| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Wednesday, March 09, 2005, 9:06:00 PM | permalink |
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A Basic Military Course that lasts only 9 weeks is too damn short. To become properly trained. Build strong friendships. Or serious enmities. Maybe its a good thing after all. We finally POP'ed today. (09-03-2005 woohoo!) 1 of my platoon section mates, Ping 'King' Ling, & me, took the same MRT train together back home. What begun as small talk to pass time grew into comprehensive discussion on the highlights & low points of our last 9 weeks in BMT. Which sergeants were the best/worst, who chao keng'ed /garang the most, who we respect, who we don't, what we felt about our performance during BMT, (both accomplishments & regrets) how cohesive was our platoon & various sections as a whole. I realised as we talked, that we never had the time to really sit down & talk about what's on our minds, to get to know pur mates as human beings, beyond being just physical training buddies, comrades suffering together from tekan sessions, similar minions in a faceless crowd doing robotic footdrill, together digging shitholes, helping each other with camo paint & powder baths. Its a great pity that we been through all this together, but we have barely known each other. Like some kind of marriage of convenience in mass. --- Boxers are better than Briefs. Except for long distance route marches. Abrasions. BAD. --- A Pegasus is a white, winged horse. - what I thought. No! A Pegasus is a black stallion, macho one! The mane.. the hair lah, gold one. Eyes, burning red! Then ah, the wings right, made of stainless steel, sharp like razor blades likedat, cuts through anything. Then this Pegasus breathes fire & spits acid. You know how anot? It drinks the Whiskeys & then spit fire! Then the acid is used to dissolve the Scorpions like insects! *add evil laugh here* Understand anot recruit? - Platoon Sergeant Ben. Yes, Platoon Sergeant. --- How bad can a military system get? Imagine: 2nd last week. An entire afternoon free, as most of the training & lessons have already been completed at this point. We looked forward to a promised & well-deserved break. The sergeants could: Let us be -or- take us for a canteen break (buy tons of junk food) & an e-mart break, (replace or get much needed army-related items) both of which requires more effort from the sergeants due to a need to supervise us. What we got: A grand exercise outdoors lasting 4 hours in which all we did was to take out & put back items needed for outfield into our field packs. At one point, the galling feeling of grudgery faded away, & I could visualised our entire company as a professional symphonic orchestra performing a repetoire, conducted by the sergeant sitting on a bench with a swift hand here & there. Each player was aware of his role & feverishly hit away. I got so used to the routine that at 1 point I multi-tasked, hands in fluid motion while whistling a tune. Too much whistling, lips dry. I took a drink from my bottle. *poof*, suddenly I'm back in the shit going through pack-&-repack-&-pack-again hell, orchestra & instruments gone. I realise that the heat & sun must have gone to my head & caused my little Beethoven delirium. 4 hours+ wasted like that, opportunities for leisure & rest burnt. All we had from this experience is the awe & grudging respect from recruits from other companies. One guy from Raven company came up to me & said, "Wah, even our sadistic sergeant saw you guys & exclaimed that 'THAT is sick man!'" I wish I felt some pride, pleasure, or reassurance from this affirmation of our hardcore-ness, but at that point I couldn't even force a smile. Damn, our sergeants lazy mofos. --- Field camp taught me that you want to pee, go to the peeing point. There lah cock, its marked by the white tape tied to 2 trees. No white tape? Then just go to any trees/bush quite far away. You want to shit, just dig a hole in the ground. Toilet training occurs usually when a child is 2-3, & usually stays with him for the rest of his life. Thanks army life, screwed that right up. --- How can grown-up men, strong, fast & powerful, be so scared of ghosts & the unknown? One night, I told my bunkmates afew ghost stories another army friend told me, & added afew made up tales of my own. Its easy really, set up a conducive background (dark, in the jungle, empty bunk/corridor), add an oriental element (pontianak, old grandma, devil child, etc), & make sure its plausible. Voila, instant fear fest. All the same, most of the bunch were scared out of their wits by these apocryphal/fake tales. One guy whom I thought seemed hardcore & invincible during the day had to wake up his scrawny buddy to accompany him to the loo at 3am. If the big bad pontianak really wanted you in her evil clutches, a whole lot of good would a mortal companion be. "Yay, now I got my buddy to accompany me in my supernatural abduction experience!" |
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- by comrade 
@ times 6:58 AM, February 03, 2007
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