Okie here's another update on my life. Yesterday was spent sleeping, then going to town for fun, and at night was another birthday party, this time for Cephas at his own house. Kinda stupid, because it was meant to be a "surprise" and I bumped into him on the bus while going to get his present. Ahh what the hell. Like three-quarters of my current army mates turned up, and his other friends. Met Tiffany who was there as well, though I don't know how Cephas knows her.

And this morning, breakfast with my family at Coffee Bean at J8. Their breakfast sets are pretty good. Was supposed to be at Cafe Cartel, but they weren't open for service at 7.30am. After that I crossed the road to Shi Hui's house to pass her my Lit notes which were meant for Tammy.

My dad just left for Malaysia for three weeks.

Feeling a bit weird this week. I think I'm starting to get slightly confused with my own principles and what it takes to be me. A lot of ideals that I used to hold fast to are evolving bit by bit everyday.

And I still can't quite shake off the thought how things could have been better if I hadn't (in a spur-of-the-moment, recurring-stupidity-that-never-heals) said or acted on impulse. It's as if like I never learn. Hmm. I miss those dreamy days, the teases, the simplicity of life, the intimacy, the playfulness and shyness. In short, everything about you. For one second, in that windswept moment, I seriously thought you were wonderful. Sometimes now I still think that way, but now I'm more like "what the hell".

Heh. Girls can be too much trouble sometimes.

Here's a toast to myself for an inspirational weekend, and also a challenge to Khairul to take back what he said about my poetry resembling that of Ted Hughes. Four poems, written on a lazy Friday/Sunday afternoon by yours truly. Enjoy, and comments (I don't care if you say "IT SUCKS") please!



Bright Young Things

Watch and gaze the wispy sky now
With silvery glimpses and a learned eye

Pretension of what we do not know
To make the facts and truths less discerning

Than they already are, while the half in indecision
Reason that they should join in the struggle

For everything they were created to be.
Because they know that we warp whatever we deem

Murky, without second thoughts of ramifications
Which do not concern us at all.

Behaviour of such is an oily smear
Tainted on the knowledge that we profess upon

Textbooks. And will be passed on to those
Who yet not know the truth, and thus never will.

But they still shine on.



Streak

the beautiful evening was
interrupted
by a loud kloonk of the sea.

you stood amazed by the magnificence of it all,
wondering how
it could have been more graceful than this

save for the rock of nuisance.
when an impossible dash of vapour
accentuated the brilliant moon.

fast spreading out in symmetrical ovals
the pearl never once
faded or dimmed out or loses power

except to degauss (magnetic rock)
in a way without losing brilliance
nor pull.

for the sea forgets its master
and the rock tries in vain
to snuff the throne.

an accidental stroke by the artist
makes it a worthy
masterpiece.



Triune

Faith is like
A seasoned deckhand.
Firm in the waters,
Steady on land.

Hope is like
A mighty warrior.
Firm in the unknown,
Ready to conquer.

Love is like
A girl with a flower.
Firm in thankfulness,
And full of wonder.



Samantha

She's a ballerina, fully clothed
with her hair tied into an elegant bun, standing
in an olive-green tank top leotard
that bared three-quarters of her
smooth, soft naked back.

White tights that defined her willowy legs
ending in matching green pointe shoes
and a flowing see-through skirt
with bands of blue and red outlining the hem

I held her slender waist in my arms,
bent down
to take off her footwear
and flung them onto a straw floor mat.

Next, I undid the elastic of her floundering skirt
billowing like stage curtains, or veils,
I couldn't care less.

And slipping my fingers into the
straps of her leotard, pulling the synthetic fibre
down her arms, spine, behind and legs,
feeling the elasticity of it wrapping unto her skin;
tossing the lifeless, offending object next to
the pointe shoes.

She wore no undergarments beneath
and looked rather silly
in her leggings and bounded hair,
looking for release from her nudity.

Proceeded to liberate her from the tights
cream-coloured
whiter than her admired legs,
pulling it downwards to part the gulf between
flesh and falsehood,
and her hair net,
letting her soft, fine locks
fall like frolicking angels.

You marvel at her dainty, naked body
child-like innocence on her face
chiseled, perhaps, by fairy carpenters,
a little shy at the puddle of murky water that
used to hide her beautiful body
and feet cold
from the marble floor.

Nonetheless, I caressed her nudeness
exploring her like an adventurer
charting territories through
the hills, grass, valleys and rivers,
parting her self-conscience and confidence
grazing through the fields
smoothing wrinkles of time
touching and feeling her senses of touch.

Samantha
closed her eyes
sighed softly
breathed relaxed
she is a baby needing touch for love.

I pressed her close to me
feeling her pointed breasts on my chest
and her inhales and exhales
against my stomach.

Stripped of pretence,
starked naked
it is then I learnt that
human beings can breathe and fly
grace is a redemption in itself
love is a reason on its own
without a second chance
you can forgive just as quickly as well.


Note: If your name is Samantha, or if you know someone whose name is Samantha, the last poem has nothing to do with you, nor the person you know. Worse still, if you're Samantha or know a Samantha who is a ballerina too, it has nothing to do with you nor the person you know too. All resemblances are purely coincidental!

I'm getting my happiness kicks from the most unlikely of all places: FROGS. One thing that never ever fails to crack me up is watching stupid frogs leaping across a pathway and jumping straight into a huge drain. HAHAHAHA!! Isn't that stupid or what! It's not like I'm purposely disturbing those frogs (or toads, for that matter) just to witness them perform their Geronimo act. I've gotta cross the pathway, don't I? And since frogs are most commonly seen at night than in the day, it also meant that I have much more limited choices for my journey. And so, those froggies, in their momentary stunned state when they first sense me approaching, they react instinctively by escaping in the way that they have been moving all their lives. One hop, two hops, the third one, and they didn't notice the gap in front of them and they jump straight into the drain. HAHAHAHAHA!!

Stupid silly frogs. Then they spend forever trying to get out of that crevice, which, can be quite impossible because we all know that drains are sloped steeply in that way for water to flow into. And I'll be watching with delightful glee because it's such an amusing sight to watch. But still, nothing beats the moment when they hop into the drain.

On another second note, I've cleared all my extra guard duties! Strictly speaking it wasn't really extras, but what the hell I don't care I'm clean from punishments now. Or at least, till my next misdemeanor which I think will be soon, considering that sometimes I'm as stupid as those frogs.

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


Ah hahaha there's always time for a sonnet, and in this case, a Petrarchan one, no less. This has been one of my favourite poems of all time, largely because it contains all the major ingredients for disaster, but encapsulates its themes so well that they complement one another. Imprisonment and escape, male and female empowerment, regularity and irregularity, Order and Chaos, mastery and servitude, appearance and reality, and possibly even more (I haven't got the time to list all the comparatives). The sonnet is one humongous irony in itself. Trying to force Chaos into the realms of Order, coupled with the strict regimes of perfect lyrics required of an extremely ordered sonnet form. Isn't literature all about trying to establish order with the ingenuous use of words?

Which, is also a painful reminder of the world we live in. Would you prefer Chaos or Order, or would you say both, because the sonnet has proved that order and disorder can coexist in the same confines? Or worse, neither? Being the indecisive, sitting-on-the-fence shitty person that I am, this is food for thought to me.

Whoopee-doo. 1am in the morning now. Just came home not too long ago! Was at Clarence's mum's house for Adriel's birthday party. Which was kind of a colossal joke actually, or rather, for me only. You see, a few days ago I promised myself that I shall be a vegetarian for this weekend. No particular reason whatsoever, I just didn't feel like having any meat for my dishes for this two or three days. And guess what?? It was a barbeque, complete with a grilling stove. Which meant that there were also plenty of beef steak and ribs and everything. Cripey. If being vegetarian (even temporarily) wasn't enough, I've got another reason not to go. Clarence's mum's house is like, 200 metres away from Seletar Camp. Going there is like booking in back into camp. I've got a million reasons why I would prefer to stay out of army.

But in the end I still went. It all came down to a matter of resolve. I decided to stick to my vegetarian stand and swore not to be tempted by all the meaty display. I was kinda inspired by the month of Ramadan, and Shaheila's "strong will", and Khairul's "we can't eat if we meet up". Met Yurong at Ang Mo Kio first, bought a Veggie Delite from Subway, took a bus down, met up with Clarissa, then took another bus. It was great, cos I ate huge portions of the salad, and all the potatoes. And my Veggie Delite. And the cake. I never touched the meat! Ahh. Happy birthday to Adriel, and excellent achievement for me.

You know, some things just remain the same even after a long period of time, even though attitudes and feelings may change drastically. I caught myself still captivated with the silliness. Okay but I really don't care now, because it is all replaced with coldness. I remember those sweet moments, and I'm level-headed enough to know what is going on. Right now though, I realise I am truly free from the ties that bind.

And, to cement my pursuit for an idyllic, pastoral nature, I wore a new shirt (okay it's not new, I bought it a long time ago but just haven't wore it before) that said the following words:

Of various thoughts and recollections , strewn together to form something that might seem incoherent but actually extremely lucid. Because I have never felt so alive before.

When you see your whole life flashing by, in a mock mimic of one of those cinematic approaches of "seeing your whole life flashing by". You learn to love your mistakes, hate what you've done right, embrace your regrets and reject your opportunities. You want to kill yourself and die, but you also want to treasure the priceless qualities of life. And, just like it is so often with the benefit of hindsight, you gain more insight and add some life experience points. Almost immediately.

When you stare into the open sea, and your eyes take in every single bit of the vast expanse of the water greedily. You marvel at the horizon and think what is beyond that. You feel infinitely smaller than whatever that is out there, trapped in a airtight bubble in a bigger bubble. You feel like the scum at the bottom of the pond. Microcosm of the universe.

When you look into the same, murky water, seven inches away from the surface of the water, you think a million other things. You start thinking of a cave you have visited before. Velvet curtains of gigantic magnitude. Schools of fish skimming the surface. Dark, ominous premonitions of dread. Beetles scurrying senselessly. Disturbed cesspool. Eddies eroding the riverbed. Then you start thinking which is the best way (and least painful) to drown yourself. Which, in a sense, is ironic because there's only that many ways you can drown yourself.

When you readily volunteer for every single shit there is to do, just because this week is your week. And what disgusts me (apart from others) is how hypocritical and how sanctimonious you get in the process. But that's okay, because you promised yourself never to do so again.

When you reach your limit, and snap like a taut spring at the rustiest point. When nobody around you cares about you, and nobody wants to irritate you just for the fun of it. You realise you want the least bit of attention for yourself, and for no one else. You yearn for release from your lousy predicaments.

When you dream of a crocodile eating a man alive. You think of the morbidity of life. Man versus beasts. You wonder who tames which, and how. You question if a crocodile can even open its mouth so wide. Then you go back to sleep feeling scared.

When you fall hopelessly in love with love itself. And learning that the silliest things triggers love. Furthermore, in that same process you learn that the love is the trigger for silly things too. It's a duality, you find out. You know you are in love when you are stupid.

When you see bright red blood issuing from your very own finger. The pain doesn't quite hit you yet, but the droplets keep flowing out. You feel numb. You feel more alive, when you could have bled to death. You realise fully well that bleeding kills, but bleeding heals too. You feel it running down your hand, warm and moist. You feel it coursing through your veins, and out of your veins. The best thing is, there is no blood stains at all on the knife.

When that same finger disables you from almost everything that you used to find routine, you learn again not to take things for granted. You feel how the skin stretches across where it heals. You feel the numbing sensation as your sense of touch is lost. You try in vain to straighten your finger. You feel the pain. You run your finger across the cut, and amaze yourself with your body's self-repair mechanism. Then you berate yourself that you should have been more careful.

When you feel in control, and everything is going your way. You feel good.

When you thought it ludicrous, but became factual. Like how you think there's no way a horse can weigh two bloody tonnes, and that it's not much different from a normal human. But you quickly learn that you are wrong. And you need to brush up on your weight estimation.

When you learn quickly that lubricant grease comes in the form much like kaya and strawberry jam. You dip your fingers into it and spread it onto your palm. And you have to resist the mad urge to lick it, because it looks temptingly sweet. Your hand is all greasy. Sick, but since it's all guys, you think what the hell and continue anyway.

When you have to pump "strawberry jam" grease into the greasing points shaped like nipples. Conveniently called nipples. You pump the new grease into the point, and the old dirty grease oozes out like hardened jelly.

When you spend more time on maintenance of the vehicle and the respective stores, rather than on training itself. You want to learn more about coupling and deckhand roles and setting ramps, but they tell you to go count the stores or go greasing/washing/pump greasing.

When you don't get enough sleep. This, perhaps, is the worst, because the only thing keeping you awake is your futile attempts to try and keep your eyelids open.

Went for Tammy's choir concert at Esplanade last night! Met up with Aaron and Biru before that to go Marina Square to get sunflowers, got lost over there and was late for the concert subsequently. Ben Ng and Jill and Yurong and Clarence and Cheryl and Sing Hun too. And a new friend Mindy. Ooh the choir group as quite good! I liked the Shinjiru song, but I didn't like the songs which had the clapping parts. Then after that we all went back to Marina Square for KFC, with Dave and Shermin and Clarissa joining us. And then it was home.

Other than that adventure, I stayed home for the rest of the weekend. Sleeping.

I finally took off the bandages for my cut finger. Okay I've been changing the dressing almost daily, but this was the first time I didn't put on a new one since I cut my finger last Monday. It looks yellow from all the proflavine solution that I've been pouring over the wound. And soggy. And slightly swollen at the wound. The worst thing was, I can't feel anything on my fingertips! I think I severed all the nerves in that finger, such that I cannot even straighten the finger too.

Sing Hun says she underwent physiotherapy when she fractured her finger a few years back. Can you believe it physio for your finger! Hahaha I don't suppose I need that for mine right?? But hers was serious she had to put in titanium plates to straighten it, and it took 6 months to heal.

Okay. Gotta go back camp.

It's an accident-prone and terrible week. Monday night, I sliced my finger with my pocket jack knife while trying to fix the Singapore crest to my new beret. Super deep cut, but just a clean, clear laceration. Bled like crazy all over Sherwin's cupboard (although he readily volunteered to clean it up for me, and put too much detergent in the water subsequently), had to be "evacuated" to another company to see the medic, and I'm going back there every night just to change the dressing. Caught a cold last night ago, took a flu pill that Clarence offered me, which, remarkably, I wasn't allergic to. It got better in the morning but now it's a bad blocked nose now. Banged both my knees against the mammoth bloody vehicle that we're training for now, and now I can't walk properly. Fell off the bed while sleeping two nights ago. HOW STUPID IS THAT.

I tried changing the dressing for my finger myself. It looked like I amputated my finger now. And it's difficult trying to type without your left middle finger.

Last night at Changi airport, Khairul decided out of the blue that he wanted to ask me "a personal question". Hahaha so there I was, bracing myself for some onslaught of really intrusive questions about my past, or perhaps forced to reveal some deepest darkest secret that I might be guilty of. And mind you, we were at the viewing gallery with ten or more planes at the docking points, and another few planes landing on the airstrip every minute. Quite a romantic setting huh!

Anyway, he asked me what if one day I were to find out that Shannon's death wasn't exactly factual, that is, what if I found out that she hadn't passed away but was in fact living in the pink of health, then what would I do? Wow. Apparently this cousin of his, whose friend's boyfriend pulled a death stunt and told all his other friends to tell the girl that he was dead. I think he was seeing some other girl or something like that. Well the girl eventually found out the truth, and she was so upset that she just cried and cried and cried.

My first reaction after he asked me that was like, WOAH. It caught me quite unawares, partly because I was expected a different kind of "personal question". But it got me thinking seriously. What if one day I really were to meet Shannon again, not in heaven but on this earth, still very alive? What would I say to her? What would my reactions be? Hmm. It was kind of hard-pressed for me to give an immediate answer, even when I'm like, in the best position to tell it exactly how it feels. What I mean is, it's not some obscure hypothetical question like what would you do if your girlfriend runs away with another girl, or something like that! You get what I mean? Shannon's death was something that truly happened, and even though this is still a hypothetical question, I don't think a lot of people could have been in my shoes.

Given what I went through, I think I would be very upset too. Okay let's just assume that the scenario really became factual. I think I would be in an uproarious behaviour. I think I'll heave whatever I could lay my hands on and flung it at a wall or something, if not her. I'd have felt seriously cheated, hurt, betrayed, and all that. And I would have thought that the entire process of trying to recover from that painful loss would have been in vain; the journey of self-discovery and healing and trying to find peace which still continues up to this very day. Okay I don't think I would have ever gotten over fully with her death.

But for another moment after those turbulent and disturbing thoughts, I'm kinda glad that that will probably remain a hypothetical situation. Although, for all my undue worries, I have never actually seen her die or attended her funeral or anything. All I have for trust is her parents, whom, I'm pretty sure would do nothing of that sort to pull off such a huge conspiracy.

Which makes me wonder even further why I would believe her death and let it affect my life in such a traumatising way, when I've never even seen proof of her death. The last time I saw her in person was when she left for Denmark, which was August 2003. That's like four years exactly. Is four years of absense, and a huge drama about her death on Christmas Eve, enough to make me believe all of that??

Oh crap. Why am I even questioning the validity of her death and stuff like that?? Hahaha blame Khairul. They say seeing is believing, but it is not always the case. I've long since learnt that faith is the way for your belief to sustain you in a way that's different from anything else. And right now, I probably need all the faith I can muster to convince myself that SHANNON IS DEAD.

How ironic, when just a little while ago not too long ago, I was trying to hoodwink myself that she might actually still be alive, and loving me.

Let's see. In camp this week! Continued trainings with the heavy boat, which turned out to be quite fun indeed. Okay I still dislike the water, but overcoming the fear (even on temporary occasions) became rewarding when we got to steer the boat ourselves. Revving up the speed, changing directions, turning in tight circles, bumper boats, and all the freedom in the sea. My only grouse is, it's kinda tough doing the one-man anchorage thingy. I had to "scoop water" and redo that 6 times. Bloody hell tiring. Hahaha! And I've got a bad fungal infection on my feet, so I ended up walking around in sexy running shorts and sandals everywhere for the last 2 days. Felt like I was on chalet. Whoopee.

And today's lunch was with my family at Crystal Jade in J8. Then my parents bought me new shoes! Went down to Expo after that to go to some book fair with Khairul. Four new books for $18! Then we went to get some food at some Malay cultural fair thing. Travelled to Bedok for coffee at some coffeeshop. Went to the library. Then we went to Changi airport for fun, because we felt like doing so. More eating and drinking and a bit of shopping there. And then it was a long long bus journey home.

Here's what I did today. Decided to go exploring at Bukit Timah with Yurong today! It's always like my secret desire to go walk around in the heartlands because I love the interaction with people and it has a more homely feel to it. Hahaha! Okay and there's food too. And Bukit Timah has all the cute and sweet little kids! Girls like Leia!! And all the expatriates that are staying there, so with any luck I might bump into a really hot French girl. You know, something exciting like that.

Anyway, Yurong and I just went around at 6th Avenue, ate beef pie and ham and egg pie at Venezia in Guthrie House, then walked all the way up to Estivo (along Hillcrest Road and Greenwood Ave) for ice cream. That was like, 2 bus stops worth of walking!! Heh we drew the Estivo's logo and pasted it on the whiteboard for them. Then we had iced milo at the nearby coffee shop, got lost around Watten Estate trying to get out, before she left to go corps while I went town to find Khairul.

Had lunch with him at Far East! Okay he ate, I didn't. Then I wanted to buy tee shirts, but they were either too expensive or not my kind. So we decided to go down to Heeren. And we basically spent half our time there shopping, and another half trying to stalk this girl. Blimey she's cute and hot at the same time!! And dressed in pretty pink and with curly hair! I think she was sooo for me la. We walked past her once, she disappeared with her friend, and we spent the next 45 minutes combing the entire Heeren trying to search for her again. HAHAHA!! Of course we didn't manage to.

And oh, I managed to sustain a SMS chat with this total stranger for a whole day today! Okay she's not exactly a stranger; Khairul gave me her number, so she's a friend's friend. Kinda weird, but not bad la it's like a get-to-know-you session. I know her favourite ice cream flavour. Stuff like that.

Okay, here's my food for thought for the weekend. Been listening to a wide selection range of music this week. Of course, the most common genre being pop music, but I've also listened to a lot of oldies, and funky disco/techno, and classical, and country folk music, and contemporary, and a bit of traditional music, and a bit of heavy metal rock. I can probably list more genres here (if I knew that many), but you must also keep in mind that classification of genres of music tends to be a little warped here. Each classification can be further divided into sub-categories, like if you were to be wholly strict here, you can classify rock music into punk rock and funk rock and mild rock and pop rock and a whole load of other combinations. Also, it is impossible to avoid controversy when categorising a musical piece into a specific genre, because the dimensions can sometimes be disturbingly similar, and that's not mentioning the consistency of that particular genre throughout the musical piece, and the many exceptions and variations that are bound to occur. Think in terms, like, what defines punk rock? While you can note common patterns, musical genres are quite useless when they become too specific and too localised. They are only helpful if it's a really broad genre, like pop and rock and classical.

Okay let's not get into there. That's not what I want to talk about. Blee it's a bit unnecessary right? Alright I shall try and make it more precise now.

I strongly feel that music is not a result of random pitching and rhythm. Music is music in itself because it is the culmination of a strict government of laws and perfect mathematics. And when all the laws are in accordant, any musical piece, no matter how simple or complex, becomes a form of artistic expression. In creating a melody, you cannot just jumble up random notes and rhythm because it would sound extremely jarring and awkward. Of course, you can still call that music, but let's not get into there either. A close examination oft all musical pieces would suffice to inform you that with a decently smooth melody (enclosed with all the prerequisite flats and sharps), all songs and instrumental music have a pretty good chance of "enduring through the ages". Like, if I were to ask you to quote me a well-known melody that signifies impending doom, or if I were to ask you to sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", I'm sure it flows out quite easily.

It happens that way because music is not a chanced coincidence. The mechanics behind the arrangement of musical notes is so important that without it, we would not even have music in the first place. The composer's job is therefore the most important, as he is the creator of an unique set of musical composition that is to express his artistic slants. It is also possible to convey emotions through music, like soft piano keys might be soothing, loud guitar riffs are energetic, et cetra et cetra. By saying that, musical instruments are also pivotal in this artistic expression. They are the sound-makers. Throw in a singer, unique in voice, tonal power and pitching, and it is another expression all by itself. Finally, add the lyrics of a song (if applicable), and you've mixed literature and music into an unassailable combination of artistic supremacy.

My point is, music is never accidental. It is crafted with such precision that even if it sounds lousy, it is still perfect in almost every sense because of the all-encompassing musical laws. That being said, shouldn't our lives follow a similar pattern as well? If we think of ourselves subservient and microscopic to the larger universe, aren't we just minions that are trying to introduce regularity in our lives? Wait a minute, we are already all stickers for constancy, and we detest the slightest change because that would mean chaos to our carefully structured worlds.

Just like music.

(I hope you understand what I'm trying to drive at, because I don't think I phrased it well enough to be comprehensive. I've got a lot more in my head, but the topic might be a little too abstract for words to define. Never mind, I've already tried my best, given that it's almost 1am in the night now.)

This week was probably the toughest and most trying period of my army trainee phase, since whenever. Maybe field camp was equally gruelling, or outlasting the 24km route march. But seriously, it was terrible because of all my inherent fears of practically the only thing that I've really feared in my life. We're going through a 2-week boat package right now. And that is not good for me, because I don't really like water. I don't mind water for consumption or for washing or bathing or whatever other usages there are for water, but I'm never very keen to submerge myself in a vast, foreign water body. Think rivers and open seas. Swimming pools are like the maximum I'll go, but even then, forcibly and reluctantly. I just don't like the feeling of being underwater. It's like entrapment, and it's not helping when I start thinking about how big the sea is or I might drown or something will pull me below the water or how to stay alive when I'm already floating with the aid of a life jacket.

On Tuesday, we loaded out the assault boats, the motors and all the respective stores, and set out into the open sea. Had to learn all the capsize and man-overboard drills, which meant that going into the water was unavoidable for everyone. I didn't mind getting myself thoroughly soaked or water getting into my boots or anything else. But I went into the seawater and panicked. Thought I was sinking down like an anchor, but the life jacket jerked me up. And for two minutes, I was trying to keep myself upright in the water without looking like some lost prey.

And yesterday, we had to learn the proper techniques of carrying and handling the boat and the motor. Eight people to carry the 160kg boat, and two for the 75kg motor. The bloody motor caused a big bruise on my left shoulder. Had to carry four consecutive boats off the trailer, past a certain distance, and back after that. That just about killed me. I'm not that weak physically, but I couldn't handle the indignity and injustice when I was punished unfairly, and of some incompetent people on my team. Ended up doing FORTY PUSH-UPS just after shifting the second boat, which left me with a throbbing heart, loud gasps, little strength left, and a huge rage at the retarded people who do nothing to contribute to the carrying strength. I'm surprised I pulled through the last two boats, because I seriously thought I was going to get a heart failure and die from overexertion.

Today, we learnt some more about the boat and laying out all the stores and fixing the motor and blah blah. Then we wasted 4 hours trying to get into Pasir Laba Camp for the Army Open House. That just shows how efficient the army can get. Which also turned out to be a colossal joke because the few of us only made one cursory round before getting out of there in 5 minutes. But the amazing thing was, I managed to catch up with Chiew Yee at Boon Lay bus interchange. She was on her way home and so was I.

Okay. Enough rambling, because I got a out-camp run at West Coast Park tomorrow morning. But I will gladly run tomorrow, because I'm out of camp. Staying in makes me depressed times ten.

And I'm wishing for some miracle, because there's still another week of back-breaking boats to carry and out-in-the-sea training. I wish they would carry out the training in some tiny puddle of water instead.

Went for a jog with Khairul at Serangoon Stadium this morning. There's Army Half Marathon at Marina Bay tomorrow, but my name is also down for camp guard duty tomorrow too. So I figured that since I'm not running the 12km distance, I might as well try and make up for it by doing a bit of light jogging today. Only managed 3.2km today, because it became too hot towards the late morning. Sigh that's really miserable, considering the distances we cover in our army runs. But never mind, hanging out with Khairul is equivalent to hanging out with roti prata, so we walked up Yio Chu Kang Road to this Muslim eatery to have our prata quick-fix. Then we took a bus down to J8, went to the library without borrowing anything, then I spent $6 taking four passport-sized photos of myself in one of those instant photo machines, and Khairul went home. I went to find my mum and my sister for some more lunch and some shopping, before going to the market to get engineer gloves because we're going to be lugging a lot more heavy-duty things in training. Met Matthew on the bus. And after all of this, I headed home, and stayed there till now.

I need to find a girlfriend so that I can feel committed in some sense. It's kinda unhealthy when the only thing that sucks all my energy is army. C'mon!! I'm sure I've got better things to do than eat, sleep, run and train in the army all week long. Need a girl to keep me occupied and to distract things off my mind.

Hahaha. Easier said than done. Falling in love is quite a complicated process. But Khairul is helping me find a "cutesy sweet pretty and good-looking" girl, so I've got some hope. Yay.

This post is slightly delayed, but considering that I can't just walk out of my army camp on a normal weekday, I would say that this is kinda reasonable (don't complain you unreasonable woman). And besides, it's only late by one day. It ain't that bad.

Yesterday marked the end of a one year wait for me and Eleanor's first year anniversary. Yesterday, being 23rd August 2007. It was a highly anticipated date in both of our calendars. And just in case you're wondering, the answer is no, we're not attached. But it is still our one year anniversary. Whatever we did a year ago probably wouldn't matter to the most of you that are reading this. And, in any case, I wouldn't really want to spend one huge long post just to explain the entire story. So just accept the fact, will you? =D

Thanks for all those wonderful moments, the terrible quarrels, the tender concerns and the spiteful vituperations. Thanks for being a loyal friend, true and through. Thanks for being the most hideously disgusting pervert (and a girl) that I know. Thanks for loving me, and accepting my love in return. But I gotta apologise, no matter what, you'll at the very most be second-best, because we both know she is irreplaceable (cue: Beyoncé's song).

Okay I shall attempt to summarise my rather eventful week with this one post. This week in camp was quite terrible. On my last scheduled guard duty for the NDP period, I was caught using the broom to sweep the table. So that triggered a huge and lengthy lecture about positive and negative attitudes and whatever rubbish with the RSM that caught me, then he decided to email my company's CSM, who also gave me another stern reprimand about living up to expectations and a whole load of other non-related stuff. Bloody hell it was just for my convenience, and probably a moment's worth of folly, but I'm certain such a minor mistake doesn't warrant such a big fiasco. On top of that, a few of us didn't bring our rifle cleaning kits because nobody in the world clean rifles just for guard duty. And for that, we've all got three extra duties. AARGH I think it's dumb, but I don't mind la, because I've done so many guard duties that they don't scare me anymore.

And on another subject, my army vocation for the next year and a half is finally confirmed. I'm staying in bridging and operating the gigantic chunk of metal, mobile bridge called M3G. They were deciding whether to post me to boat, but in the end someone else is getting out instead of me. Which was both a good and bad thing for me, because that means I don't have to shift all my stuff, but it's terrible because my feelings were cheated for one entire month of worthless speculation.

And on yet another subject, I sprained my back on Wednesday. I sneezed a bit too hard I think, and next moment I've got a sharp pain in my lower back. Don't scoff at me, it's true! Couldn't walk properly, tossed and turned the whole night cos I couldn't find a sleeping position that didn't hurt. Went to report sick the next day and they just gave me painkillers and a few days of excused activities. But it's a lot better now, except that I still take 15 minutes to try and get out of bed every morning, and I can't bend down to pick something up, and I can't get up if I sit cross-legged on the floor.

Out of camp, I went for youth service and cell group last night. Then I went out for lunch with Edmond at Suntec today. We ate at Crystal Jade! It was supposed to be a farewell thingy, because both of us were supposed to be posting out to boat, but it turned out that he is and I'm not. Then we walked all the way to Esplanade just for fun. After that, I went down to town for A01 class gathering! Chiew Yee, Kai Jie, Jaslyn, Qiling, Beetsma and Dora, and me included, went for buffet at Sakura at Orchard Shopping Centre. Then Khairi and Annie joined us and we accompanied them for their dinner, and all was catching up good and fine. Catching up with friends is always nice.

It's back to Vivo again, this time with Dora, Rachel Tan, Andre and Biru. Had lunch (of sorts, since it was 3pm) at Marché, which included all the familiar pies and potato dishes and dessert, and a mini celebration for Rachel as it was her birthday last week. Then it was shopping around Vivo for a while, before we all went back home. I didn't though; I stayed behind at Junction 8 to meet my family for dinner at Din Tai Fung. It was my dad's birthday today. I'm happy I managed to get out of house today, not to mention catching up with oldie friends whom I haven't met in months. Hooray.

There's this regular radio programme on 987 FM radio station that I've recently taken to listening. It's called 987 FM Stripped, and it's an one-hour weekend segment that only play songs in their acoustic, unplugged versions. Sounds really cool huh? Okay you can call me skewed, but I've always been attracted to songs with a really distinct acoustic mix to it. Maybe it's because I play the guitar, or maybe I think there's something really attractive in the sounds of a guitar strumming and a voice crooning to the tune. Or maybe I just like instruments like the banjo, or the ukulele, or some acoustic synthesizer, or those sort. Whichever.

I think it's for good measure that they named it Stripped. It actually makes it mean the way it was supposed to mean. When the song is reduced to its bare minimum, with no additional frills and mixing and such, it is where the real essence shines through. There can be no hiding behind overpowering electric guitar riffs or loud drums. The singer has a direct communication with the listener. If the singer has weak vocals, the listener can tell almost straight away. And of course, there's just some special earthy quality from the acoustic guitars. There's a stronger emphasis on the higher tones instead of the bass, which further evokes a pastoral, contemporary folk feeling to it. Remember the song "Country Road"? That's where I'm drifting towards.

And if you take it one more step further, try and apply this concept on the whole debate of appearance and reality. When you strip away the outer layers, you get the underlying core that is undisguised and practically naked. Isn't that a sort of representation of the human appearance? On the surface, you can be all goody and fine, but deep down, there's all those insecurities and fears. Or you can be hideous and mean, but deep down there is a yearning for love. You know, the whole thing about never judging a book by its cover and uncovering the truth behind the façade.

So which is more appealing? Do we prefer the fuller version of being, where we run the risk of finding more than just skeletons in the hidden, masked closet, or do we prefer the ripped creature that is vulnerable and exposed, but very much the quintessence of truth? Do we wish that people will be more like themselves in their nature, or do we wish that everyone can just pretend to be good for good's sake? Do we ourselves wish we could hide behind a hidden mask, or wear our hearts on our sleeves and allow ourselves to be interpreted like an open book?

Of course, there will be the whole controversy about what is the truth and what is fake. How do you know when the appearance is reality? Or how do you know reality is reality? Appearance can be the actual reality sometimes. And then again, how far do you have to go in order to reach the reality? I'm sure there will still be remaining shards of disguise even when the stripped creature is just sitting there on its bare butt.

Bah. I'm lazy to keep expanding on this issue anymore. And, I apologise for the languid and lifeless prose, because army has rendered me quite dry linguistically. Right now, I'm trying to decide which version (the actual or the acoustic one) of Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone" do I like better.

I have finally finished reading the entire Harry Potter series. And my goodness, what a journey this has been. Ten years of exhilarating moments, of happiness and joy and wonder and sympathy and grief and barely-withheld excitement for that boy with the lightning-bolt scar. I remember the nice lady who was organising this book fair in my primary school. It was she who first introduced me to the underground magical world that existed in secrecy. I wasn't convinced enough to purchase a book, but I eventually loaned a copy of the first book from a classmate. And that pretty much signalled the start of the long journey that only ended last week.

From a literary point, I feel that I must give credit to J. K. Rowling for an absolutely brilliant creation of the whole story's plot and a fantastic narrative voice that dictated not only the story, but also the reader's emotions as well. It is engagement with the story at the highest level, where one feels and reels from the realism of the story in every detailed entirety. The amount of detail that Rowling introduces with each book is staggering, but it is equally amazing how she can still render every thing as memorable as can be. The whole world becomes stunningly alive and detailed in every aspect, right down to the huge array of believable characters, the way of life, enjoyment, and the intricate relationship of magic and spells in every sense unimaginable. And the way the whole story's complicated plot weaves itself to a sophisticated end is truly remarkable too.

I think there was definitely a mixed sense of catharsis and euphoria upon finishing the entire series. It wasn't tremendous, but when you start thinking of the resultant triumph of the good over the evil at the price of so many character deaths, it is hard to think whether the eventual trade-off is fulfilling or not. That said, I still wish that the ending wasn't so soft. It was kind of predictable, to speak the truth, and I was hoping for a much larger twist.

I like the way Rowling integrates the big themes of love, life, and death into story plot as thinking fodder, forcing you to evaluate which outcome you would have preferred. Through the narration of the story, she somehow found time and space to introduce all these moralistic choices that encapsulates what we humans go through too. I think it is her way of bringing across her own interpretation of what she thinks of love, and of death. Commendable. I also particularly like her methods of using Harry as a surrogate for the readers' foray into the magical world. I'm a sucker for things like that.

However, I still wish that Voldemort turns out to be Harry's father all along, in a mock Star Wars style. Sherwin and I came up with that. Don't you think this ought to be the case? The whole Potter thing is a bit like a cross between Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. There's the Dark side, and magic, and battles and adventures, and the outrageous plot revelations. My favourite preferred ending though, might still be the one that Eleanor and I came up with: Hermione crosses over to the Dark Magic side and runs off with Voldemort happily ever after, while Ron, Ginny and Harry have a twisted threesome which would mean brother, sister and brother's best friend in some perverse orgy. But that wouldn't exactly be wholesome reading for the kids, won't it? Sigh.

My current circumstances and choices aren't exactly great now. Perhaps there is a much simpler way to extricate myself from this mess that I've landed myself into. But, at the moment, I have yet to find a reasonable solution for myself and the people around me. So I guess I have to keep trying. Keep on having a go at it, keep on trying to improve the lousy situations.

I don't know which is more terrible: constantly getting snubbed by the people I cared most, or struggling with issues of confidence, self-worth and belief. It's as if my carefully constructed universe is shaken out of its natural order.

I feel like a carpenter. Trying to chisel away huge chunks of wood just to create a wooden sculpture that is wholesome and beautiful. I don't know if that is possible, but I do realise that I'm a perfectionist in this sense and nothing short of excellence is to be tolerated. But all it takes is just one tiny slip, and the perfect sculpture that exists in potentiality will be ruined. All my efforts might as well be like the wasted wood that is unnecessary to the sculpture; redundant, worthless, useless.

Ugh. The only thing lifting my spirits up is the magical date 13th August 2007. My final guard duty, after enduring one and a half months of abuse from walking around the camp, or stationed at the gate, or answering meaningless phone calls, or being treated like thrash.

And, of course, in a blink of an eye, it's August again. You don't think I would have forgotten, would you?