Cover and conscription

Cover and conscription 

I never understood the significance of National Service. The thought of the island landing itself in the ravishing embrace of war always seemed...improbable. Singapore's healthy diplomatic relationships coupled with her neutrality on global conflicts highlights our benevolence and impartial intellection, even if it means hosting two politically-challenged idiots in 2018. And with a laughable combat-ready population on hand, one cannot help but ponder the tangible (if any) impact that our soldiers will leave in battle when deployed against geographic titans that will unmistakably desolate native soldiers, polluting the motherland with rivers of kiasu-infused bloodshed. 

Although I disagree with erecting an insurmountable fence of conscription to protect local livestock from being butchered by war-driven juggernauts, it is apparent that passing such a controversial law is the only way to formulate an appropriate threat deterrent, a seemingly effective equation accumulating decades-worth of holistic security. That said it may be the very oppressiveness nature of conscription that makes Singapore's military, in my opinion, under-appreciated and ill-portrayed relative to other armies. Take the Ah Boys to Men franchise for example; instead of using cinema to acknowledge and educate on the tremendous work executed by our tri-force, the witless series was birthed already reeking of partial inaccuracies and ignorance. 

A missed opportunity driven by un-camouflaged green. 

Nevertheless, NS will always remain a piece of ill-defined symbolism, either celebrated as an official rite of passage towards manhood or condemned as a symbol of time perished. Receiving the enlistment letter felt like an obligated invitation into a throbbing womb of regimentation and days lost, a slithering mentality unleashed upon donning the pixelated uniform. Charon was timely with his service, carrying terrified recruits across great waves of anxiety and menacing waters. The murder of crows flourishing Tekong was almost poetic; omens of death, yes, but the decay of what exactly? A plethora of aspects come to mind -  time, relationships and mental well-being, to name a few.

Heading into the Basic Military Training phase of my 2 year journey left me shackled with personal insecurities manifested from countless tales spanning generations, and I knew that my accustomed lifestyle will soon fade away. But despite the impending, I kept an open mind and let the flurry of emotions paint my blank cerebral canvas. 

Looking back, it was a bittersweet experience. 

From the perpetual downpours bucketing down on filthy soldiers during our very first outfield to the hazy, carbon-infused atmosphere that suffocated all who went for the Basic Train-fire Package, BMT was nothing short of enriching experiences scattered with triumph and failure. People often lament of this phase's simplicity, a confusing statement because I had immense difficulty adapting to Tekong life, tormented by rigid discipline and crammed training schedules.

Seriously, waking up at the crack of dawn to recite a patriotic pledge and gulp down half a liter of water does little to benefit anyone. Our days mostly consisted of military lessons which encompassed an array of technical subjects ranging from weapon handling to battle procedures, as well as PT sessions which I thoroughly enjoyed. Outfield was...okay for me. I had little trouble adjusting to it given my past experience in Scouts, and found the trainings to be really refreshing given the change in scenery. That said, I am convinced that heat rash should only be reserved for sinners condemned to hellish eternity. 

My section was perhaps the most notorious one in Raven given our boisterousness and sheer volume, and although we were constantly reprimanded, it symbolized an unbreakable camaraderie that will unite us for years to come. But a ripple formed and good things fell apart, with tensions aggravating when I had a fallout ignited from differing disciplinary standards. A rash decision fueled by rage, I danced recklessly and shattered their trust. I was brimmed with anger, and disappointment clouded my judgement. I despised their concept of brotherhood, and felt that the existing punishment was unjustifiable to their actions. 

It was selfish, but deemed necessary. 

An untainted portrait now lays before me as I step into cadetship, and I am determined to populate this fresh chapter with meaningful anecdotes and brighter sentiments, eradicating past mistakes in the process. It has been an arduous path, with SAFTI trainings easily being tenfold of what was introduced in Tekong. Physically draining and mentally exhausting, the claustrophobic womb continues to strangle officers to be, and my motivation has been dipping on occasion. 

Even so, I adored my role as the CW2, and will be forever grateful to everyone that believed in my ideas and leadership style. The position allowed to forge connections across sections and even the wing, making sweat dripped and sleepless nights a worthy exchange. My platoon has been an absolute pleasure to train alongside, with their cheerful antics and sporadic arguments strengthening an already alienated environment packed with laborious outfield exercises and equally tiresome lessons. 

National Service lies embedded in areas of infinite grey, so it is important to remain liberated from self-doubts and prejudice. The buddies you meet are those that will see you till the end; trust them, and be respectful to their ideas. Form healthy relationships built on trust, and be sensitive when dealing with conflicts. Be humble, and do not forget where you came from. Never forget your roots, and your beliefs. 

Then, and only then, will you lead the way. 

- OCT Molly