Distorted nine

Distorted nine

To my 3SG buddy - a warrior till the very end. Your aunty will be proud. 

So initially I wanted to title this piece "To bleed, to dwell, to overwhelm", a parody of OCS' more righteous beliefs and an entendre surfacing the somewhat... mangled perception of the military institution - a vessel trapped voyaging a marinade of murky waters and gloomy overcasts, ferrying rather controversial characters. But then I realised the finality and rigour of such words lay waste to the school's efforts, its symbolism and ultimately the journey towards officership.  

To proclaim the institution thrives on a flawed system does have its merits, but it will be fundamentally unjust to the frankly quite amazing things the curriculum has for us young adults. Trained proficient in an arsenal of weapon types, cadets litter the battlefield with mangled target boards during live shooting exercises, and fill the jungles with rhythmic gunshots mimicking our adrenalized heartbeats as we desire mission success.  

From our Combat Skills Badge, a symbol of infantry which encompasses a multitude of pre-requisites leading up to a 16km overnight tactical march, to becoming the very backbone of the wing when donning appointment ranks, these opportunities surface the true colors of the nation's next generation of leaders. It is then, with much disappointment, a shame that some canvases are tainted by shades of impenetrable umbrae, a void that engulfs and overshadows the bright positive hues that most are radiating through good efforts, basic courtesy and genuine interest. 

Such atrocities often find their spineless puppets basking in the vainglory whenever an audience is present, whether under the pale moonlight of alienated jungle terrain or formed up in the all too familiar parade square. An ironically linear relationship between standards crippled and days past conjured up in the cohort, with cadets making an absolute fool of themselves by barking senseless comments, exhibiting uncourteous values and boasting a stark lack of basic discipline.  

It was a rather...juxtaposing endeavor with 125/21.

On one end of the 38 week spectrum I have forged countless of unforgettable memories in the flames of outfield hardships and admin laughter. To the unsung heroes slaving tirelessly in wingline stores and the cookhouse, we are extremely appreciative for your hard work and commitment to meet our training requirements. I thank my patient and relentless instructors for guiding me these 9 months, always willing to lend aid when we continue to struggle grasping even the most fundamental concepts. 

To my respective platoons in Tango and Alpha, words are incapable of expressing how grateful I am to have worked with every single one of you. Although my controversial methods have most definitely conjured up much disagreement and aggravated relationships, thank you for choosing to believe in my ideas and supporting me when faced with adversities. I have become a better individual because of each of you, and I truly hope that I have left even a morsel of positive impact in your OCS journey. 

But as I sit at the grandstand overlooking the now nostalgic SAFTI Parade Square and tap into my rich cerebral bank to reminisce a tsunami of fond memories, my mind questions how some are able to stand proud on comissioning day knowing the deliberate agony they have subjected others to. How have so many fallen through the cracks of this pristine façade that only recruit specimens of a certain quality? How is it that we continue to lose controlled equipment without a crumb of remorse, or squawk obnoxious remarks in a pathetic attempt to draw pitiful laughter from their feeble peers? Embarrassing animals. 

And I owe it to these creatures, for now I have grasped the entirety of it. I have visioned the sheer backwardness of this military school, and realised that those shackled by chains of conscription are reduced to nothing but numbers on a spreadsheet. Voiceless figures that are silenced upon giving feedback, or reprimanded when we adopt "Non-SAF" practices although they yield far more efficient and effective results. From controversial cadet rankings to appointment opportunities given, an unconscious popularity contest seeps into the very veins of this institution with pre-determined soldiers already superior than others in the clouded judgement of authority. 

The truth is, carrying back-breaking loads and walking seemingly endless distances under the starless embrace of night with exhaustion and sweat marinated into our uniforms seems almost trivial when pitched against the toughest obstacle in OCS - incompetence, coupled with the blatant lack of minimal standards. From failing to lead by example to exhibiting primitive, monkey-like behavior the leadership school is honestly comparable to that of a public zoo on occasion. 

This ebbing and flowing of emotions has left me desolated, and towards the end I was but a hollow husk drifting across an ocean thriving with possibilites, only to be disheartened as I look up to the overcast of melancholy clouds and oncoming storms of dismay. A let down that I thank for the timesless memories made, but my grattitude appears to end there. For it is just not worth it. 

For we will remain as the unwilling, trained by the unqualified, doing the unecessary for the ungrateful. 

- 2LT Molly