What Are Words

Guess I've got no time to be dithering over the value of words when I've got a personal statement to construct/put together/fabricate. Thinking about it now though, I'm probably a lot more direct in my thinking than I ever was back in school. Or maybe not hehe. My brain works in pretty odd ways. I spend ages thinking about the right thing to say, then in the end decide that it's way too generic and mainstream and end up saying something else instead, stuffing the proverbial foot in my mouth. And it's not even the right foot! This self-sabotage really has to stop, eh?

But seriously, what are words? Cause I just can't resist. It's the time of the night when words flow freely yet mean nothing at all, which is why I'm refraining from working on it till the dawn of the cruel light of day. Night, that's a time to sort through jumbled thoughts and emotions, rearranging them in different ways, that may or may not be noticeably organized.

Much like anyone else, excepting those certifiable vegetables, and many non-certified ones out there, many thoughts course through my head throughout the day, some which I wish to convey, some which I don't. For lack of a better means, this unenviable task falls upon the ever so ubiquitous words, which more often than not, I find horribly limited. Set aside the irony that it's those self-same words which I'm employing right now. There's no other choice, you see. I think in words, holding those long internal dialogues (or is a better term monologues? I wouldn't want to imply that I'm suffering from split personalities, which Wiki kindly informs me is known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID for short) which spiral on and on, downwards or upwards nobody knows. Sometimes I wonder privately, a far-more-than-lingering suspicion that this mental framework of words severely limits my mental capabilities. If by force of habit I think in words, is the speed of my thoughts only as fast as these words can be selected and put together into a semblance of rationality? If I can only process things in words, is my ability to understand new stimuli and input limited by the words with which I have at hand to describe and ascribe certain characteristics to? And if these words, in their recalcitrance, refuse to come to me, and I find myself not only speechless but completely and utterly flabbergasted (now that's a word I've been wanting to use) am I then completely hapless? I apologize if the above paragraph sounds more than a little insane, it's been brewing for awhile now, and what started off as a seemingly perfectly good idea to be developed on has now grown out of hand, and yet I, as it's originator, much like how Frankenstein probably couldn't bear to get rid of his monster till it had offed a couple of people, just can't bear to euthanize it.

Very often I have difficulty expressing myself (in dark moments I wonder if maybe it's because I'm devoid of anything to express) the thoughts too heavy for words to bear. Yet words are such easy things to give and receive in so many forms, what then are they truly worth? Far be it from me to disregard words from the heart, but it's honestly so hard sometimes. Strange then that despite questioning their worth, that I could be hurt so by just a couple of words, flippantly delivered. When the message sent differs from that which is received, should that be considered the greatest travesty or a blessing, well disguised?

Then there are those moments so pure words simply do them no justice, that in the mere retelling they are inexplicably diminished; these I recall with nostalgia, joy tinged with regret, for come again in self-same form they won't, rewind the clock I can't, and even memories don't last forever. I remember a time almost two years back, day spent head buried in words and more words, the minutes timelessly passing by, and afterwards, making the trip home. The air cool, traffic light, a detour gladly taken. The fog lifts and words depart on the stroll home, passing by the set of bars and deciding on a whim to pull myself up, towards that gap between the foliage overhead and the full moon peeking through, up and down, over and over, each attempt to reach out and grasp it giddily fulfilling but ultimately unsuccessful. As I near home, the neighbor's dog barks; I shush it as I pass, step through the gate, and the moment is over. Of passing out in September, that charge down the street, all of us, wordless growls emanating from our throats, so fresh to the chevrons, pride, achievement, all that didn't really matter, just the immediacy of release. Moments I now recall as a pile of snapshots, and yet the words come in, as they invariably do. I don't really know how to describe this, but think of it this way: When you name something, does the object describe the name, or the name the object? It may be the former, initially, but as memory fills up, all that's left are words, words ascribed yet which aren't a perfect fit, can't be a perfect fit, and something crucial is irrevocably lost. Best then that these moments be given the varnish of time and held at arm's length. Look too closely and you may not like what you see. Best also, as we humans are creatures of time. We can't live simultaneously in past, present and future, though some would like to think otherwise, and onwards we must go.

I'm tired, and till now no closer to answering or even exploring the question. There's probably never to be an answer, and I suppose I've revealed enough mental instability for one day, or possibly a lifetime, you never know. I could end of with a list of things words are, which is basically a whole bunch of contradictions, and at another time, I guess I would have, but enough with the coulds and mays and whatnot, I simply will end, in the laziest and most basal of ways; in eponymous rhetoric:

What are words? Thank you.

A Giving of Thanks

No, December hasn't yet descended upon us, but it's as an opportune time as any to let this out. It's nothing new perhaps, but it's something I can never repeat enough.

Thank you, friends, for being people I can share freely so much of myself with, from the deepest of concerns to the most frivolous of passing thoughts, though they may be met with merciless laughter.

Thank you for making even the most mundane of walks down the street filled by laughter without abandon, flowing so freely that I wonder how I could lack of it so dearly in day to day life.

Thank you for those strolls in twos, reminiscing about times past, for the (I'd like to think) intelligent, or at the very least heartfelt discourse on all things under the sun, moon and stars (and whatever other celestial bodies) wherever our chatter may wander, and for the sharing of dreams for the future large enough for us all, never let them die.

Thank you also, for being there in those sombre moments, when the initial high of the encounter has faded, and we find our minds occupied with individual thoughts. Some things we may only deal with ourselves, but it's reassuring to know I don't have to dwell on them alone. I used to think, in a curious mix of naïveté and cynicism that the "who" in that equation, that the person didn't matter, but I've grown to realize that it's all that really does.

Thank you for so many more things, things no less in importance yet number too greatly for this sleep deprived mind to list. Trust that they are appreciated regardless, in myriad forms, by a quiet heart.

So lastly, thank you for the time, all of it, past, present future, that something so spontaneous could go so absofreakinglutely well to birth such a rewardingly cathartic experience is rare indeed. Overanalyzing things or being overly verbose I may be accused of, and I guess I probably do care about things, horribly microscopic things that nobody else does, but lastly, thank you for the memories, may they never die. I keep them close to heart. And may there be many others, more, to illuminate the way along this winding road ahead.

It's not exactly great to be back, but it's not bad either, and it's time to get things going. It was a good trip, I've still yet to sort out the photos and think about how I'll write about it but a post is definitely forthcoming xP I do want to capture it while the experience is still vivid in my mind. There's a lot to do now that I'm back, gotta get myself out of the holiday mood ASAP x.x

I took my time to get home yesterday, reached almost 2 hours after booking out, and wasn't particularly bothered by it. I'm simply glad to be out of camp, yeah? Pretty much wasted the day away feeling horrible, hopefully it's just a passing cold, what cruddy timing. I haven't been able to get myself excited about the trip because of that, perhaps things will be better tomorrow.

It was a pretty interesting week once more, preceded by - or indeed facilitated by - some hilariously impressive logistical cockups which meant we were unable to bring our vehicle over to another camp for a certain parade, which freed us up for the week. It's quite amusing, really, that for all the armored vehicles and such we may posses, our mobilization is so severely limited by the availability of the services provided by an external organization. There are a lot more minor - and not so minor - incongruities which I could point out, but I don't wish to tempt fate, really should save myself the trouble.

I had the privilege I guess, of being selected for a cyberpioneer interview on Tuesday. I was initially quite concerned that I'd screw things up, which I personally feel I have a major penchant towards, but things turned out surprisingly well :) It's experiences like this and its ilk such as the one last week with the general that I really appreciate, I haven't had much experience presenting and most importantly in appearing confident in front of people who are not only strangers but also superiors, so more experience can only be good. It really helps to build confidence knowing that I can do it without screwing up, and finding out that it really isn't very hard at all.

Well anyway I'll cut it short here cause I'm off to bed. It's an early flight tomorrow x.x

PS. Happy birthday Mos, you're a dear friend and I'm very glad I know you :) Jack and Merv too, I just didn't think to post on your birthdays haha.

It was a pretty sedate if not quite sedated Saturday COS in not-so-sunny Gedong, I was initially under the impression that I'd finally be able to overturn that sleep deficit of mine but apparently waking at 5am for flag raising (in an otherwise empty battalion) thinks otherwise.

The week started off interestingly enough, a semi-important presentation to some visiting general with loads of crabs and a couple of stars floating around to grace the occasion and 3 chocolate bars ferrying them around, imagine! Yet I somehow got the impression that they didn't really care how well we presented. Though the foreign one did pepper us with a few questions, it was probably more out of polite curiosity than anything else, and I got a strong vibe that it really didn't matter to our side at all so long as there were no major complaints. Oh well.

The rest is only noteworthy for how unremarkable it was. Greasing the rack pins on our bridges is a tedious task; involving degreasing each of 748 pins (try saying that number out in Chinese lol) by way of vigorous twisting and wiping them individually with newspaper before going over it all again with a fresh coat of grease. We did that for 3 bridges on Wed, and what I found remarkably unremarkable was that amidst the twist, pull, degrease and repeat, twist, pull and repeat, barely a thought crossed my mind. I seriously found myself thinking about why I wasn't thinking about anything, till that thought itself was shoved to the back of my head beneath the mindless repetition. It's not like I'm new to repetition, shooting made sure of that, yet it's as if there's zero stimulus in the work I'm doing, or it's so totally mindlessly absorbing that I'm unable to wander whilst doing it, besides occasionally cursing under my breath as I wipe my sweat with my sleeve or knee, hands too dirty you see. I'm honestly quite scared whenever I stop to evaluate, if you will, the extent that my mind has degenerated over the past months.

Well anyway, time to type something random. I've been thinking (oh the irony given what I just typed above) and I suppose a lot of grief and frustration we have is due to our expectations, and more specifically, due to a mismatch between these expectations and reality. I've got loads of section mates complaining that they don't feel like they're being treated as sergeants; that we don't enjoy the privileges which they feel we deserve. Though I obviously wouldn't balk at greater privileges, I don't think things are that bad, I mean, what more do you want to ask for? Expectations that arise from a misplaced sense of entitlement are obviously begging to be disappointed. I guess not having had had a true taste of reality, and constantly being rewarded for most of the things we've been doing in much of our early life, we've come to expect alot; be it recognition, material recompensation etc for effort towards anything we do, and this results in a faulty or truly unrealistic gauge of the proportion of effort:reward. I haven't quite come to terms with it myself and occasionally find myself wondering why the world isn't bending over backwards to kiss the ground at my feet for every little thing I do, every little pearl of wisdom that spills from my mouth. Cause that's obviously the way the world's supposed to work, right? Obviously that's only one way to look at it. In such cases it's imperative to relook our mindset to adjust our expectations accordingly and be less delusional about things. But what about when expectations aren't overly high; when reality simply fails to meet expectations where it should. It would obviously be a travesty to resign oneself to the reality of things; who'd change things (for better or worse) otherwise? Like most things there's probably a happy medium between delusional and cynical resignation for each of us, and what I'm trying to say is that it's very important to learn to choose your battles. Sometimes when you give up you might be right that you're wrong, that's better than being wrong that you're right, but if you're passionate about it maybe it doesn't matter either way.

More than a little presumptuous I'm aware, and probably an overly simplistic treatment but that's the "best" I can muster for now.

Bleh off to sleep now. Just found out that tomorrow morning's convoy was cancelled so I retracted my am off for nothing. I really do hope we win today's match though :/

I'm getting a little tired of saying that I'm tired of all this, so I'll just start with some stuff that happened this week and move on from there.

We've been having our Crew Proficiency Tests these past two weeks, with Wednesday being the night addition. It was my first time launching under those conditions, cause as a trainee we didn't have the opportunity to go outfield for our night launches and did them at D801 instead, with the streetlights shining in the distance. It was a pretty novel experience as a result. My first one was done closed-hatch, imagine it being so dark that upon looking out the periscope from within the tank, everything was pitch black, I couldn't make out anything at all and had to resort to the tank's infra-red camera instead. Which sucked; I don't know whether that tank's particular display/camera was faulty or whether it's a characteristic inherent to the system, but the display would lag constantly and exhibit something called 'ghosting' whenever there was any movement, leaving multiple afterimages spread across the screen. It was more than a little disconcerting to follow Nelson's hand signals after he had dismounted via the screen, and quite scary to have multiple images of him appear on the screen, the only way to differentiate which was the actual one being following the one that was moving. A surreal experience overall, encased in the metal shell of the tank, sitting in relative comfort in it's cool interior, a feeling of extraordinary distance from the outside world, linked only by what I could make out from the shifting black and white display, with the steady throbbing of the engine at my back the only thing I could hear. Somehow it feel like it didn't matter whatever I did, while ensconced inside, a dangerous sentiment I suppose while having to maintain absolute concentration on the screen at my side. Thankfully it passed without (much) incident and the moment ended when I opened the hatch, switching to my night vision goggles instead and confronting a 2D world depicted in shades of unearthly green. Much easier, but still tough with next to zero depth perception. It started to rain heavily after that, so we buttoned up in the L2 once more, it's really not bad inside, air con for when you're too hot and heating via the engine when it's a little chilly. And that's how the night went, more rotations between vehicle commanders and operators before finally RTU and washing up.

It's been quite a dreary week all that aside; we didn't do much work, surprisingly, just washing the tanks and stoning around in the office, it's not a very fulfilling life alas, but it's all I have for now, in this time stuck between dates, held in limbo :/

It's been a year since we returned to RJ to collect those result slips, and I'm really not sure whether to say "only" a year or that it's "already" been a year. A lot has happened in the intervening time, that's to be sure, and yet when you tell me that out of the 22 months of service I've already completed 13 I'm honestly so, so, so, pleasantly surprised. Some things you don't realize till they're laid out before you. In all this time, the importance of those grades has dwindled all so significantly. A potentially damning statement but an honest one I feel the need to express. Rather than thinking about whether I'm a better or worse person for my grades, which is a totally irrelevant/nonsensical question I guess, I find myself wondering whether I'm a better or worse person for this period in NS. And as I weigh up the changes I find evident to myself in my head, I'm afraid the scales seem to tip heavily towards the latter rather than the former. The army has a fearsome ability to strip away whatsoever naivete one may possess, I don't really like what it's left in its wake. The self-analysis I'll save you the bother of reading through, but that's where things stand, really.

Amidst all this I really know that I should be looking ahead rather than at what's right in front of me, that these times which drag on so will come to a blessed end, but I'm honestly afraid. While others look to the future with hope, I look to it with no small measure of trepidation. I hate making choices, indecisive creature that I am, yet a choice I shall have to make. But I suppose if I were to be decisive about being decisive - as opposed to being purely lazy - I'd go all out to make sure that when the time comes, I do have those options at my fingertips rather than speculatively letting them slip away eh?