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| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Monday, March 28, 2005, 12:25:00 AM | permalink |
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My youngest brother (Anthony, 20 - 4 - 4 = 12 years old) is a big chubby one. (he ain't heavy, he's my brudder.) So its not strange that the sizes he wear are equally large. I can fit into his t-shirts. Unfortunately, so can my mom. When I went to the kitchen to brew some Milo, my eyes were seared blind when she walked past wearing Anthony's blue Tech Deck shirt. " W T F ?!" "What? It fits what." "Wahlaoeh mother. That shirt is so lame that even Anthony doesn't touch it anymore. Sibeh paiseh leh. Very "chao ah beng" man." Maybe this her first step towards lian-hood. Who knows? In a few months I might see her downstairs smoking Mar-bo-ro with people still in their school uniforms. Later, they will go to arcade & after that at night go Canto cheong techno. PS: Yes, I know I'm an evil evil son. |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Sunday, March 27, 2005, 3:52:00 PM | permalink |
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Here's my contribution to the sexblogger viral meme. Sorry for the stupidity. I plead sudden insanity.
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Saturday, March 26, 2005, 1:46:00 AM | permalink |
It started off with this picture.. of Xiaxue (SG-blogger- Somehow along the way, with the help of some people, things got out of hand-                     .. as seen from above. Ladies & gentlemen, meet the 'sexyblogger' viral meme. All I can say is I've laughed so hard the last few hours that my abs hurt (bad), and that I really really want a digicam of my own now. * Go read Xiaxue's + Mr. Miyagi's + Mr. Brown's blogs for more info. |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Friday, March 25, 2005, 2:01:00 AM | permalink |
 Quoted from AFUA's site: Where: Fort Canning GreenSounds good ;) |
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What a great site
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- by comrade 
@ times 12:47 AM, November 26, 2006
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This is very interesting site... » » »
- by comrade @ times 5:47 AM, April 24, 2007
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Sunday, March 20, 2005, 3:42:00 PM | permalink |
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Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction no way based on actual events. Any resemblance to real people, living and dead, is entirely coincidental. It was a whirlwind of a relationship. Did I swept her off my feet, or did she turned me off mine? The last few months have been insanely incredible. Or incredibly insane. Started as friends, then close ones, then mutual infatuation, then passion, then ardent devotion, all within a matter of weeks. Once we caught each other's attention, everything fell into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. We dreamt of spending hours just looking into each others' eyes- and when our busy schedules allow, we actually do that. She is smart, independent, and so hawt. And I just love the way we sound together when we sing. 9:30 on a Tuesday night. We drove down town with Bon Jovi on the stereo, windows down, high with the wind in our hair and the love that we had. The hard draft that blew in from the acceleration drowned out her voice. But I saw her, in the deafening guffaws of gust, her mad laughter causing her to tilt her head back in exhiliration. The way the wind flickered her shoulder-length hair about like bedazzling serpents, the way the streetlamps we tore past created pulsating tones of light that ricoheted off the tattoos on her skin, she was at once exotic and erotic.. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I was intoxicated in love. And in a matter of split seconds, I pictured living out my future with her. It was perfect. I loved her so much, I was willing to take care of her & her family. In my perfect image, we made such an adorable couple. In heady impulsiveness, I made the decision. I asked her the question. "WHAT?" "WILL YOU MARRY ME!" I shouted above the din. Next day, adrenaline and alcohol gone, euphoria remaining, we sat together, heart pounding with excitement, her hand in mine. We filled out the application. The lady who processed it for us could barely contain herself, trying her best to be professional. She asked if she could have our autographs for her sister after we paid for our application through credit card. Shit, I mouthed out by accident. I only brought NETS. She flicked out her credit card without batting an eyelid, and then turned to me with that reassuring yet sultry smile. I almost melted. (I paid her back in cash later though.) A photographer appeared from out of the blue. We recomposed ourselves, and smiled like the stars we are. I saw that photo afew days later, me, with my signature cheeky smile, with my lips slightly twisted in an impish manner (the fans love it), and her, the desirous expression gone. What she looked like was complete fulfilment, beaming with a glow of utter bliss. I had to leave soon after that for a recording session, we held each others' hands for awhile more before we said our hurried goodbyes. That night, I returned home to sober clarity. I slumped into my sofa, heavy with realisation, and faced myself. What have I got myself into? I wasn't ready for this. I comtemplated the the situation's seriousness. I made the decision - Better a "Sorry" now than several months down the road and everyone's sorry. Although my choice has since earned me alot of hatemail, plus plenty of flames on net forums, I don't regret it. I called her and told her. The usually quick-witted her did not come up with a smart retort; there was silence on the other end for forever seconds. Finally she muttered something about us maybe being like one of those Shakespearean tragedy couples. I wasn't sure what to say and agreed. The hurricane romance had died down to a overwhelming stillness, and perpetual silence followed. We eventually said bye. |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Friday, March 18, 2005, 1:25:00 AM | permalink |
 I saw them tore up the tombs today.The bus 13 I was on went past the now defunct Bidadari Cemetery. Under calm blue skies with a couple of clouds idling by, I look out the window to see excavators track about deliberately, raising their hoes every now & then to stab the soil, intent on combing & extracting any remaining reminders of the un-living. The search efforts' progress was indicated nearby, by the heaps of broken tombstone slabs piled up like cards, ready to be shuffled, crushed, dealt out- to be recycled for reuse? OK, that's a possibility I can be persuaded to accept. A question for the superstitious though. What IS your home made out from? But perhaps being jaded is the best attitude to have towards the pragmatic solution chosen to meet Singapore's land development needs. Be practical. Intangible things like nostalgia & respect don't fit into the equation. + Recommended for further info: A pictoral feature of the Bidadari Christian Cemetery by Jehpin Liew |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Wednesday, March 16, 2005, 3:18:00 AM | permalink |
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[ warning! geektalk ahead. ] + Made changes to the way the comments work + Changed monthly archives from hyperlinks to a menu bar + Hyperlinks on mini-misedu no longer open new pages. (now you have to manually right-click & Open in New Window) + Shifted the CSS from inside the template onto a separate file (no visible changes. the blog may load slightly faster though) + Switched tagboard host from tag-board (ughslowunreliablemofo) to Edd. (much much faster) Thanks man. + Added "audio propaganda" - features music that I find good. |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Sunday, March 13, 2005, 2:53:00 PM | permalink |
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UPDATE (14-03-2005): btw, Edmund, Pearl - in case you guys dunno yet, photos of Electrico's gig @ Rouge on 11-02-2005 are up @ www.livejournal.com/users/prizetarts/1306.html & retardsmiley.multiply.com/photos/album/16 --- Boon, Edmund, Jamie, Pearl & me were at Cineleisure to support Electrico's gig.   [ warning! crazy shit ahead. ]   Just FYI, Electrico's website's @ www.electricomusic.com |
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- by comrade @ times 8:39 PM, March 03, 2007
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Saturday, March 12, 2005, 9:35:00 PM | permalink |
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(12-03-2005, 11:50am) I, *NRIC Number*, Private Thomas Tan! Right master hand! No sweaty palms! Requesting permission to enter the throwing bay SIR! [ Permission granted, I walk into the bay, stands beside the supervising officer. ] "Ok, prepare grena-" PREPARE GRENADE! SafetyRingTwistSafetyRingPullSafetyPinOUT- Grenade prepared & ready to throw SIR! ... ... "Oei. Private. Give me the safety pin lah kotek." ... Huh? ... OH. Sorry sir. "Throw grenade!" [ I do. ] G R E N A D E !!! [ ducks in double speed like there's no tomorrow ] One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousa- (The grenade detonates, causing a shockwave to sweep through the air, the force of the impact goes right through the thick protective concrete of the throwing bay. A nailed plank of wood, on the other side where I was taking cover, is forced by the concussion to slap against the concrete a few minimetres, enough to send the thin layer of fine dirt on the floor up into a cloud of dust. Finally, the wave passes through me, & my chest becomes a human bass drum. I became aware of the air shifting in my lungs when it sounded a 'thud'. All these occured within a 1-2 sec timeframe.) BOOOM!~ [ I recover & stand to observe the smouldering spot where the grenade landed. ] Wahlaoeh! KNN! That was SHIOK! |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Friday, March 11, 2005, 5:14:00 PM | permalink |
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I mentioned some time ago that I tried really hard to make a good literary decision unguided by any outside recommendation. 12 days later, with the benefit of hindsight, I realised that I've semi-failed in that goal. The book I bought at Kino that day was J. G. Ballard's "Crash". I guess I should have had a premonition when I noted that the main reason that I had the paperback in my hands & standing in the long queue to pay was due to the eye-catching cover design of a bright red crashed car. * Warning! Clueless Reader Alert! * I'm not saying that the novel is utterly horrid. Its highly acclaimed apparently, (not sure why, but at least after finishing I can brag to my peers about how elite I am to read a classic) the writing's good & the book offers fresh, interesting ideas. (eg, "the transformation of human psychology by modern technology") Yea, so far the reading experience offered by Crash has been satisfactory. I guess the real reason why I'm unhappy with my choice is mainly personal: All the books in Kino & I had the dumb luck to pick out the book often cited by literary critics as a good example of being a predecessor of Chuck Palahniuk's "Fight Club". (Hence the reason why Chuck Palahniuk is bestowed the description of being "Ballardesque") Similarities: Both books have plenty of screwed up characters, with bizarre habits, dysfunctional lifestyles & crackpot philosophies. In fact, Crash is a 1960s-1960s British version of Fight Club, but less on up-close-&-physical-violence, severe overdosage on the gratuitous sex. Give. Me. A. Reality. Break. At the moment, the only reason I'm carrying on is because I'm curious about the ending. (Yes, so it killed the cat.) --- On a brighter note, Jeiel heard |
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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ 1:17:00 AM | permalink |
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A few months ago, I sat at the kitchen table. In anticipation or apprehension? I still don't know now. I watch her at the stove, whipping up a spell. A dash of ingredients here, stir a little there.. Boil, boil, toil & trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. I catch a whiff of the brew. Oooh. And with a flourish, she turns around to look at her A satisfied chersire cat smile on her face, a dangerous glint in her eyes. I thought I saw a flicker of flame in there for a moment.. Or was it a reflection from the cooking fire? Her expression reminds me of one I imagine myself would have when I'm enjoying the adrenaline rush from a great rock climbing session, after a heavy gym workout, or some hi-risk-can-almost-getting-myself-killed activity. I guess her's was a culinary high. It is ready! Mel took a step back, to find relief away from the heat, & to observe her creation.. And she saw that it was good. In a position of privilege rather than out of some deserved right, I am served the meal. I look at the platter, take a spoonful of it to my mouth. A cautionary bite, I paused a moment to allow my taste buds to thoroughly soak up the flavour, explore & report back to brain HQ. Palability confirmed, I devoured everything like a starved war refugee. I enjoyed the dinner extremely, not because it was some exclusive 5-star restaurant course that provided a heavenly out-of-body experience. I don't know to put it into words effectively: I guess by satisfying my basic need of hunger, my appreciation is for her is like that of the provided for the provider. I also appreciated the time, effort & detail involved in the process. The warm feeling I feel afterwards is more than just due to the piping hot makan. Its true what they say: The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. A hint to all men: this applies vice versa too. |
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If we come back to Freud's theory of you-only-want-to-fuck-your-momma, the saying "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach" starts to make sense. After all, our mothers have cooked meals for us since we were young. Which leads to an interesting question: what about the current generation where mothers are more detached from their children now. Will the way to a mans heart be through buying him a Happy Meal from McDonalds?
On a more serious note, cooking a meal whether the girl cooks or the guy cooks is a show of love. Great pains are taken when you cook and it is really quite a sensual act (not in the sexual meaning). The smell, the tastes even how the food looks. Cooking is sensual. Eating also fulfills a basic human need as a base survival instinct. Feeding someone is a way to show the person that you care for them. It's like sex (another survival instinct) but less messier and more tastier. :P
Another way of looking at it is playing house. She's the mother. You're the father. "Cook my meal, ****!". I may just go to hell for this, or at least get attacked by a rabid pack of feminists. I'm not quite sure which is worse.
- by comrade 
Jeiel Aranal @ times 4:03 AM, March 11, 2005
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Maybe you get double-billing: "Jeiel & Attack of the Killer Feminists in Hell"
- by comrade Thomas @ times 4:37 AM, March 11, 2005
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- by comrade @ times 6:16 PM, February 21, 2007
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...| 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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...| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Saturday, March 05, 2005, 6:26:00 PM | permalink |
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PS: I did N O T write this. Credits goes to "Keirin 'Kit' Chen" for this really good article. The original can be found here. (I did not ask for permission. Please don't kill/sue me. o_o ) Some changes have been made. This article is meant as a general guide, not as a reflection of my own personal BMT experience. ---- I would now like to take this time to explain a few things about the army, things that some of you would probably like to know in the event that you are going to the army for a number of reasons, not having a choice being one of them. I realise that this guide isn't a super comprehensive guide, and it's not even really edited or anything. I don't have all that much time, after all. I hope to write a few things not even to let people know what it's like to be in the army. For that, you should join the army and experience it yourself. I just would like to tell people a few things about what goes on inside, and how it works, and hopefully dispense a few humourous anecdotes along the way. Generally, just an entertaining read based on army related things, like a guide for confused people. In addition, I must point out that this refers to Singapore's army, so your army somewhere else in the world might be a little different. So here we go. First of all, the army isn't as bad as they say it is. Depending on your vocation, it can be either really slack, or really shag. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Slack: Term used in the Singaporean army to denote when things are in a 'slack off' mode. EG: A day with minimal exercise, or strenous activities. Don't expect to find many of these. Shag: Term used to describe activities or days which take up a lot of energy. EG: "Wah! Today damn shag siah!" Trans: "Wow, today's really tiring" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In any case, the first month has been an eye opener for me, fitting into the new lifestyle wasn't the hard part, but there's always the conundrum of movement. There are only 2 forms of movement in the army. 1. Don't move 2. Move really really fast If for some reason your movement falls between these two ends of the spectrum, you can expect to knock it down, or earn yourself many rewards for repeat offenders. Such rewards include area cleaning, or wall support. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Knock It Down: This is what instructors use when they want you to get on the floor, raise your butt into the air, and ask for permission to start having sex with the ground. Yes, push ups. The universal punishment. You get it for everything, including digging your nose in file, or calling the Sgt's mom a right bastard. File: Things we fall into. Files are numerous rows of three, the standard arrangement that everyone must line up in and remain in while doing most travelling and headcounting activities. Area Cleaning: Everyone is assigned an area of their company building to clean. Be it your bunk, the toilets, the offices, or the ground outside the building, such as corridors, pavements, or even the basketball court. Basketball court: Not a basketball court. A sorry excuse for a basketball court. Wall Support: The inability not to move in file occurs in two manners, either general movement, such as nose picking, butt picking, scratching, talking or whatever, or leaning on things. The first will result in knocking it down 20. The second, however, results in an imaginative punishment in which the recruit found leaning will have to push as hard as he can on the item he was leaning on, (let's say for this example it was a wall) and scream to everyone, "HELP! THE WALL IS FALLING!" in a vaguely comical manner until told to stop, which could be minutes or half hours later. If, of course, the recruit was found to be leaning on anything else, the word will be replaced. Up to date I have heard "Help, the wall is falling!", "Help, the exercise machine is falling!", "Help, the door is falling!", but I have yet to hear, "Help, my training instructor is falling" or anything of the sort. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Everything is done together as a platoon, or as a section. Fewer things are done on company level, but it is not an inoccurance. Everything else is also done a certain way. We have to eat together. We must march from point to point; no casual walking is allowed unless you're on attend. There is something called the 'buddy system'. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Platoons, sections, and companies: In Singapore there are many Schools of training. BMTC, which stands for Basic Military Training Centre School, is divided into 2 schools, which is housed on Pulau Tekong (Poo-lao ter-kong) which is an island off the coast of Singapore's mainland. It's a Malaysian name meaning Tekong Island. I don't know what Tekong means, although I speculate it could mean something like "Stress" or "Stomach Ulcer". Within each school, there are many companies, all labelled from A - Z accordingly. There are approximately 200 recruits per company. Each company owns their own building, which contains 5 floors of pain, 4 of them being bunks and the ground level being the offices. In each company there are 4 platoons. Each platoon takes a floor. Each platoon contains 50 recruits, and is further broken up into sections. Each floor has 4 sections, of about 12 - 13 recruits each, and each section has a room on that floor. More about Tekong: Being an island broken off from the mainland, it's pretty much got its own water and electrical system. Only phonelines are connected to Singapore itself. Upon arriving, you will experience what is known as the Tekong Cough, which is caused by drinking what is essentially very dirty water treated with too much chlorine. This of course, causes everyone to get sick. In addition, Tekong is the only military camp, which is notorious for being haunted and having the rudest military personnel ever. Every sentence is basically laced with a number of creative swear words, even when they're not scolding you. It is said that you can't go to Tekong and come out and NOT learn how to swear. Of course, there are other camps on the mainland. It's only Tekong. About the haunting, there are numerous graveyards all over Tekong. Many bunks in the school are haunted thusly, and there are countless stories about incidents, most of which involve deaths related to vivisection and the removal of intestines and the like. It doesn't make it easier to sleep at night, but of course, some people see things and some people don't. The forests in Tekong are especially haunted. To get here, we have to take a ferry from one of the military docks in Mainland Singapore. It's a tedious, tiring procedure, but hey. You gotta do what you gotta do. Attend: There are three classifications of attend; A, B, and C. Basically when you are ill, you go to the medical center to get manhandled by the Medical Officers(MOs). These people hate you. They are the first doctors I've met whom seek out to prove that you are not 'chao keng'ing in the worst way ever. They will check to see if you have a broken leg by trying to bend it in the wrong direction. When you do fall ill and decide to see them, you will be given a status. Depending on your status, you will do one of many things. Attend A means you're pretty much fine, but have to take meds. Attend B means no heavy duties; no training, no exercise. Attend C means you get to go home and rest there. Chao Keng: A Chinese term referring to an action, or someone, related to skiving. People who do not like to do anything and just sit around and sleep or talk on the phone while others are cleaning are 'Chao Keng'. Faking an illness is 'Chao Keng'. We would all love to do it, but sometimes we don't have a choice. Buddy System: Your buddy is the most important person in the world. You must take care of them, when you do any of your practices, you have to do it with them. Therefore, you must get along with your buddy no matter what. You must never let them out of your sight. If your buddy does something stupid or wrong, both of you will get punished, so it's important to take care of him and vice versa. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the first month, we haven't been doing anything much except exercising, trying to beef ourselves up and lose weight in general. We have had slow jogs, gym workouts, aerobics, pool activities and such, all headed by a nice person we come to know as a PTI. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- PTI: A PTI is a Physical Training Instructor; someone whose sole purpose of being in the school is to make OUR lives miserable and painful in the form of physical activities. These people are usually very hard to please, and they require you to shout really loud and move really fast. Faliure to do so will require you to do the exercise switch routine, which is a favourite of PTIs. This dandy routine is basically where they ask you to get into position for a certain exercise, and then make you change to another exercise because you moved too slowly to get into position, and then change again because you were too slow for THAT position, etc... until for the next 20 minutes or so you're switching between a prone position for pushups to a on the back, legs-in-the-air position for crunches, or an on-the-spot jog for jumping jacks over and over and over until you hear the magic words, "Have you all waken up your idea yet?!" which is when you know the actual exercises are going to begin. It's all very tiring. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Besides exercises, we have to do other things such as drills, route marches, and (for the first month anyway) Rifle training and camo outfields. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drill: Drills are where you fall in in your files in a special way, and you march around the parade square executing fancy ass things with precision timing. Well, that's what they want us to do anyway. In the end we all just look like confused buffalos trying to squash invisible cockroaches with our boots. It doesn't help that the instructions aren't in English either, (They're in Malay) so many of us get more confused. And let's got go into rifle clearning drills either, cause they're evil. If we don't do them well, we get to knock it down, as usual. Drills also refer to the course of action and procedures you have to take in many different occurances. Just last Thursday we had a 'Hornet Drill', in which they taught us what to do in event of a hornet attack. (Run.) Route Marches: Route Marches are just where you have to carry around your FBO everywhere and generally get tired on extremely long walks through haunted forests. the first one is 3 kilometers. The last one, before our POP, is 24 kilometers. The rest vary inbetween. FBO: Full Battle Order. Basically, when they tell you to wear your full battle order, you have to carry your full backpack, your webbing, your helmet and your rifle, altogether weighing about 8 zillion tons. "Webbing" : Something that you stick around your waist. It carries rifle equipment like extra magazines and cleaning kits. It's inconvinient. POP: Passing-Out Parade. The final parade that you do before you are FREE! FREE FROM THE PAINS OF BASIC TRAINING! Something we all want, but never have early enough. Haunted Forests: Tekong is a hazardous place. Despite the fact that the whole island was originally used as a friggin' gravesite for victims of the Japanese Invasion, the forests are haunted with many, many spirits. All of our bunks have blessed badges hanging above the doors to ward off spirits, and even then, many people hear things at night. Especially Thursday nights, which are said to be the height of supernatural activities. Besides ghosts, the forest also houses snakes, 20 foot pythons, wild boars, poisonous spiders, scorpions and hornets. Thursday Nights: Extremely haunted nights. It is true that on Thursdays, around 2 am, Children's laughter can be heard in my bunk, or so one of my bunkmates recollects. Another one claimed to see a dog walking inside the room at night as well. I was fortunately deep asleep on both nights. In addition, the lights in my bunk always trip off every few minutes or so, on Thursday nights, although I have yet to see actual signs of supernatural activity personally. My friends all call me crazy, really. My bunk is the one next to the window, the forest literally a stone's throw away from it. Sometimes I sit and stare into it, thinking about things. My friends tell me I'm just inviting the spirits to come and disturb me. Hasn't happened yet. Rifle Training: Generally we get to do fun things with the rifle such as learn how to shoot and kill fake enemies, and disassemble them and clean them, and drills in the event of something that goes wrong. I personally despise cleaning the damn thing. The rifle we use is the M16S1 rifle, an old piece of junk that is older than I am, literally. They, however, are being replaced by the new SAR21, which is cooler. I guess. I wouldn't know. Rifles are basically the most evil things on earth, because they can get you in the most trouble. Misfiring at a range or dropping it earns you great rewards, like guard duty and confinement. Losing it gets you DB. A favourite occurance of the sergeants, and this has actually happened to me, is for them to go around during company level outfields and STEAL people's rifles and magazines if you don't take care of them properly. Then of course, all those people who lost things will get into a lot of trouble. Fun. Guard Duty: Where you must walk with one friend of yours around the whole school to protect it against whatever. This usually takes place in the wee hours, and yes, you are required to go very close to the border of said haunted forests. It's a punishment. It ends around 2 or 3 am usually. Confinement: Where you're not allowed to go home during the weekend for a number of reasons, punishment being the most common. This explains why sometimes you can never be sure when you will return home. The most probable cause of confinement is due to a bad Stand-by bed or Stand-by Area check. Stand By Bed/Area: Stand-bys are basically where you have to clean every single damn thing until it's spotless, which is pretty much an impossibility. Everything has to be neat, clean, arranged nicely, and placed in special ways. Stand-by areas are for the whole room, where they check for dirt in the most unlikely places, (on the fans, under beds, in the corner of your foot cabinet, that wooden thing above the doorframe, etc.) and stand-by beds are like the areas, except they check your cupboard too. They pretty much try to find any small tiny thing to 'tekan' you, like (real examples) your shoelaces not tied, your toothpaste still in the box, your spoon placed upside down, and your sleeves not folded properly. Of course, it's very annoying, because we will never get it right, and we will always end up either knocking or getting confined. I'm just glad for now it's just knocking. 'Tekan': Malay word used when someone does a bad thing to you or punishes you for little or no reason. If they HAVE a reason, it's 'discipline'. DB: Detention Barracks. Do not go here. Never go here. This is jail, army style. Where you sleep in an empty room with a few other men who hate you, and every day you do sandbag PT (Physical Training) Which means carrying sandbags and running forever around the DB courtyard. The worst punishment ever. It also goes on file, so people will know you're a troublemaker forever. Outfield: This is pretty fun! We go into the haunted forests, and have a few hours of training. For the first time, I had camo training, which required us to paint our faces with green and black and also stick leaves and crap into our webbings and helmets. This is so that the enemy will think you're some sort of human shaped bush holding a rifle, and not a real soldier. |
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That's a great story. Waiting for more. » » »
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- by comrade @ times 3:52 PM, April 26, 2007
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experiences at re-SIT test -or- "how i became a lawyer for 3 days" |
| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Friday, March 04, 2005, 12:17:00 PM | permalink |
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SIT Test (SITuational Test) - An aptitude test conducted to determine whether a recruit is suitable for future leadership roles by observing his performance (physical fitness, mental dexterity, calmness, amiablity) when in stressful situations. During the SIT Test, a group (known as a detail) consisting of 12-15 men will simulated a self-contained combat group, with people assigned to various tasks, eg. MINE sweeper, DEMOlitions, MEDic, & so on. The group will confront various situations, & in between these situations, tired out by a combination of marching, running & other untold forms of suffering. --- Due to my illness at the time, I missed my own company's SIT Test & so have to attend a 2 day 3 night re-SIT Test camp (28 Feb - 2 Mar). I had mixed feelings as I reached the gathering point for the re-SIT testees. Various factors contributed to a more pessimistic outlook through the day: 1. Only me & another guy from my company were participating in the re-SIT test. 2 vs. 136+ others from other companies = we are a very small minority = not good. 2. I was assigned the job of a LAW gunner. (or a "law-yer", as my mates would joke) My LAW weighs 6.3kg, which means an additional 6.3kg to lug around on top of my 6.3kg rifle, helmet, & equipment. OK, stop. Breathe. Relax. Think good thoughts. --- During the pre-test briefing session, a helicopter landed nearby, signaling a HELIVAC. (evacuating by HELIcopter) This is a bad thing. A HELIVAC here signifies that a casualty's situation is extreme to the point that even the fairly well-equipped Pulau Tekong Medical Centre is unable to respond effectively to it, hence requiring immediate evacuation to another facility that is able to cope. Everything seemed to pause as the metal blades of this angel of ill-omen touched down. Recruits held their breath, eyes intent on the scene. Sergeants & officers who normally have an air of jaded indifference about them rush forward to get a better view. We all know that something terrible has happened, & no one wishes the same on themselves or their fellow comrades, but in a spirit of morbid spectatorship, everyone is compelled to look. A burdened silence is maintained in the air, broken afew minutes later by the chopper's ascendence taking the stricken away from this hell. That experience sort of coloured my mood for the remainder of the day. --- Day 2, 1pm+, out in the SIT test area. I laid down deluges of super-ego macho talk in my head to quench my exhaustion & the heat of the 32ºC+ afternoon sun. In this mood of self-imposed high, I sometimes found myself in a sort of euphoria, exhorting fellow group mates to march/run/struggle on, even carrying some of their items for them. Vinayak was our group's SIGnaler, in charge of maintaining constant radio contact with the main base. They say that being a SIG is 1 of the easiest jobs in SIT test. NOT when your comm set is faulty. In spite of being utterly frustrated with this recurring problem throughout the test, losing his cool with the set, & sweating from the stress, the heat, the pressure from the supervising sergeant, Vin didn't lose it with us. I respect how even amidst his difficulties, he offered to help carry our MED's stretcher when the guy was tired out. I respect the obese members of our group. They become incoherent at times, the strenuous activities & the heat taking a greater toll on their bodies than the rest of us. Their weight creates additional problems for us when we face situations requiring lifting of people. They run as fast as we brisk walk. But they give all that they've got. When they finally give up, it is due to the fact that although the spirit is willing, but their flesh sets limits. What I don't respect is when GX, a healthy young male, carrying no additional equipment during the test, stops running when the least bit of sweating occurs, & complains incessantly. ("So hot!" "Running so tiring") I lost it with him one time when he refused to cooperate with the team. "But you are fit what" he protests, "Of course you can manage mah." To which I cheerfully reply, "FUCK YOU lah, its all in your head. Push yourself harder." How can you feel light when all you have in your mind are deadweights? --- Day 3, 3+am, sleeping in tent shared with another buddy. *tap* *tap* *tap tap* I wake to the sound of baby steps of light rain on my tent cover. "Crap." 5-10 mins later, the drizzle stops, as if the water baby has return to his stratospheric mother. Phew, back to sleep. Then, I heard the sound of hard rain on the stony track near our campsite. In the darkness of the early morning, this sounded like some large beast trampling angrily. As I listened, the angered beast moved ever closer. Shitpleasedon'tlettherainhitusIdon'twantmyunderwearwet- *GUSH* ARGH. Water was everywhere. Now fully conscious, we pushed against the groundsheet tent cover over our heads, weighed down by the collecting water, desperate to get it to run off the side. That didn't stop water from flowing through the apparently only partly waterproof groundsheet down our arms, from seeping into the tent from the waterlogged ground outside. Its only due to the ebbing sleep chemicals still in us that prevents us from cursing out loud in the dark. Already at this point an assortment of expletives echo out from the surrounding tents, words mouthed in frustration, or maybe they were meant as the ingredients of some spell that would miraculously stop the rain. Maybe I was still impaired by the melatonin in my head, but I thought that chanting "kanina! fucking hell! shit! chaocheebye!" was not the most effective thing to do at that point. Daybreak. My buddy & me survey the damage. Interrupted sleep, check. soaked field packs, check. My corner of the tent slightly flooded with water, check. Not that bad really, when you consider that some of the others had their tents collapse during the deluge, or that some of the tents in pools of 2-3cm of muddy water. --- During SIT test, we learn that s Instructor: Alright. Guys, you have 35mins to carry out your current mission before enemy forces reach your position & overwhelm you. Carry on. [ Everyone starts working on the task. Good progress is made, everything seems to go according to plan. We should complete the task within 30mins ] (10 mins later ) Instructor: Gentlemen! HQ updates you that the enemy has quicken his pace & will reach you in 5mins! Us: W T F ! [ Pandamonium. In the chaos & fluster that ensues, we succeed in thoroughly failing our objective in the allocated --- Overall, re-SIT test was quite fun. Looking back, it was great experience. In retrospect, even the bad ones can now be laughed off. |
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- by comrade @ times 7:32 AM, March 05, 2007
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