Cultural Revolution, popularized by the middle class Chinese workers when Liu Shaoqi (Chairman Mao's vice-president) dictated that the two-wheeled vehicle was the only state-approved form of transport. Some rich history there, yo! It was built to be durable, but the only problem is that while they manufactured the bicycle almost entirely in steel, it became extremely heavy. Well, and apparently so, I live in a HDB flat w/o a lift, on the third floor, so I'm going to have to reconsider it. Reviews never fail to highlight that it is a mighty-big hassle to lug it up staircases.

So, recently I've been helping lots of people. Thank you very much.

Nah, I'm kidding about my tone. But anyway, it's quite nice to be friendly to strangers and all instead of pulling a long face all the time. I'm quite chao-bin most of the time I'm alone and thinking deep thoughts, I think. I'm not extremely helpful as well. Nor gracious. I'm the kind who will give that over-the-shoulder glare when I see people squeezing into trains, or cutting lines going up the escalator. Oh, one thing I like to do - intentionally side-stepping and playing a quick blocking-game with those buggers who try to get into trains before anyone even got out. Usually balding old men who I like to tease and bully.

A week ago when I was at Fort Canning (yeah, like those lonely hearts who go to places to snap photographs alone) during one of those run-errands day, I pointed directions for these two Russian ladies who were trying to trek to Clarke Quay. Suggested them training from Dhoby Ghaut (since I was heading there as well) but well, they were all in summer singlets and all, so they insisted on finding a way there by foot. I merely pointed them the direction and gave them some pointers, so that's not much. But hey, I added "Have a nice trip in Singapore!" with a smile. At least got smile right? :) Today I brought two Indonesian old men from City Hall to Little India, and chatted lightly about NS and the nice places in Singapore. They wanted to get to Mustafa, so I actually suggested them Farrer Park (brought it up a couple of times) but I can understand how tourists are usually more guarded to suggestions, so I let them go when they wanted to alight at Little India. I did say the niceties before I bid them farewell as well. SO, YAY! Good traveler-karma points for when I head over to Europe huh?


And I've been making a few donations as well. That day I donated a few of my coins to those can-donation-thingum. Lost my vocabulary for that. Anyway that's not much, but uhm I think as I'm becoming more polite, I've lost the ability to reject people asking me for donations.

Today. Just an hour ago, this girl asked me for a donation outside NEX. Eyeliner, dyed hair, makes a pouty face and attempts to be as charming as Puss in Boots in Shrek when she tried to sell me this pair of earphones for charity. Charity my ass-kaban. Not that I'm being too quick to judge, but I can almost bet on it that she's a scam. Okay, so I'm judging. Totally judging. So she tries to explain to me that she's from this organization helping disabled children and all, inserts a few big-eyed pouts, do that thing when you make your voice close to a whimper and sobz sobz whatever. The organization name sounds somewhat like Make A Wish, just that they changed a word here and there or something but my memory really fails me. So she was selling those kind of disposable ear-pieces (you can find them on the market at $2) with strawberries on top, trying to get it for a price of $10. I couldn't stand her already, so I tried to do a polite 'no' and walk away, but she whined and begged me to stay. I exaggerate. But anyway, so I told her the truth - I've been making quite a few donations recently and my pocket's quite tight. So she replied, "oh, don't worry, you can donate small amounts as well". I brightened up. And then this was when I started to whole-heartedly (for the lack of better vocabulary) judge her. She said "you can just put it into the pocket in my bag, over here". FUCK. I mean, how can it be any more obvious? Totally untactful, totally direct. She might as well just say "oh yeah, I'm here to sell pity-sex (pardon my language), you can just slot it into my bra, over here". I questioned her and asked her for a receipt. For a proof of donation. She didn't have one, but in return, she typed in this website into her iPhone and scrolled through photos of donation-cheques made by "past donors". I don't even get her logic.

But by then I was pretty much "never mind, it's just two dollars" and slipped it into her bag pocket with a light chant of curses. HAHA no, I kid about the curses part. The funny thing was, the right side of my ear-piece had a sudden death right after I exited from NEX, right before she approached me. I mean, how much of a coincidence could that be huh? So for the fate - I let her earn that two dollars. I'm completely judging her, because the other person collecting such donations is this skinny Bieber-haired ah-beng. Sorry, was I ever a fan of "don't judge a book by its cover"? And then, for what the hell kind of reasons would an organization let loose its helpers to the streets without donation coupons / carbon-paper receipts? The girl is going to get her karma soooooooo bad I tell you!!!



Talking about all these donations. Let me end off with something meaningful. I enjoy seeing friends who are motivated help the society and do good. I'd always donate to these causes, no matter how poor I can get. Just saying. Not showing off. But I accept compliments. Thanks. HAHA nah, anyway yeah. Just like what I said about my friend, Chi Shun in a post the last time, now I've a friend Wei Liang, on this project titled Trek For Fund. My brain's ran out of ability to do summaries, so I'll just copy and paste their FB description down in the blockquote below, alright? You can click in the hyperlink to his name for his FB page to contact him for donations if you would like to. I only made a $10 donation, and I don't know how much traffic this can bring, but I do know that all the bored buggers who Google NS stuff might have a fairly decent chance of landing here since I'm so brutally honest about everything (gonna land me in shit soon or later man), and I hope you guys could really take a look at it, share it / like it if your pockets are tight. We all understand. Give a helping hand, feel motivated and inspired that you're part of it, yeah?

Hello friends. Thank you so much for visiting our page and supporting our initiative. Come May 2012, Surentheran, Siddiq Poh and Wei Liang will be embarking on a journey to raise funds for charity. We are aiming to raise money for charity by trekking to the Everest base camp with ZERO dollars in our pockets! We will start our climb without any money. Our aim is to spread awareness regarding our initiative and our charity beneficiary, and in so doing, we aim to collect donations along the way from fellow trekkers and climbers. Their donations will in turn provide for our daily lodging and sustenance as we trek towards the Everest base camp at the altitude of 5364m.

Of course, we are NOT going to use donors' money to fund our climb. We will match every dollar that we collected and used during the climb with a dollar from our own pockets after our journey ends and we will make this very clear to the potential donors there. This initiative is both risky and dangerous, as we have to balance the physical demands of trekking with our heavy loads while battling the merciless altitude, and the need to continuously raise funds all the way!

To continue reading and find out more about whom we are raising money for and how we are actually going to accomplish this venture, please take a look at our note which can be found on the main page. We have explained and elaborated in detail about our initiative within the note as well as how you can support us:) Thank you so much for taking the time to visit and explore our page.

Sometimes you forget that your friends are not always the ones who are the most fun to be with, the most outgoing ones; those you see at parties or cocktail events. You forget that they might be the ones who remind you about being down-to-earth, the ones who would correct your wrongs, be a wet-blanket when you do the crazy, thrilling things and have deeper conversations with, because they truly care about you.

As I tear down the photos from my wall one by one, before sergeant major's inspection tomorrow, memories start to flood in. Less of the memories related to the photos, but a lot of it about this place, these times. Sure, I would be staying on as an instructor in OCS. Have I told you? Yup, contrary to my one-year long dreams of heading back to BMT, I'm staying here in OCS. Lots of complaints about it, lots of disappointments - all the things I planned to do in BMT; digging shellscrapes with the recruits, inspiring them about NS life, helping them make the right choices after BMT, dashed. But no worries, I'm long past the disappointment, I think I do adapt pretty well. Next time though, when I walk through the corridors, I wouldn't be seeing the familiar, jovial faces of my platoon mates, but replaced by younger, unfamiliar looks. I hate endings.

Guess this is good time for my end-of-OCS speech, huh? More like a soliloquy, but well. Time to consolidate what I've learnt in this seven months as an OCS cadet, time to look back and reflect.

The first and most important thing I want to say is that I think I couldn't have had a better time in NS. OCS, infantry specifically, has formed so much memories in my head and heart, I would be a real senile old fella to forget about them in my silver years. To give advice to any junior now, I would strongly urge you to try and get to OCS. In BMT, I myself used to strongly detest and talk bad about those kids who wayang too much. SIT test was a complete wayang show though, I would agree. But as advice, I would say only this: work hard to get what you want, don't pay attention to those who don't understand. But of course, there's always an extent to all things. Overdoing the wayang would backfire, obviously. I mean, to be completely truthful about it, there's a way to be tactful about doing all those wayang jobs, isn't there? Not that I'm encouraging people to be cunning though, no. But honestly, OCS is really the best experience you could get out of NS. I've been to both SCS and OCS, so there's some reliability to that statement I just made. That said though, I think the right attitude always makes up for whatever short-fall anyone might have. Do your best, work your hardest, be truthful and earnest.

And I'm talking infantry. Many times throughout this past year I've thought about going the easy way out. Hoping for some vocation which didn't require so much manual labour / outfields (eg. artillery) or some posting which fighting equipments you use would be mostly... the computer. Keyboard battles, if you get what I mean. Looking back now, I at least daresay the commissioning infanteers in my batch feel a lot more pride and belonging than the artillery cadets. All those outfield missions where you stuck through the toughest tekans from your instructors with the muddied guys beside you didn't count for nothing. All the steps you took with your 'dead' buddy slung over your shoulders brings you all the more closer to each other. The times when you had to plan missions overnight with the few other appointment holders, outfield in the dark with two lantern lights, combat ration biscuits and lots of mosquitoes are etched in both of your memories. When joint term came and I saw that many of the artillery cadets who were with us in service term always joined in on our tables in the dining hall, I could see the stark difference.

As much as I hate to say it, but I did gain quite a lot in my NSF years. Afterall, it's two years of your prime dedicated to the nation. But to whine about it, sit there and look at it float by would be absolutely stupid. Someone once said that what you put in to these two years of NS is what you would get out of it. The tougher things get, the more you can gain out of them. Like how diamond is formed under all those decades of pressure. Am I right? Sorry, not too good with analogies. HAHA. 



And then all the tough times built you up. It's different for everybody, but as much as all of us hate the tough trainings, it always make you a better, stronger person. A personal experience was killing the quail. Much more than just helping me cope with my fear of furry animals, it taught me how strong the mind was. How, by simply being determined to commit a task could you overcome all those obstacles you never thought possible. It's much more than just those experiences on our chest. Those JCC and CSB badges, the markmenship or the IPPT Gold. They represent the struggles of getting something, attaining a benchmark, but yet can never summarize the OCS experience.

OCS was an experience I will never forget - both it's ups and downs. I'd hate to think about how I'm going to spend the next year in this same place, but without all my platoon mates around me.

A three hundred dollars fine for a lost SAW magazine in combat, on ・169 objective in Thailand. In the HQ discussion, it was either this or a 28 days RCP, or so they say. Thing is, it's already the 22th of March, more than a month after we returned from Thailand. Those 30-odd days they took to deliberate on what the charge is, and of course - the administration holdups. With the remaining 16 days to commissioning... well, not enough to charge a 28 days RCP is it? So they came to a conclusion of a fine of $300.

When I spoke to my Wing Commander about it, he was surprised I would rather 28 days of RCP than the fine. He thought the fine would be an easy way to close the case. Well, I guess he had my good intentions in mind, but for those who were in that round-table discussion about my charge, $300 probably wasn't anything much to them. It is for me. It's not that I'm having exceptional financial difficulties, but for a family income like mine which is probably now quite far behind the average in Singapore, it's pretty significant. Yes, I could spend a few hundreds on an iPod Touch or a Nook, for that matter, but they were well-thought out decisions and definitely worth the 'investment'. Right now, I'm supposed to pay a fine for a lost magazine during combat - and not a $10 replacement fee at that. A three hundred dollar fine.

Let's talk about the basis for punishments. Punishments are dealt out to wrong actions. Fines, specifically, mostly for actions committed on purpose, when you already knew you were in the wrong but still carried on anyway. Fines for littering, fines for parking without coupons, fines for vandalism, or more heinous crimes. A faulty weapon or magazine resulting in a loose holding of the magazine isn't my fault. The fact that I conducted an equipment check before the assault proved that I did my duty in trying to prevent the loss of equipments. Not being able to retrieve the magazine (after three separate searches) in the thick, thorny vegetation of Thailand merely shows that we're only human. My platoon stuck yellow duct tape on our magazines as a bit of a force-prep, to prevent such losses from happening. So how is it justifiable for a fine? One I couldn't really control, much less to say. Does it not fall under circumstance - to whom may be so unlucky to be holding on to that faulty weapon, to to lose the magazine in dense vegetation while bashing? So what are they encouraging? Soldiers who would tape up their magazines to their rifles? Tie up all loose parts around the rifle? Be afraid of 'bashing' through vegetation and charging up the knoll with all their might? Thinking "oh well, it's just training. I'll rather be safe, put in less effort into the firefight and instead be over-concerned about their safety, health and making sure their equipment are never damaged or lost for it might induce having to write lengthy statements or worse - fines?

Seeking a chance to represent my own opinions against the charge was a NO. My PC told me that to try and refute against the charge would be to blow things up, bring the case to the attention of a higher level of command, and would not only drag the case till after I commission, but possible resulting in a more severe charge, should I lose the case. I asked if there was some other form of punishment I could accept - extra duty etc, but was replied with a comparison to a court charge. "When the court sentences you to 10 years and 5 strokes of the cane, can you say that you want instead, a 20 strokes of the cane?" It shut me up for a moment, but then I realise that even the prosecuted could at least be part of the entire court session. His voice was heard, opinions taken into consideration and everything was pretty much transparent. Unlike what happens in my situation.

I'll be honest. These are the only two paragraphs I would be putting up, but when I wrote this note on my foolscap pad on the day it happened, the content was a lot more... hateful than this. Well, it's been more than a week since that happened. A week since I accepted my charge dutifully. A week filled with engagements with senior officers for me to think about the entire situation, in different perspectives. The one time I was in HQ working on Echo Wing's Commissioning Magazine, I had a chat with Chief Instructor for close to an hour, talking about all the complaints the cadets in our batch had about the system, about the commanders. I didn't mention my charge, but I did get an indirect answer. That would be for some other time, but I'm thankful for not making any rash decisions. The passage below was a paragraph in my written entry. I'm posting it down because I do still think that the cause for violent emotions still stand; but now I've learnt to take a step back and think for others. I've learnt to control my emotions and manage them well. Disclaimer though: when emotions are high, words are strong. By re-posting them right now does not mean that I still mean what I wrote previously.

If they are encouraging soldiers to be more careful, to put things like equipment care in front of fighting spirit on the field, I'll jolly well do that. If you'd have to care more about yourself and less about the company mission objective, I'll do that. If you have to do things which are going-through-motion like secure your magazine to your rifle, taping up the smaller rifle parts, maybe even zipping up all other controlled-equipments in a zip-lock placed safely, deep inside the full pack, I might just be crazy enough to encourage it in future. After all, what does the organization see? They don't see your efforts in the firefight. They don't see the weekends you commit to doing NS-related work. They see your flaws, the see you making mistakes, they see how you damage / lose fighting equipments which belong to them and they punish you for them.

Well, in the next few days, I might be posting quite a lot. Because I'm finally done with the Comms Ball Magazine (which I sent for printing just this afternoon) and so now I'll finally have time to clear up my mind for other things. The past two weeks have been crazy. Working every free minute of my time in bunk on the magazine. Latest I slept was 3.30AM on Monday. Now, I can truly enjoy joint-term. I plan to spend the next week in camp reflecting on what I want out of the next year of my time in NS. My year-long goal of heading back to BMT to inspire recruits, guide them to make the right choices for command preference and to help them appreciate and understand this two years of service was disrupted when my PC informed me that I'll be staying in OCS as an instructor instead. I was rather distraught at first, but thinking about it long and hard through Friday's got me much more ready to embrace it.

Went for a jog with Taoyee at 10.15pm today after we booked-out at night for the off-in-lieu from all the weekend trainings we've had. It was more like chatting though, jogging and chatting throughout the jog. I like to have deeper conversations. Ran through a few places like the AMK drive-through Mcdonalds which brings back lots of memories. After more than two hours, headed off from Taoyee and went to the usual prata place for some supper before I turn in to bed. What was unexpected was just two minutes after I made my order and sat down, mum appeared in front of me in her PJs. A split second of thinking that they were here to have supper, then it got replaced with realizing the truth. They came out looking for me. I don't bring my phone out to jogs, but never did I realized that they didn't expect a long jog. Couldn't have imagined if I arrived at the prata house five minutes later. They'd probably be driving around Serangoon, frantically searching. I didn't expect it. It shouldn't have happened this way. Well, thought about it and realized after that that our parents always see us as small kids in their hearts, no matter how old we are and how much we've grown. Always the same tiny concerns, the same naggy reminders and the same embarrassing actions, but only because they care. Felt like I've let them down a bit, making them panic at home and even having to drive out to look for me. Must have been quite a scare - always happens when you've watched too many dramas and soap operas, then the images of accidents keep flashing in your head.

Anyway, a few days ago a bunch of Russians requested to follow me on Twitter simultaneously. Weird.

emails: chew.bolong.2009@vjc.sg (main) / bolong02@hotmail.com (dominated by junk mail)
facebook: http://www.facebook.com/bolong
mobile phone: yeah you wish.