Holding Together

The sweet taste of freedom is something I managed to savor deeply this weekend. I miss the days when I had the time to stand around with friends, not quite sure what to do, standing in the middle of the pathway, standing in the rain, under the shelter of a tree, as we tried to hash out a course of action, inevitably going off-topic before once again meandering our way back on course. The time to take the long route, a stroll through the heart of the city, chatting, whining and in essence being completely random. The time to sit and watch a couple of "performers" in the spotlight at the Gardens, waiting for them to do something, which they never did. The freedom to not have a plan, activities slotted neatly back-to-back, and an unrelenting encik/PS/CSM breathing down our necks to enforce timings and ever ready to knock us down for being too sloppy. The freedom, in fact, to see adveture in the most miniscule yet crazy little things; clambering onto and bypassing a corrugated metal sheet blocking my path and climbing over the low fence at the longkang, creeping across the ledge to bypass yet another sheet; all in order to leave my estate to get to the basketball court across the road with my cousins, and later, moving to look for another court (that one was already occupied) only to discover that the hoops had broken off, and then playing 2 v 2 ultimate frisbee instead. A sweet nectar that I plan to enjoy fully once I ORD.

Staring at the city lights, at people going about the hustle and bustle of everyday life, it struck me how removed from it all we NSmen are. Once we set foot in camp, we assume our second identities, ones which we've conditioned to willingly accept the rigors, regimentation et al of in camp training, and as we go through the week, one event follows another, in rapid succession, no time to think about other things; best not to think about other things. It's scary how easy it is to lose sight of yourself; who you are, what you're doing, the things you stand for; what you're aiming for in life. It's as if we're safely ensconced in a bubble, removed from the flow of everyday life; and I'd hate to think what kind of lost soul would be released when the bubble pops 17 months down the road. I'd cry out for someone to save me, but really, who's up to the task?

Self-help then, is the way to go, and I hope my endeavor to earn a shiny pointy piece of metal serves to focus myself as well.