Half green

 Half green

The soldier embarks on his final voyage across bittersweet waters to the island of origin. Initial dread has transformed his mind numb, and any previous anticipation of the military now ceases to exist. The waves, once ebbing with gusto has now turned weak, as if they too grew weary from delivering reluctant souls to their conscription. Only the crows remain frantic, drowning the already discouraged atmosphere with squawks of mockery as they prey, famished, on the regimented.

The concept of operations is fairly simple - to deliver a positive and memorable experience. These glorified letters scream reassurance to parents and their anxious children, and yet it seems the rancid stench of rigidity suffocates the wrong audience of Tekong's bright vision. 

Sleepless commanders tether themselves to outdated systems after nightfall, fighting fatigue to submit unimportant results on an overly zealous, ambiguous system. Ceaseless conducts and unreasonable expectations are hearty staples conjured unwittingly by the few (maybe more) ignorant military regulars that still cling on, hoping that this notorious career dumping ground would somehow boost their vocational standing. Albeit a rather silly notion, for minutes are wasted discussing whether certain songs should be played during graduation parades and yet deserving, cyclical promotional certificates are somehow unobtainable within a few months. 

Perhaps the shackles chaining me to School 4 headquarters has narrowed my vision. A bitter frog trapped in an administrative well. Vision possibly clouded from marinating in unsanitary waters polluted with inefficient practices imposed and oblivious expectations. Speaking on behalf of all HQ personnel, we are the accused messengers. The few who defy the old adage. It is almost amusing how the incompetence and incapability of regulars and NSFs somehow becomes our responsibility, as with faulty equipment. The blameless turned blameful in an evasive organization. 

But enough victimizing here, for the cold embrace of enlistment has molded me into something bitter. My mental forecast turned dull, and the dead of frigid military swallowed the once warm skies that ignited my drive to make change, darkening the bright horizon to unlight. But while the army has rendered me an irritable beast, I would like to believe my blood runs red with purposeful intentions. The rather hollow argument of "I'm just an NSF" wafts through the vulgar air, like a living, cowardly entity, and finds itself piercing the souls of responsibility and decency. 

It sickens me when people fail to hit basic expectations. I understand that this soldierly chapter is not a career for most, but aren't we not then accountable for our appointments? The bedrock of this entire organization is built on people, generations of ambitious ideas and the conscripted beings that manifest them. And yet, years of advancement seems to have miraculously dragged our defense force backwards, with disappointing threads woven carelessly into the fabric of our army. That said, it seems I like my conflicts extra hostile for my attempts, granted controversial, to purge this senseless mindset often breeds defiance and condemnation. 

Ultimately, while we are all voyaging in the same ark it does not grant me the liberty to play Noah. I totally understand that, but I do feel a great shame for these obnoxious individuals with their degraded nature and ruined intellects to go...unmarked. The only verdict then is vengeance, for I have grown weary of voiceless promises from faceless identities. 

I didn't choose to be dragged into a staff role and fight battles with the obstructive green masses that wander the island aimlessly. I didn't choose to babysit commanders with no sense of duty, and no passion to nurture. An uncompromising rabbit hole was dug for me, and I fell deep into it, then deeper. Every step forged a memory, and every word an echo. To let these moments go would be a waste, and as grateful as I am, even the most bittersweet of adventures must come to an end. 

I was MADCAP, a struggling service term cadet starving for validation and reassurance.

I was WRATH, a vengeful opinionated loudmouth obstinate in his ways.

I was BLEAK, a hypocrite of virtue and morals that pushed rather than steered.

But most of all, I am MOLLY, an officer of the Singapore Armed Forces. A pixel in the now nostalgic uniform that, while obliged for the highs and lows, is still obstinate on his perhaps narrow views of military conscription, for he believes that all who passes this pretend rite of passage remains to be the unwilling, trained by the unqualified, to do the unnecessary for the ungrateful. 

- An Wen