| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Saturday, April 16, 2005, 9:38:00 PM | permalink |
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Year 2003, Sunday. In the lull after a Sunday of Kidz Church, Gilbert (long time church buddy of mine) & me chatted while leisurely packing up stuff about the place. At the time, Gilbert had just been enlisted for a few weeks, & I was still a civilian student. So while I was excited to have my brudder back again to catch up on things, I was also eager to know more about army life. He was glad to be out of camp too, carpe diem'ing, laughing, and telling me about the things in army that the Recruitment posters don't say anything about. So we talked about these topics guytalk-style, hands animated like marionettes. "Seow eh! Zunboh?" " Zun lah!" "Wahlaueh.. Suay man." "Yah lah.. Kan na~" "REALLY?! They do that in there ?!?!" The chatter carried on in this casual manner until when we were carrying huge stacks of chairs to set up for a later meeting among the Kidz Church team. He held the burden for the distance, let it down and then turned to me, smile gone and looked at me in the eye for a full second in silence, dead serious. "Remember to pray for me bro." I recalled thinking that his expression was like those that you see on the faces on the condemned in those historical war photos, affixed piercingly on their executioners, captured forever as a recurring image. Taken aback, my reflex response was to try and lighten the situation with a chuckle and a "Of course lah!" As quickly as the tension appeared it also dispersed - Gilbert broke his severe look and laughed boisterously. For a long time, I didn't know what caused that situation. Where did the severity come from? God knows Gilbert's needs right? (everyone's too actually) So I wasn't really sure why I had to be involved in the prayer/intercession process. During my last weekend book out, I travelled around Singapore. I looked at the passerbys on walkways, the anonymous beautiful people at Orchard Road, the line up of unknowns seated across from me in MRT carriages. I felt blue, depressed, feeling that they didn't care, were not concerned. PAUSE. Why should they care? Eh hello, Thomas, they are s-t-r-a-n-g-e-r-s. Yah lah. I know. So why did I feel that way? Then a realisation hits me. I have had no role/involvement/effect on 'outside' society for all of a week. But they, 'incredulously' moved on anyways, irregardless of my participation! They do not need me, I do not exist. Its hard to explain the exact rational behind what I felt. I can only make tell you that my depression stemmed not from the innocent faceless crowd, but from my inner sense of isolation and detachment. I think this was also Gilbert's reason too, for that awkward situation of a prayer request back in 2003, for reasons not religious or Christian, but to satisfy that emotional emptiness inside - The need to be in the memory of another person. The unknown soldiers who vandalise outfield shelters with their rank and name whereever possible. (30*something*th, *something* course, PTE/LCP/CPL/3SGT/etc etc *some name*, *some date in the past* was here.) The prisoner in his dark cell, peering out to the source of the lone light shining in from the unreachable sun faraway outside. The new overseas student in alien lands. The elderly man at the old folks' home, or the long-term stay patient awake at midnight, looking at that corridor or door for that visitor who will arrive soon, but never does, for everlong. In their different situations they all have the same fear - That apart from everyone's memories, they drift off into the void of non-existence. Like that unobserved tree fallen in the deepest of depths, identity denied. Now I know. Now I know that I read to escape into other realms. I write to be read, to live, breathe, move through the thoughts of others. Why every chance I get during my weekends I'm out instead of being at home. (Sorry mom, I know I should) To catch the eyes of an infinite number of eyes, shake the hands of another casual acquaintance. Hi. Friend of so-and-sos? I see. Nice to see you. I exist as a shadow of myself fleetingly beyond myself, beyond the constraint of my physical body which has to book in again on Sunday, taking my mind and soul back to alienation again. Don't forget, remember me. But You never did. Thanks. Give me strength, Amen. |
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