In Continuum.

Oh, and so it began, all over again. I had my very first (hopefully last) mob briefing yesterday at Pasir Ris Camp. As if Pasir Ris isn't already remote enough, Pasir Ris Camp is located in the middle of nowhere of the middle of nowhere - the absolute depth of nothingness. Sean and I happened to be going to the same briefing, and the two of us appeared in school in our army uniforms, or our clown outfit since everybody treated us like some circus attraction. That explains the series of pictures below with different classmates of mine taking pictures with me. Anyway, the rain was merciless on the tiny island in the afternoon, and the image of two army boys standing in the bus stop with meat buns in their hands was worthy of a trashy Korean drama. The bus ride seemed like a flash as compared to the train ride afterwards. No one with a sane mind should consider taking the MRT from Dover to Pasir Ris alone. Even with Sean next to me, our conversations only lasted until Bedok when our attention span gave in to exhaustion. It was tiring to just sit there and watch the scenery go by, and it wasn't helped by the fact that we were going into the depths of nothingness either. 

Before we go there, I had to prepare my uniform and boots on the previous night. From the depths of my home's storeroom, I had to dig out my old uniform that smelled strange, and my boots that smelled stranger. It wasn't a bad stench, but just the smell you get when you stuff something into a closet for way too long. Then I had to find my shoe polish in the shoe cabinet, and the polishing routine began all over again - oh, the good old days of shoe polishing. It used to be one of my favorite past times in the army, to polish my shoes and attempt to turn it into a mirror. I've never succeeded, but the attempt is always where the fun part is. Anyway, I ran my fingers over the old scars on the boots and the ones on my army pants, holes torn out by barbwires and grease stains that can no longer be washed off. For some reason, I remember how I got every single scar on the boots, and how I got those holes in my pants as well. I was caught in a barbwire once while trying to keep them out in the fields. I got cut in my hands a couple of times as well, and those were pretty nasty cuts right there. They also tore a chunk off the bottom of my boots, which has been worn and smoothened out by all the marching and all the running. Yeah, all my battle scars, I remember each and every one of them like a war veteran telling a story next to a fireplace. I suppose in a country like Singapore, this is as close as you get. 

The train ride took forever, and the cab drivers had no idea where Pasir Ris Camp is, save for one. We traveled through a familiar estate, through a strange industrial park and into rows and rows of pet farms before we were face to face with the camp in the middle of nowhere. Sean and I waited outside the gates before we entered, had our bodies searched according to routine, and the emptiness of the camp was a little eerie. Dead leaves rolled across the empty streets, the old tank sat in front of the headquarters, all dusty and rusted. People trickled into the venue bit by bit, and we gathered in a courtyard before we had our ICs scanned and processed. I vaguely remember a similar lecture theater when we entered it, though I think it was a different one in another camp. Then again, in the army, everything is supposed to look somewhat familiar, especially with everybody dressed in the same dreadful color combination. We took our seats in the lecture theater and found some friends along the way. We met Nicholas, with whom I have talked for just once before when I was still in Keat Hong Camp. I talked to him when he was a road marshall of some kind, and we happened to be station at the same junction when we started our small talk. Then there was Benjamin Peh, my current schoolmate. 

The master warrant came in and started giving us the briefing, and the details shall be left out of this blog entry. But let's just say that it was some of the most boring lectures I have ever had. With his horrible English, it was difficult to sit through the already boring content of the lecture, since we have already been through a similar one almost two years ago. I started tearing things off the foldable table and then throwing them on the ground. I picked up the pieces and then broke them into smaller halves, and did the same thing until I couldn't break them into smaller pieces anymore. The lecture lasted for the longest time, and all the memories of the army came flooding back. It is nice to talk about the army with friends, you know? It is fun to hear what others went through, and at the same time share with everybody else what you went through. All these different stories make up the army experience, I feel, something that makes it so special in my life. It was dreadful, but everything just becomes that more beautiful in retrospect, somehow. To have even more obligations after my two year term, however, isn't something I enjoy very much. Anyway, we won't go into that, because this entry isn't about that. 

I saw a few familiar faces, though I forgot their names. I think the long-haired guy that sat behind me is called Aaron, though I am not sure. We acknowledged each other, though we never spoke, and then there was that Indian guy from platoon six, who didn't see me at all when he came into the lecture theater, late. I zoned out for the most part, though there were a lot of important information. I hated the fact that I was in the same stupid uniform, in a stupid military camp, in a stupid lecture theater in the middle of nowhere. It felt like I was back in the army, going through the motion, following the orders, fearing for what could happen if I do this or didn't do that. That is how the army works anyway, a lot of it has to do with threats and fears. They tell you stories of what people tried to do in the past, just so that you'd not do them yourself because "it could happen to you". Oh, it was an uncomfortable and boring afternoon for me, but at least it ended way before it was supposed to. I was being told that it'd last from 1 to 5, but it ended just a quarter after 3, which was great. I expected a walkabout in the empty camp, and perhaps grab a few snacks from the canteen. But the camp was completely void of life, save for the bunch of us in the camp, and I wondered if it was a place where dreams go to die. 

We hitched a rid in Ben's car to Whitesands, and from there we revisited the places that I used to visit during my BMT days. The McDonald's where I went to with a couple of friends after my very first outfield exercise, where were gorged ourselves with the special Chinese New Year burgers and a whole lot of junk food we owed to ourselves. The Swensens was still there, though the Coffee Bean isn't around any longer, where they sold the chocolate cookie that kept me warm on the ferry to Tekong one lonely Sunday night. The bus interchange was still there, and I pictured myself standing in the ranks of a bunch of other young soldiers, bald and frightful of the coming darkness. I dreaded that place, and I'd be there at 7:40 in the evening even Sunday night, just to make it onto the chartered bus, the ferry, and then the long march to camp. It brought back some good memories, but mostly bad memories. Sean and I left the place, and I took a cab home from there where I met Neptina. We had our dinner at Borsch, a cheap western food restaurant in Serangoon Gardens. The steak was OK, but the soup was heavenly. 

I suppose battle scars go deeper than the scars found on the skin. I have a few scars left from the army all around my body. The scars around my arms left behind by some mysterious bugs, the scar at the bottom of my right thumb where a branch lodged itself into my flesh, the scar on my chin where a rifle fell on it one night and caused blood to flow like a stream, and my busted knees which hurt every time it rains. More than those, are the scars on my boots, the holes in my pants, and all those memories that I still hold of the island, the jungles, the swamps, the bugs, everything. They, too, have left a mark in my life that no cream or ointments are going to erase anytime soon. Perhaps with old age, or if I happen to have some kind of serious head trauma (knock on wood). I do hate the army right now, I really do. But it's different from the one I went through two years ago, you know? It just feels different, no matter how much they try to convince you that it is your job or responsibility after you have finished your term. It really isn't, which makes it feel so much different from then because, back then it was all you knew. Your life was the army, and the army was your life. Right now, I have so many other things to think about, so much so that the army has become somewhat of a dread, something which I find myself quailing from. I do miss those days, when things were about getting up in the morning and getting your job done. It was simple, and I liked it.