In Continuum.

The beauty of an ordinary Saturday morning was punctured by a phone call from a guy whose name I didn't catch, and a phone reception so bad that I heard his voice only in blurry breaks. I caught my name in the midst of the auditory chaos, the word "mobilized", the word "four hours", and the words "by three". That was more than enough for me to jump out of my bed and curse at the heavens for a couple of times - although it isn't directly responsible for the ruining of that beautiful weekend morning. I made a few phone calls afterwards, to Kenneth from camp and Jonathan, then to a few other platoon mates that didn't pick up the phone for whatever reasons. Anyway, so the first thing that I did was to dash into the storeroom to dig out the old uniforms I tucked away in a giant plastic bag, thinking at that time that I wouldn't be needing those repulsive wardrobe and equipments any longer. I ended up in my old bedroom rolling up the sleeves of my old uniform and then talking to Kenneth on the phone at the very same time. I've grown rusty at rolling those sleeves, I used to be able to do it real quick. Standing in front of the mirror, I could hardly recognize myself, dressed up all in green and like the old self back in the army - with longer hair and more worry. 

Then it was the equipments I had to worry about. From underneath the layers of dust, I managed to drag out the old duffle bag and the bag of clothes, then I started ticking off the items that I managed to salvage from the wreckage that laid out before my eyes. Two sets of uniforms, two sets of underwear, two sets of green socks, PT shoes, slippers, soap, shaving kit, boot laces, batteries, torch, toiletries, and a whole lot of other useless things in our day to day standards. My helmet, despite the perfume and the entire week of sunning when I passed out from the army, still smelled like toes and rotten apples. I started thinking about all the times I spent wearing that helmet, sleeping on the helmet, sitting on the helmet, being hit by the helmet, and that other time when I risked my life retrieving the helmet when it rolled off my head and down the side of a cliff. Those were the days, I thought, days that I didn't necessary want to relive all over again. But there I was, stuffing everything into my bag and trying to talk to Kenneth on the phone all over again. Apparently he checked with the superiors, and they said that I didn't need to go back. He checked again and he said the same thing, which caused me to fall into this dilemma. 

So this is what happened. There was a mystery man A that called mystery man B, and this mystery man B was the one that woke me up in the morning. Since Kenneth told me that I didn't need to go back, I called mystery man B, who directed me to mystery man A, who happens to be my secondary school classmate Jonathan Chia - what are the odds? On one hand, I could have spent a hell lot of money on cab fare just to travel to this camp in Pasir Ris that is in the middle of nowhere. You can literally see Johor from that camp, at least that is what my friend said, and the closest bus stop is three kilometers away. The thought of forking out the cab fare itself is staggering, not to mention the fact that I would have been forking out the cab fare with all the bulky equipments. On the other hand, I could have just ignored the whole mobilization and then just sleep the rest of the morning away. Of course, that'd also entail an AWOL slapped on my ass, as if the whole misunderstanding of not turning up in camp on Monday because of my deferment wasn't enough. Apparently, the records in camp wasn't updated, and everybody in camp thought I fled my duties or something like that. I received a couple of phone calls on Monday alone telling me that I was about to be charged as AWOL, and their excitement was dwindled after I told them about my deferment success. Insert a loud "Aw" here. 

Therefore, I chose the second option. I chose not to go back to camp and see what happens from then on, and it was a little foolish to be walking around the house in my army uniform for the entire morning just waiting for things to happen. In the end, the uniform became stifling and the socks were prickly for some reason. I ended up telling the boys in camp that I wasn't going back, and they could bring my ass to court for all I cared. OK, I didn't say that, but that would have been pretty cool to say. I told them that I wasn't going back, and that was the end of the phone conversation. Still, I was pretty frustrated the whole morning after being toyed around like that. I had to go back, I didn't have to go back, I had to go back again, then I didn't have to go back again. The equipments went in and out of the bag several times that it brought back memories of the past that involved a certain officer and the entire company packing and unpacking in the pouring rain. This is a perfect example of how bad the system is really, the way that information can never be passed down without it being distorted or just completely lost. Don't ever play the game of Chinese Whispers with anybody from the army, you are going to lose very badly. 

Just imagine a war happening tomorrow, operation Shock and Awe from Malaysia. A bunch of men in military uniforms panic, and then they start making different phone calls to a thousand other servicemen out there. Some are telling people to come back while others are saying maybe you should just stay at home and pray for your life. I remember making a pact with my friends back in those days while we were all trapped in the vehicle because of heavy rain. We started talking about the possibility of an actual war occurring, and what we would do when it happens. We managed to tell Martin, our driver, to turn back and then drive us all home in the M-113. The fact is that we'd much rather die with our loved ones at home, than in the dirt trying to kill our enemies. They say that the Malaysian army can be easily trumped by ours, but then I am sure just blowing a few wires in the power stations would be enough to immobilize the entire Singaporean army. Anyway, that is probably what is going to happen anyway, and it doesn't matter if we are going to be prosecuted when the war ends. Family first, family always first. 

So yes, all the monkey business in the measure of a Saturday morning. It sure wasn't fun, but then I realized that I really missed the life in the army, and the friends that I made in there. It is true that life really sucked in there, but then it sucked so bad that it became good, especially with all the people around you taking in the same bullshit on a daily basis. None of the politics, just a bunch of guys in the same building, trying to get through this ordeal together. A part of me wanted to meet them, in fact the most part of me wanted to. But then a military camp is not like a shopping mall, you don't walk in just because you want to meet a friend or two. That's not how it works anyway, especially not these days. Still, I miss those days, whatever "those days" really means.