In Continuum.

So, as I was saying, the preparation is the toughest part of everything. Once you are dumped out into the jungle, the first thing they are gonna ask you to do would be to dig a shell scrape in the deployed area. A shell scrape really is a shallow grave in the ground to prevent you from being hit by stray bullets or bits and pieces of exploded shells nearby. Of course, nobody ever gives a shit about digging those holes in the ground, I haven't dug a standard shell scrape ever since the first time I did it - and that spent an entire day. I remember that time out in the rubber plantation when we started our first dig of the shell scrape and the fire trench, probably the most punishment I ever gave to my bare hands. We were encouraged to wear gloves while digging those holes, but the soggy mud and the sweat really got in the way of my digging, which was why I chose to take them off while trying to dig the trench which was supposed to be as deep as my chest. It took the section forever, and I remember the abrasion on my palms, the dead skin that formed on the tips of my fingers, and not to mention the blood stains on the handle of the shovel. 

That day was as tough as it got, and it was made worse when the sergeants didn't allow us to take off our equipments while digging those trenches. So we had to wear our helments, carry our guns and the S.B.O., and then dig our way downwards into the ground to defend ourselves against invisible enemies in the jungle. Our trench wasn't positioned well, and I remember digging into an underground water well or something, and water flooded into our hole that ran all the way up to our thighs. If there is a thing that is worse than digging trenches, it was the wet socks that we had to endure for the rest of the night. Somebody from somewhere caught a wild bore that night, one of them accidentally fell into the trenches and was almost slaughtered for supper until the sergeants set it free into the bushes. But I remember the squealing of the wild bore while it struggled inside that hole, with hungry human eyes staring down from above with those sharpened tree branches and forks. I was lying in the shell scrape that I dug in the morning then, a little past midnight and trying to fall asleep in the middle of a graveyard. Our encampment used to be a graveyard before, a couple of tombstones were dug up in the morning along with old vases and boots. I felt somewhat like the wild bore, trapped in a hole that was about to be my last resting place. Preparation sucks, I thought to myself. All I wanted was for the nightmare to end.

Battle stations are up right now, examinations are around the corner. Just a week from now, I'd probably be tasting the sweetness of freedom on my tongue, sucking in the scent in the air and then rolling about on the bed of the newfound liberty completely naked. OK, maybe not the last bit there, but you know what I mean. Soon enough, this semester is going to end and I am going to be scott-free all over again. It is only the third semester, but I am already starting to feel the pinch from this life of mine. Memorizing work after memorizing work, I'd be better off if they'd just give me a test paper full of math problem sums to do. They call me a science student now, something which I would have considered as quite an insult in the past. But I guess when I have such a puny cerebral capacity, it is only fitting to brandish me with that name. Anyway, this is the final hurdle, the final week, and everybody is sweating in their pants. In this moment in time, I am glad that I am not an accounting student, especially after seeing their textbook this after with my two eyes. They are thick enough to sink Singapore if dropped from the tallest hotel, and they were supposed to stuff all those information into their heads! There is something really warped here, seriously.

Without that textbook from hell, our materials are still quite a heavy load. Everybody is staying back in school, burning the midnight oil, consuming ridiculous amount of coffee and tea and being reckless about their health just because they want to score that decent grade. Grades don't usually matter to me all that much, but the same cannot be said when a lot of things are at stake. My mother pointed out her observations this morning while giving me a ride to school, saying that she hasn't seen me so hardworking in her life. It is sad to say that achievements are hardly the reason behind all this motivation, but a vast cloud of fear looming in the back of my head. I've just been hiding it very well behind this posh new hairstyle of mine, distracting everybody from the fact that I have been dripping cold sweat and secretly wiping them off with the back of my hand. I still have a shot at things, at least that is what I'd like to believe. I know I can pull a miracle off, and this time it seems much closer than ever before.

I cannot believe that ever since my dinnertime, I have been burying my head in notes and the pages of my UGC textbook, with pictures of dead people looking blankly at me. It is bad enough that the world history isn't the most cheerful topic around, the author of the textbook cannot be bothered to find more interesting pictures. Right now, chapter 24 of the textbook at page 587 has a picture of a white man posing next to a truck with two other well-suited oriental looking men, with a driver sticking his head out of the window while trying to look smart and heroic. The reason: because the truck is loaded with a whole truckload of pineapples, and the people in the picture can't even smile at the camera, or give a hint of satisfaction or happiness. People in the past just weren't very cheery people I suppose, so much for the pineapples.

So the battle stations are set up, a few hundred students are going to compete over a span of three days next week to make the best out of what they have studied in the past few weeks. I have no idea how I am going to be feeling a week from now, sitting in the same chair and typing in the same editing box of my blog - which by the way has changed its name because the last one sucked. I dreamed of scoring for my UGC, but that's always not a good thing since dreams are always the opposite of reality, and I do have a deep-seeded fear of that subject for some reason. While I am here right now, a dozen other people are probably mugging away and trying to stuff as much information into their heads and to make them stay in their skulls by stuffing corks into their ears. Whatever preparations you might have elected, this is the final hurdle and I guess the best thing to do now is to go through it together. 

It is somewhat like the period of time before you begin your game of Battleships, when you start to place your plastic ships onto different squares on your side of the board. You strategize and you try to arrange them in a way so that your opponent is not going to torpedo your ships easily. I do hope that I am going to finish this week and the next, much like the way I climbed out from the shell scrape in the morning and covered it back up with the soil I dug up the previous day. I'd very much like to be set free into the bushes like the wild boar in the previous night, to be set free and not put on the dining table all sliced up and diced. Even if I am going to be coated in mud, I am still going to put up a fight - at least I have to, anyway.