Ten Signs You're In The Army Too Long

10. You can talk for hours on end about weapons and various
divisions. Guards vs commando, scope vs iron sight, etc.

9. You hum marching songs in the shower. And even make remixes.

8. You make sex jokes with military innuendo. Hey baby, want to unload
check clear my rifle?

7. Practically any female is attractive. Like the cookhouse auntie.

6. You have a name for your rifle.

5. New and better equipment give you a confidence boost.

4. Weekends are spent at the army market buying supplies. That's where
the bulk of your allowance goes to.

3. Chemo cream actually improves your complexion.

2. You have an army nickname. Eg. the M69 Fucking Device.

1. You gape at people's chests. Not for their boobs, but their badges.

Staring At Another New Ceiling

When I awoke on 10 January last year, I awoke to a bunk full of strangers and an even stranger surrounding. I've just been robbed of my civilian freedom and thrust into the confined of National Service. More than a year later I awake to yet a different ceiling, a strange new surrounding, the same differences but a pleasant role reversal. This time the old camou uniforms have been swapped with snazzy pixelised ones adorned with ranks and badges, no longer stowed offshore but still at the fringes of civilisation and the lecturer whining about bunk layout is me.

How much yet little things have hanged since I lacked all that hair. Pity I did not pen down the whirlwind of events, though my comrades would agree that donning the uniform stifles personal thoughts. 2009 has seen me swap ranks from white to black to white again, before concluding with my long overdue stripes. Bouncing between combat and support side has given me ample insight into the organisation. To pick a highlight of the year, nothing tops the two shopping sprees in Taipei. Oh, right, and of course the invaluable friendships forged through the sheesha haze and earthquakes while balancing on the edge of a mountain. And there's this leech I can't quite shake off.

After one year down the rollercoaster, it had now become my turn to put others through the ride. Since my ride has lasted longer than most, my twists and turns are about to end. Not before one last big jolt apparently. Regardless, now I have a bunch of young lads to gear up and teach how go hold their stomachs through the upcoming loop de loop. I'm just hoping what I have to offer gives then a good ride instead of their lunch on their laps.

As for this blog, I have consulted with Rafahn and we have both agreed to get this act together. Sure there won't be exciting weekday skives to gleefully report about, but if life throws you a bunch of bullets, you throw a bucketload of mortar rounds back. So despite how dull life in service might be, I will dutifully pen them here in the most entertainingly exaggerated way that I can.

Once again I awake from my 7 hours of uninterrupted rest. The ceiling might be new, but it is one that I have come to place ownership upon. One that many after me will stare at, with apprehension then acceptance.

Welcome back to the army, commander.

My BMT Experience

This is the entry I submitted for the 'My BMT Experience' essay competition. I don't even know why I even bothered submitting the entry, since it's so full of politically incorrect statements. At least it'll make for a good laugh to those people censoring it. And it makes for another great blog post.

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Forbidden Files #06 - My BMT Experience

An exposé by Seraphim

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The first time I noticed the SAF 7 Core Values along the stretch at SFT was when I was being wheeled off on a stretcher to CGH. My eyes lingered on the last one; care for soldiers, and I knew right then that the SAF stuck true to its word. Then I took a glance at another value; fighting spirit, and it is because of this value that I return to BMTC as a recoursee.

Unlike most recruits, I have a more interesting BMT tale to tell due to my extended stay there. After one year of enlistment, I have heard accounts by my peers of POP to commissioning, from leadership batch and PTP batch, from commanders and men alike. Disappointingly, BMT held no more surprises for me. So what stops me from describing my BMT experience as 'sian' or its other synonyms? For me the answer lies in the motto of BMTC - Excel Through Basics.

There is a generalisation that those of the JC leadership batch are a protected lot, naive to the delinquency beyond their own bubble. What people do not realise is that there are also subtle discrepancies among them. One can quickly spot this when the recruits are brought back to their basics, that is to be rid of their civilian clothes and have their hair 'botak'. Suddenly the recruits reveal what they are truly like inside - a hidden 'garang' expression behind those spectacles or a scared look behind those heavy fringes. Seeing this first transformation again reminds me of the individuality of every person, and that it is the people who makes each BMT experience unique.

Like in a class, every platoon is never complete without its stereotypes. There are the clowns, the jocks, the pipsqueaks, the weirdoes, and since this is the army, there are also the 'wayang', the 'kilat' and the 'chao keng'. To be honest, my platoon was hardly the best performing platoon in the company. After numerous attempts, we still could not align our basha tents or be the first to fall in. Despite our shortcomings, we nonetheless displayed an audacity to persevere and continue until the end. Slowly but surely we overcame our flaws, and use them to our advantage. During my time as platoon IC, I recall bringing this up to the platoon. Since we insisted on walking and talking everywhere, I proposed that we stuck to it. And just like that, we out-walked and out-sang the other platoons during our march to the SITEST site, much to my ironic amusement. The commanders are also no different; each having their own quirks. Regardless, their consistent top-notch quality proves them true to their ranks. All of us shaped the platoon the way it is, and we would never have asked anyone else to replace us.

Of all the trying times in BMT, nothing came close to field camp. Six days of unclean uniforms, unchanged underwears, unbrushed teeth and uncleared bowels made up field camp. Top it up with the 'tekan' sessions and the heat and it tops the list of challenging things in BMT. That was when we were introduced to the art of digging a shell scrape. My section will never forget our digging experience, where we got frustrated not because of the exhaustion, but because of the futility of our digging. Everybody else seemed to have dug a better shell scrape than ours. Back at home my mother informed me, to my surprise and horror, that our shell scrape site used to be her 'kampung', and that it was a granite hill. That explains why we saw sparks when we struck our shell scrape. Besides this trial, there were other events which made field camp a highlight. Our commanders' demonstration of the battle course and a convoy ambush were a sight to behold, impressing us with the pyrotechnics and their professionalism. The thrill of urban operations, the early morning artillery drill turnout, the gruelling crawl through the BIC grounds and having the platoon sing my birthday song in 'knock it down' position all made field camp a memorable experience.

The 'lau jiao' all say that army is when you wait to rush and rush to wait. This anecdote brings about some phenomena, like the race of the food ICs before meals to 'chop' a place for the platoon, the race to the toilet after breakfast to get the seated cubicle for the morning excretion and the race to the front of the platoon before marches to avoid the constant running. Then there are also the SAF core values  #08 and #09 - you can do anything but do not get caught and if you get caught, act blur. Recruits particularly adhere to this when they are apprehended for contraband, like chargers or PSPs, and especially when commanders give conflicting orders, letting them shoulder the blame instead. The 'lau jiao' also say that the food now is much better than back in the days when there were NSF cooks. From the compliments that my non-Muslim counterparts continually shower over my food, that is probably true. But what is treasured most during meal times is the boisterous light talk that cools us down, freshening us up for the next volley of fire from our commanders. I have come to recognise these idiosyncrasies as the defining points of NS life, taking its queerness as what makes military life different and enjoyable.

On the fast craft back to Tekong, you can always spot a common expression that asks 'why are we doing this?'. That is a question that will cross every NSF's mind at some point in time. One PC's answer was to protect our families back home. Another told me that it is to protect our comrades, to keep the people around us alive in times of war. I personally like one captain's answer - to protect the 'chio bu' on mainland. As a descendant of the very island I train on, I truly understand why NS exists. Singapore has endured and invested too much to ever resign our sovereignty. She has become our home, where we return to our loved ones. The medics' motto reads 'So They May Live'. I couldn't agree more.

Having been at both Ladang Camp and Rocky Hill Camp, designed the company t-shirt, parodied a platoon sergeant, took a shot at company best shot, swam for games day and seen two dud grenades detonate, I can honestly say that my BMT experience is complete. When the moment comes when I hear the words 'presenting our trained soldiers', I am confident that BMTC has equipped me with the qualities and skills needed to face future military life. Through trials and tribulations, BMTC has proven that the strength of the SAF lies not just in the abilities of the individual, but the combined strength of every son of Singapore. As I take my last fast craft ride back, I will look around and say that the people around me are those who I am glad to defend and trust as brothers in arms. These are the comrades who have learnt to excel through basics with me, on our journey to strive to be the best in the SAF.

Staring At A New Ceiling

Writing this feels surreal. And yes, I'm actually writing this paragraph manually with pen and paper to keep myself awake. Why though? After all, I'm still sitting in a lecture theatre in my uniform listening to a daunting lecture and occasionally sneaking a toilet break just to get away from the lecturer for a bit. Sounds just like a few months ago. Perhaps it's because I've swapped my college uniform for a chemo one, my lecturer's stripping a rifle instead of a poem and my lecture theare is 4 kilometres away from the shore of an island that isn't Singapore.

It definitely feels surreal when your surroundings drastically change within the span of days. At least it wasn't as drastic as last year. Within months, during the nights I would stare from my bedroom ceiling, to the night spots of Singapore, to the army bunk, to the hospital ward, then back to my lecture theatre. Disorienting would be an understatement. But it wasn't that bad this year, since I already knew what to expect, so the change didn't come as a shock.

Waking up to a different ceiling provokes a most curious response to different people. Being a morning bird, I had the chance to see the reactions of my section mates when they wake up. Some jolt awake in shock at the what-the-fuckness of the situation, their stares screaming how the hell did I get here. While others prefer to stay in denial and hope that snoozing for a few extra minutes will change the ceiling back to their familiar bedroom.

Most of all, staring at the ceiling of my bunk gives me a strange sense of reality. Penning down my thoughts seem surreal at first as it still felt like a deja vu, like I've been lifted off the pages of my life and re-reading it again from the previous chapter. But as the days pass, staring at this new ceiling feels strangely new. I'm waking up to a new day and getting closer where I previously left off.

Sure, the days will only get tougher and more unexpected, but what is life without a little thrill? I bet the Oracle from the Matrix lives her day rolling her eyes constantly from the boredom of knowing what comes next. So I start this new year proper, with a change in surrounding, physique (no more broken leg) and attitude. I start the day afresh from my 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Welcome to the army, soldier.

Hell of A Holiday

At the end of the A levels, I came up with a to-do list of activities, tasks and objectives that have to be met by the time I enlist. Just like Jim Carey in 'Yes Man', that list made me say yes to everything. And true to that film, it brought me to places and experiences that I would never have otherwise achieved. Say it once, say it twice, say it a million times more! Yes! Yes! Yes! It's quite an irony for the actor of Jigsaw in the Saw series to be playing a life coach in Yes Man, but the essence of the message is true. If you grab every opportunity that arises, you won't miss out on much.

Some people say that I'm living my last days as a civilian as if they truly are my last. I couldn't help but agree, seeing how my daily schedule quickly turns into a paradox as I try to cram in things. But I'm a man with a list to finish and not much time to do it. Some say I shouldn't rush everything, but why delay? Plan like you live forever, but live like there's no tomorrow, as a cancer patient once told me. Besides, it won't be long before I'm officially reaching adulthood and youth doesn't last forever.

When you set out with an objective to fill up every inch of your time, you'll realise that you don't really have to do all the planning. It would settle itself. For Christmas eve, I was more than set to spend it hibernating until Christmas morning since I was exhausted. Instead I woke up to a ringing phone with an invitation out on the line and six other text messages with similar invitations. There goes my hibernation plans.

I always thought that the closer it is to enlistment day, the slower time would seem to me, as what I experienced before. But this time it was really different. Time seems distorted in a way that it picks up momentum and speeds up, just that I'm having enhanced reflexes to pick up all the sensations along the way. It's a fantastically exhilarating experience to wake up in the morning to wake up to a text invitation in the morning, have brunch in town before you know it, off in the middle off the sea at midday, and end up having dinner across the straits at night.

All play and no work makes Jack a tired boy. A very tired one. While doing one fun stuff after another is a thrilling idea, actually doing them all consecutively is highly exhausting, as I've discovered. There were weeks when I would have less than ten hours of sleep for the entire week due to back to back chalets and midnight taunts. It came to a point when I was positively beaten senseless, but thinking back to stories from my diver friends of their 'hell week', I found it rather easy to brush them off aside.

With all that time and a dying pool of ideas, you start to look at every little creek of Singapore to squeeze whatever adventures and thrills it can offer. If you look carefully enough, you'd be amazed at what 'lil ol Singapore has to offer. There are still long stretches of greenery to cycle and trek at. And being an island city, there are numerous water sports like canoeing, wake boarding, sailing and parasurfing (I'm not sure what it's called, it's where you ride on a 'surf board' while being pulled by a parachute). This tropical metropolis even offer ice-skating and ice hockey for those who don't mind a chill. For group activities, there are a handful of boardgame cafes, karaoke lounges and LAN gaming centres to entertain the masses. See, outings don't have to be just about eating, even though that really is a Singaporean culture.

Some people get a little creeped out by this over-extrovertedness, as if I'm living the last day of my life. Well, it does seem like what a cancer patient would do. I guess if I were to die now, I'll die happy. But my personal motive was simply to connect back with the people that I have missed out on. Having a whole new school of friends, the exams to focus on, and now national service to face, I couldn't help but block out some people. However, it is not characteristic of me to disregard people, since I value friendship more than anything else in the world. There has to be some point in time where I get to experience everybody, without missing out on any one of them. So I dug out whatever time I could spare and gave a bit to everyone. Call it bringing my college life to full circle, I still relish the memories that has been created with everyone that I call friend.

And that, my friend, is how you end up with a holiday not wasted. The world holds an infinite list of things to do for everyone. Why not incorporate that into your own personal to-do list during your next holiday. 

They say your life flashes past your eyes before you die. They're right.

It's called living.

The Road Warriors

Now that my chapter of becoming a road warrior is over, I have finally come to finish my chronicle my encounters. According to modern lingo, a road warrior is someone who does his work on the move, with the help of digital peripherals. But in my opinion, the true road warriors are those whose work is on the road. They are the taxi drivers, the lorry drivers, the army drivers, and of course, the driving instructors.

Like all teens my age, or at least the male ones, we have a calling for the fast and the furious. We have an inner desire to be speedsters, to take on the wheel and flash by. Such a calling has brought me to take on the first step into being a speedster – to face the evil traffic police and the trials put forth by the army of instructors.

The funny thing about instructors is that they all seem to be quirky. Having enrolled in the 'school' system, I was fortunate to have a fixed group of instructors, but with my last minute bookings, I was often allocated to other instructors. That makes for a more 'enriching' experience, as I get to see the quirks of a handful of instructors.

One thing to note about these instructors is that they all have the instructor set of superhuman powers. Firstly, they have shared vision – the ability to see exactly what you are seeing. They can be fiddling with their pens, or even shaving (yes, believe it. I almost crashed when I saw him doing it), but the moment you take your eyes off the road, you'll get a “Eh, you drive no need to see is it?”. They can even tell if you're looking at the right mirror or not. All of them must have gone through lasik to get compound eyes or something. And then there's the spider senses, you know, like spiderman. They can anticipate danger without even looking. There was this one time, when I was about to take a corner turn, then the instructor e-braked the car. I just gave him a puzzled look, but he replied by pointing to the edge of the windscreen and out popped an old man about to cross the street, as if he was planted there. I swear that these instructors station pedestrians around on purpose.

These instructors are truly diverse. There are the really nice ones – like this very uncle type instructor who coaches me as if I'm a little schoolboy. Kinda childish, but his fatherly mannerism makes you feel assured and safe on the road. Then there are those who gets closer to you by acting as your buddy. Like my unforgettable favourite instructor who first greeted me with a very warm “fuck you lah”. And that my friend, is how you start a beautiful friendship. Despite his less courteous ways, he makes up for it by having a whole bag of tricks up his sleeve. It's these tips and tricks that you want to know to get you through the senseless driving courses, like how to brake smoothly and where to look to straighten the vehicle. Then there was this instructor who looked exactly like my BMT IFC instructor. When I first met him, I was kinda intimidated as he was a big bald guy, and his other lookalike was my former company's public enemy. But before I knew it, he flashed me a dorky smile and gave a hysterical chuckle. Definitely not corporal private enemy.

And then there are the instructors who are just a nightmare. First there's mister sleepyhead. It's irritating when your instructor sleeps on the job. Firstly it's not value for money, since you pay tons for an hour and forty minutes with them. When faced with these buggers, I can't help driving in the circuit at 40km/p and doing jerky turns. It kinda attracts the attention of other instructors. Up next are the super paranoid ones. You can tell they're this type if they keep their foot on the brake, arms crossed and eyes peeled as if they're looking out for the grim reaper. I know it's good to play safe, but how can a trainee drive confidently if the instructor regularly tests the efficiency of the car's braking system?

Having seen things from a driver's perspective gives you certain insight into the mentality of a driver. For instance, while I was jogging, I discovered a highly efficient method of stopping cars. Stare straight into the eyes of the motorist. Nothing scares them more than to potentially see the eyes of a victim if they were to knock you down. Give them that look that says “If you knock me down, these eyes will haunt you till your grave”. Works like a charm.

Seeing the cars zoom by while jogging also provoked some consideration as to what colour my car should be when I get it. I've settled on a dark red. Not the bright cheery red, but the dark bloody type. The red not like that of fresh blood, but of dried blood. Kinda sends out the message to other drivers that this car has tasted blood. That's way cooler than the Ferrari red.

So next time when you see a sinister red car humming by, scurry away. Your blood could be next.

Welcome to my Community (Part II) - The Mama Wars

Once again I find myself jogging around the streets of my neighbourhood. Exams are done and now I have to work off the extra load that came when I fell prey to binging. I shudder to think back at the times when I said, "Econs was horrible, I need some happy food". Besides, the Army is quick to collect it's due, and it won't be long before I stare at a different ceiling when I go to sleep.

So I've covered the roads, and Google Map is not leaving much surprises either. Hence I decided to venture in the areas that the eyes in the sky can't see - the void decks. There's a whole new world beneath the one that most of us live in. Just pretend to check your mail one day and find out for yourself. Be it the Chinese funeral or Malay wedding, the void deck has developed a culture of its own.

I'm no anthropologist, so I don't have the patience to find myself a corner and sit down to watch the people all day. But from what I can tell while breezing past the void decks, I've noticed an interesting trend. There are mama shops everywhere! Like, every other block! It's an invasion I tell you. They're like insects; let one nest thrive and the next thing you know there's an entire ecosystem crawling around. So much so that there's a joke running around. Why aren't the Indians allowed to take the corner kick? Because they would drag a table and set up a mama shop. No offense, there's a few versions of that joke, one of which involving mats. Let's leave that to another day.

Like in every affair, western interjection is imperative.The mama shop industry is no different. With the market thriving, the big American brands has to bear its ugly head. Up came 7-11. They used to have territories of their own, like some clandestine contract they made with the mama shop owners. Prime areas are for 7-11, and the void decks are for the mama shops. For a while, the agreement worked well, and we have become accustomed to it. Then the war started.

Not content with keeping to the highly frequented prime areas, 7-11 decided to break the truce. As I jogged pass one block the other day, there pasted at the bus stop were signs pointing to the new 7-11. It's not located along a series of shops, like the older ones. This one is located at a former mama shop, in one of those older estate bomb shelters. They are everywhere. First they planted themselves among the rows of shops. Then they took the city area. Now they are among us, living right under our noses. It's official - we are being invaded.


So support our local brethren. Even with their sprawled out placements and near-expired sundries. Let's show them that some corners are still ours.

The end of things

Randy Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon University. He gave a lecture at the university titled 'Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams', for a lecture series on what a professor would deliver if it were his last lecture. Unfortunately for him, that lecture really was one of his last, as he was diagnosed with cancer two years earlier and passed away on 25 July 2008. In the lecture, he emphasized on living life to the fullest, setting an example himself by living a full healthy life right until the end, doing what he loved - teaching his favourite subject.

Here's the lecture on youtube, for those interested.


The lecture is truly touching and motivating. Especially the witty head fakes at the end. After watching it (just listening most of the time actually), it got me working on my own list of things to do in life.

There's this age old question; if you can go back in time, would you have done anything different? In a way, my living deja vu grants me that, and I can honestly say that there are many things that one would have kept constant. Of course, there would be the odd fixes and major turnarounds that one would make so that bad history won't repeat itself, but there are just some things worth living through again.

I'm probably saying that because I loved college life, and going back to do it again twice as hard is just a thought too thrilling to pass off. After all, like what Professor Bausch mentioned, life is only worthwhile when you're having fun living it. But all play and no work makes Jack an underachieving boy. There needs to be some form of direction so that at the end of the day, you don't look back and wonder why you did it all.

So in accordance to the Last Lecture, I've made my own list of things to do in life. Here's some of them that I want to share, in no particular order.

1. Write a published article
• I've always had an interest in journalism, but don't really have enough drive to make it my lifelong career. Maybe I'll do some freelance pieces for the local papers,  but more likely to write for some online I.T. editorials. Writing in an anonymous blog is fun, but nothing gives a writer more pride than having his work read by the masses.
2. Co-produce a movie/tv-series episode
• This is mostly because I think most local productions are downright bad. Where do all those quirky aspiring poly students go to after graduation? Are local studios really that bogged down by censorship to the extent of continually producing tasteless shows that are nonetheless amusing the locals? Seriously, I can do better.
3. Feature in a song
• Ok, I don't really have a talent for singing, just a shower songster. Probably should have joined that shower-oke event. But, you know, if I can just be the background supporting vocals or something, it'll be cool.
4. Write a fantasy fiction novel
• Ever since Dan Brown (whose work I've read when he first published, way before it got sensationalised), I've always wanted to write a fantasy novel based on local references. The country has lost some of its past magic due to the rapid urbanisation, but I recognise that there are colourful things in its past that many aren't aware of.
5. Organise a major fundraiser
• Schools usually force you to do some minor stint for the community, simply for the sake of getting the credit for CIP points or something similar. That is such a farce, and it kinda shreds whatever morsel of morality left in me. If I were to do anything for the community, I want it to be big, grand, and glamourous. Like those presidential fundraisers for the US presidential nominees. Why are they raising funds for the future-president anyway?
6. Volunteer for an overseas humanitarian effort
• Singaporeans are always accused of paying off everything, even in times of crisis. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. Instead, I want to one day face these disaster-stricken places to get a firsthand account of how it's really like to be in an underprivileged situation. 
7. Finish 1500m freestyle under 20 minutes
• I don't think my swimming days are over just yet, not until I get a decent timing for my pet event. Until then, I'm not throwing in the towel yet.
8. Go skydiving / scuba diving / bungee jumping / open-water kayaking
• There's something in me that just craves for adrenaline and adventure. Maybe it's from the stifling urban Singaporean environment. Somehow, I see myself waking up one weekend morning and decide to fly to Australia to jump off a bridge. Life really doesn't have to be boring.
9. Make love in the office / college / backseat / plane / hot tub
   
• Like I said, I have an adventurous spirit. And that applies to every aspect of my life. Besides, come on, admit it, it's kinky. Right, right?
10. Die by assassination
• At the end, I want to go off in a blast. Disease, euthanasia, in your sleep? Boring... Can't really think of anything more exciting that this. Maybe to kill off your assassin as you're going down.

Top ten reasons that make you a Singaporean student

A few years back I used to make these kinds of lists all the time. Mostly to mock what it refers to. Well, after a rather extended absence, I decided to bring the lists back. So here's one for your amusement.

Top ten reasons that make you a Singaporean student

10. You can ace subjects like Project Work with minimal effort (or overenthusiastic solo work), plagiarism and made up data.

9. The most important lessons you learnt are those after curricular time.

8. You don't believe 'impossible is nothing' when it comes to finishing revision for exams.

7. Your favourite radio show is 'Muttons Till Midnight'.

6. There's a silver lining. Student discount and transport concession is unparallelled. It even beats the Safra card.

5. You often hang out at MacDonalds, mostly to study the opposite gender.

4. You set off to school before the sun rises and returns after the sun sets.

3. There's a five day work week policy? You don't think so...

2. You measure charity and goodwill in CIP hours.

1. During school holidays, you will naturally have school or homework.

There you go. Hope you enjoy this short entry! Click the 'top ten' tag at the bottom to see other lists that I've managed to dig up from the archives.

Welcome to My Community

This blog was officially dead.

It really does reflect myself. For so long it has lost direction, purpose, and aim. Actually, this blog would have a lot more content if only iPhone has a Blogger client. Oh yeah, I have an iPhone!!! Woohoo! At least there's some cheer in my bleak life. Just so you know, there has been all sorts of clients on the iPhone - Twitter, Livejournal, even Facebook on the AppStore. But bloody Blogger doesn't seem to have one. Of course, I could always use the internet browser, but that's such a hastle and I'd have to bust my bill on GPRS charges. It's not so new anymore, been with me for a few months now, and kind to think of it, I bought it exactly when the April batch of recruits got their new botak look.

Where was I. Ah yes, I've been keeping a journal on my iPhone. Not really a journal, just an archive for my spontaneous thoughts and a logbook to keep track of physical developments. But somewhere in that pile of thoughts, there are still trickles of interesting ideas that I can write about.

So before I start the entry proper, let's just recap. As I'm typing this, it's only 2/3rd through prelims. Can't really be bothered with that, yet again. Another case of procrastination and poor preparation. I can't bring myself to go gungho when I know it's a losing fight. To the markers of my papers, you have my sincere pity and I truly admire your bravery for laying your eyes on such abominable work. CCA season is over again, and you can expect a tribute piece for the CCAs when I have the time (I'll try not to repeat stuff from last year). I'm feeling a little more sane now, though I cannot say for sure until the damn prelims are over.

***

What, you might ask, is the title of this entry referring to. See, I've been jogging every other day lately, ever since my doctor said I can. Those orthopaedic people are really paranoid. It's not enough that I'm jumping around and even representing my college in a swimming tournament, they want my X-ray to look like nothing ever happened. And that's kinda hard when they prodded implants and screws down my leg. Actually, I've been jogging just to show off my freshly toned swimmer body (OMG, I can't believe you just typed that, you vain piece of shit). Just kidding... All these food and exams are really bad for your body. And really, I'm just jogging to get my legs adjusted back to impact, since all I've been doing is just swimming.

Anyway, I realised jogging is a lot like long distance swimming. It lets your subconscious surface in your head, and let you reflect and explore your thoughts (if it's not telling you to stop running and your iPod isn't blasting too loud of course). Jogging has an added advantage though; you get to sightsee and meet all the weird folks of your neighbourhood. Even if you do long distance swimming out in open waters, all you get in Singapore is a very thick coat of oil and the odd piece of rubbish.

My thoughts while jogging inevitably strayed to politics. It always puzzled me how the members of parliament (MP, the politician, not the sort that people curse in NS) can represent the people if they don't truly understand the people they serve. I know there are those who heavily engage in grassroots activities and Meet the People sessions, but what of the elitist and act atas MPs? If any of you MPs are listening, here's a solution: go jogging at your constituency! Not only can you slim down your flabby couch potato bodies, you can see your people in action!

Personally, I think jogging around your neighbourhood is a good way to get to know it. After I moved into this ulu neighbourhood, I realised that there are many nooks and crannies that I never ventured. And boy, is Jurong West a huge neighbourhood to explore. Usually before jogging, I'd plan my route using Google Map. Yeah I know, what a geek. But that's what freely available technology is for; all your whims and fancies.

Every week, I choose a different route. Since I've started varying routes, I've uncovered a few hidden gems. Like the many pedestrian entries into NTU, a beautiful old japanese-style archway in a garden, the Infantry Training Institute / Jurong Camp 2 (like, wth, a military facility among residential estates?!), the quite westernmost private properties, a few measured running paths, and the many, many famous coffeeshops of Singapore. Kinda makes me feel like an urban adventurer. Who ever said Singapore is boring? I bet many people can't even count all the coffeeshops within walking distance from them. It has given me a newfound appreciation for the heartlands.

And I haven't even started talking about the people. We claim that the days of the kampung spirit closeness is long gone. I beg to differ. As I go around the neighbourhood, I can't help noticing the same faces who would give me a quick glance and flash that priceless smile. Though no words were exchanged, I can almost hear their "hello" and sense of warmth. Courteous and friendly people really do exist in modern Singapore, and not just an urban myth that only exist in propaganda videos for the National Day Rally. 

There are of course some characters that stand out among the others. There's ice-cream lady, who would appear at different blocks at my estate. Never really saw anyone actually buying an ice-cream, but she would always be surrounded by people who chats animatedly with her. Then there's square head dog walker, who goes around with a very large hound and a very small puppy (what a couple) and always wearing an Army tank top. Oh and the blank face minah, who I bump into on her way back home. Her expression is not just blank, but positively screaming "I don't know anything!", like I'm accusing her of something. And there's the random groups of Army joggers with their 4 by 2 (or is it 2 by 4?) haircut. Probably specialists from the nearby SISPEC or other camps. Ok, the Army tank top is undeniably sexy, but some people look downright horrible in it. Call me Army obsessed, but I tend to like going past the ITI, hoping to catch a glance of somebody I know. Let's talk about that obsession some other time.

The banglas (fine, Bangladeshi workers) get very irritating when I'm jogging. Even though I'm blatantly running straight into them, there are always buggers who refuse to move aside. Being stubborn, I would just run into a collision course, until the very last second when I decide they don't have the mental capacity to realise that collision could be painful, and chicken out with a quick side step. Other than these buggers, the heartlanders are generally pleasant, and even make jogging something I look forward to.

So there you have it, my community and the people in it. To quote Shakespeare's The Tempest, 'Oh Brave New World, with such people in it'. Amidst the National Day, Pervez Musharraf's resignation, Russia's new war and of course, prelims, I guess the Olympic spirit still prevails. After all, with Singapore's first medal after a 48 year drought, everybody can't help feeling sporty these days.