Here We Go Again

There's this song that goes Here We Go Again. If I am not mistaken, it's Animal by Neon Trees.

And indeed, here we go again. My last post was before I entered Pasir Lebar Camp, for my Foundation term in SCS. A few hours before actually. A new journey after BMT. 8 weeks in PLC, learning the basics from scratch, with an emphasis on leadership.

And I enjoyed it. Everything was fun. Training was logically tougher than BMT, but BMT's toughness was the hardship of adaptation, not of training. But in SCS, we are fit. We should be fit. IPPT was a requirement to enter Command School. The army relies on the concept of leading by example. And how can I implore my men to keep fit if I failed my IPPT?

Hypocrisy at its best. And to counter that, we have to be at our best. Only then can we teach. Only then can we show. Only then can we lead.

So I graduated two days ago. Come to think of it, the 8 weeks went by like a flash. I might be the only one thinking that way though. And this acceleration of time was not felt at the end of the course but at any point in time on course. I suppose I wasn't bored as often as usual. For that, the army gets a commendation from me.
Here we go again. Because Wednesday, I am due to book in Kranjib camp. Artillery. Every boy's dream when young. If it wasn't to be a police or an astronaut or the President of Singapore(this was actually a trend), then it was missiles. Psssssh.

How can anyone dislike missiles. Ignore the damage it deals. Ignore the pain it causes. Just think about its graceful flight, thrumming with power and intent. Just think about the ideas and effort that has been put into it; like a needle threading though a minuscule hole. With quite a significant bit less room for error.

And so, I am excited. Artillery. I would have rather medic but well, seems like it was full. /shrugs.

I think I am writing a little more informally than usual. Pardon. I am really quite tired and I feel like sleeping. But sheer force of will keep me awake, if not only to prevent myself from inherently wasting time.

What else hmm. I simply cannot end with such a short post. But I am not ranting. I am actually coherent, if a little tired.

Ah.

I bought a book. Oh god, what a book. Leather bound. Slip cover with alternate art and The Story of Morpheus, Master of Dream. The stories are beautiful, as is the art. Every page, I marvel at the effort of the comic and of what Morpheus is going through. And the smell. Better than any drugs I have never yet tasted. I assume they would have the same effort on me as a new book would though. Especially a leather wrapped one.

And boy, is it heavy. And expensive too. When my mom asked, I just sheepishly grin at her. And she was annoyed. Splurging 70-80 dollars on a book, she said.

Well, I didn't argue. The book cost 129.

Individualism in an army

An army focuses on regimentation, on discipline. Boy oh boy, it has been a long time since I wrote an entry here. Nostalgic really. I must add though, the standard of my English has pretty much deteriorated, with prolonged use of Chinese and dialects. So pardon me when I make grammatical or spelling mistakes.

I am not going to talk about my experiences in the army. That one I can speak to my friends about. Experiences in the last three weeks has been ardous, long and memorable. Whether it's good or bad ones doesn't really matter after sufficient time has passed. They matter in that particular  moment but when it has passed and activities translate into memories, the form has changed.

I have changed,  of that I don't doubt. I expected myself to change after entering the army and I did. On the third day, I cried. I have never done that before, not in camps or overseas trips. It was Mother's Day that day though I would be a Goddarn liar if that was my only reason I cried. In intropection, it was because I was homesick and depressed. The latter not just because of the former. It was the translation of a civilian's life to a soldier's life. Individualism is no longer a virtue. It is inherently rooted out in BMT. It's not on purpose; there's a fully fledged reason for it. Discipline and regimentation requires order. Order requires obedience. Obedience does not require thoughts.

Most of the time, we have to follow a particular set of orders. The obedience of the orders is absolute and they have to be reacted fast to.

"Just follow my order, don't think about it;" it actually continues fluently in more elegant language.

ID tags, or dog tags. We recieve them on day 1. There are two. Both has the same thing on it. Your name. Your NRIC and your blood type. The rationale behind wearing them is simple. If, touch wood, you die and the manner of your demise causes you to be unidentifiable, one of the tag is placed into your mouth to identify you. The other is given to your parents.

When you recieve the tag on the first day and the meaning explained to you, you know in your heart(or perhaps it's just me) that your life is no longer a priority. Alright that didn't come right. Every soldier's life is important, yes that's true. But once you become soldier, you recieve that responsibility(compulsorily) to protect the people around you. When you receive your gun, there is a long ceremonial process. You vow to take care of the gun and stuff, and at the end of the pledge, you are require to raise your voice and shout "WITH MY LIFE."

I will take care of the gun...protect my country...protect my family...train...WITH MY LIFE." The ceremony, as I said, is a long one and you are required to hold the gun the whole ceremony with your right hand. 4 kg and there is only one method allowed for everyone to hold it. As our company Sergeant Major would say, that is the weight of responsibility.

Interestingly, my blog might be monitored. There is a program within this computer that enable what I am doing to be seen. I don't want to be seen wayanying so the good things of BMT shall remain unsaid. I don't want to be charged with disrect to my superiors, so the bad things remains similarly unsaid.

But I have changed. Not for the better nor the worst. I know I am more responsible now. I doubt punctuality will be as big an issue for me then it was in the past. All the punishments taught me that. With 1 min and a half to shower or with 2 min to head to the toilet and down, you really have no choice. Our watches are syncronised with the lieutanants' watches and 10 seconds of being late rewards us with 10 push-ups. We have a platoon timer who screams the time as he sprints down the stairs, half-dressed. Be there half-naked and you are there. Humilating maybe but you have not broken the trust the commanders have placed in you. I was once a more irresponisble person. I still am now. 3 weeks of BMT has not changed much in the way of time managment. I am lazy as hell, prefering to push what I need to do till the last second. But there it ends. I push it till the last second, thankfully, no longer beyond.

There was a beauty in irresponsibility and I will not regret what I did then. I prioritised my own time over the need for being on time for the other individual. That was self-importance. I doubt I will think any lower of myself; but now lack of punctuality will affect me quite a bit more.

I have became a lot of cynical too. Neither good or bad again and I am that bit annoyed I can't explain what I mean. There are some stuff about BMT I dislike(don't we all). Oh well. Grey area censorship.

Bottom line. Have I learn from BMT? Yes. Would I have learn more(when I speak of learning, I mean it in the most general of sense, friends of mine would know above all else, I love the state of learning best) on my own? Definitely not. Memorable? Certainly. Do I like BMT?

A section mate of mine made the mistake of thinking I loved BMT because I used the word memorable and interesting.

The thing is, if hell does exist, torture devices, pain and all, it would certainly be a memorable and interesting trip there. If you like it, well, everyone has their own taste. You get my gist.

(Redacted)

There's still seven more weeks. Let's not make such a hasty judgement about it.

On existentialism and life

When people speak about life, what do they speak about? What they aim for, for example. What they love. What they despise. There is emotions in their words and much thoughts in their souls. Some of these people actually think about the meaning of life. Some only claims they think about it. For many, the meaning of life is a euphemism for an existential crisis.

Why should we live? The strongest and weakest argument by far is one of status quo. We live because we are already living. It's effortless to live but painful to die. I suppose in a discourse of existentialism, my viewpoints on God would be required. I once subscribed to Agnosticism before realising, no, that's not truly it. Agnosticism has experienced much misunderstandings, I find, especially in a Junior College. People over-simplify its definition. It has become the hip new synonym for atheist. I am probably more of a theist than anything else, though I choose to describe myself as a free-thinker, if only because it's far easier they treat me as such. It is always vaguely amusing how being a theist automatically qualifies you to be a Buddhist/Christian/Muslim.

I am digressing as usual and I realise I don't give a damn. I will go back to existentialism as I continue. Onwards. I have a friend who dislikes relativists. I can understand why. Relativist have the easiest way out of any argument. Morality is moot, as are any opinions in general. Accepting everything is the exact same thing as disregarding everything. I once thought I was one, but I quickly realised I was much too polemical and antagonistic to be a relativist, much less a good one. I am probably similar to an existentialist now. I act with as much ontological responsibility as I am without realistic responsibility. I cannot say I am reproached by Christians or Catholics, no actually fuck it I can. I am exactly the male no staunch Christian doting father will marry off her daughter to.

I once told my friend I went to church with my mom. "You of all people?", she said. We must be the most disquieting people any good religious individual will meet. Not many know what an existentialist is, but what they would feel is what many others who knows the definition would. By ignoring the tenets of any religions, we have create a life in which we have absolute freedom in our choices of morality. There is no moral values that holds any otherworldly authority over us. Yes, we don't kill but we might as well. I don't kill people because it's against the law. Or because it has been drummed into us, a habit. That's a horrible thing to think, people would no doubt feel.

The audacity of the statement. I suppose Satre didn't commit rape only because he would end up in jail. Ask a Buddhist. Or anyone with a religion. For them, it is Wrong. It is Not Right. It is Evil.

I simply cannot find any meaning in life. That doesn't necessitate suicide- it just means I cannot see the end; I cannot see the start, I see the middle and it might as well be invisible. I sound like a hardened pessimist but that's not it either. I do enjoy learning new things, I  enjoy the sight of a pretty girl, I enjoy a good conversation and I enjoy friendship. There are probably a million and one things I haven't yet have the chance to enjoy but will, all the same. The first time I have sex perhaps. Or maybe my first child. Or a good book I have not yet found. Perhaps the first time I scuba dive. I acknowledge the pleasure these activities brought me. I see the happiness they have created. That is not the meaning of life any more than death is. They are simply causations of me living life. If you drive a car, you need to travel from Point A to B. That is why you seat behind the steering wheel. That is its meaning. Enjoying the wind because it's a breezy day is a by-product, a consequence. Life has none of the latter. All of it is the former.

I have yet another friend who told me on Whatapp that the meaning of life is never meant to be found. Life is supposed to be all about finding the meaning of it. She is eccentric, beautiful and hates circular logic. She felt the logic and beauty of her answer was apparent. I suppose circular logic is beautiful in a way. But I never could point out to her its plausible hypocrisy.

And so I live my life, meaningless. It's never aimless; I have as many aims as the sky is broad. But they feel more mundane day after day, hour after hour. I find you cannot be perfectly rational about life and hope to live it meaningfully. Ignorance has to be a key tenet in leading a meaningful life. Ignore the meaning of life and find true meaning in it? For the optimistic and God-fearing individuals perhaps. Never for me.

A Story from the past

Because I am lazy to write just about anything, I think I will put up some stuff I had written in the past. I have a file labelled "Tittle-tattle tales for all". I started it in Primary School and ended it in Secondary two. I wrote stories in the past before giving up. No talent in it whatsoever so screw it. I am also not one of those who derive much pleasure in writing. Sure, it's fun. But it's too bleeding tedious. So till now, I remain a voracious reader and a non-existent writer.

Here is a story I wrote in the past. Anytime I feel lazy, I will just update this story. Copy and pasting is infinitely simpler. Heh. I did realised I seemed to have predicted my own results. Dayum.



Chapter 1: The meeting

Reality was warped. People might have experienced a metaphorical sense of warping, but for me, it was not at all metaphorical. It was a cold bite into my consciousmess. My world had changed and no one could help me.

It started in the campus. I am 21, a university freshman starting on applied physics. It was not a course that had interested me; it just had one of the lowest applicable score required to enter. I am not a hardworking student nor even a meandering one. I am slothlike and procrastination was my second favourite word(favourite being destiny, because with destiny, you don't need to work with a purpose). And that was what I hated alongside happiness. Purpose. Not general Purpose but Purpose in its higher form. I watched Purposeful people eat and sleep, study and shit, obtaining what they had wanted with their life. And I meander, neither studying my heart out nor playing the day off. I was an In-Between. Aimless and Purposeless. This mindset to life landed me in theoretical physics. Perhaps, in another country, with different parents, I might have studied harder. Perhaps physics in MIT. Right now, theoretical physics was a joke in my nation. Pragmatic as my country is, accountancy, law and architecture were what held dominance. They were the highly sought after industries, the ones with all the required As'.

I thought all these as I wandered into the university hall.

"Late I see. It's your first day too," a cold stare from the lecturer.

I quickly sat. To my left, a man with specs. Geeky and freckled, he was fiddling with his phone. On my right was another male listening attentively. I groaned. Physics was male-dominated, depriving me of any chance of flirting. Someone grabbed my leg. I started at the hand enclosing my ankle, pulling away a little. The hand was petite, small and deprived of any watch. The owner sat in front and grinned at me. She scribbled on a piece of paper and tossed it to me.

Purplexed, I caught it.

"Greetings. How do you feel about possibilities?"

I thought for awhile, then replied.

"Irritating. They diminish the importance of reality."

And that hour passed as followed.

"How so?"

"Reality is acted upon with information. Possibility is corrupted information, decreasing the chance of facing reality properly. Eg. I was told I was smart. Smart people around me got what they want. I wanted psychology. I got physics."

"So you are bragging now. And that example is pretty irrelevant, is it not?"

"Not really. I am trying to prove my point. The guy wanting psychology might not be me. Hence, I might not be bragging. But the possibility of me bragging has arose and this will distort the reality of who I am to you."

At this the girl laughed and the professor looked up towards us, irritated.

"You. Laughing girl." he squinted at the white paper-filled name. "Give me in any two words, the nature of quantum mechanics."

"Possible realities."


Chapter 2: The bet

I chomped on a piece of meat, thinking about the girl. She was interesting and pretty. Yes, she's pretty. I couldn't not note her looks. They were there, good looks being inherent, me being a male. I had to check her out. I finished my food and got up. A piece of paper stuck under my plate.The grease had stuck the paper on the table. I grimaced and pluck it out

The Bet.
Aim: To cause reality to be distorted around you
Distortion cannot be proved. It's only an opinion you strongly believe in.
The Victory; Obtained when you...

At this, the paper was torn.

I looked around me but I couldn't find the girl. I understood. It's a test. And a prank. I indulged in these regularly myself. Hence I knew the most difficult component: finding the audience. Once, I created a stunning mystery in primary school, hoping someone would try his or her hands at it. But they never did. I solved the mystery I created myself and there is never fun in that. They are known formally as Alternate Reality Game and the creators, Game masters. Or Puppeteers. Ironically, this one that have been given to me was more of a experiment, an Alternate Reality Game probing the perception of the player pertaining to an alternate reality. Or so I thought.

It was a test, I concluded. The first step to solve it was also the one least used in puzzle-solving. Finding the source of the puzzle. The girl, or course. I looked at the paper. It was in a mottled colour. Coloured papers were not found in our university's bookshop. They were only sold in specialised shops. It was torn. On purpose, no less. To incite curiosity? Or was there a deeper meaning. To ARQ old hands like me, the fastest way in solving the puzzle is for tge source to reveal hidden information in accident. Sure, it was dirty, but the creator of the puzzle wasn't much good if any information flow pertaining to the puzzle wasn't controlled by him or her.

Same time the next day. I walked into the lecture hall, keeping my eyes peeled. The hall was packed but at least pretty girls stood out here. I scanned rows after rows, keeping in mind her petite size. Her size would, ironically, cause her to stand out. But try as I might, I couldn't find her. This is some elaborate puzzle. I sat down as the lecture started and started thinking.

If I were to create a sense of a warped world surrounding an individual, how do I go about it?

One obvious way would be drugs. LSD, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide could do it, but I doubt the girl had it. It had to be something that introduce an impossible puzzle into everyday life. Something so hard to explain it can only be staged. Yet, the difficulty in staging such an event would cause the individual to doubt the existence of the motive. It was, to me, an impossible challenge. And to challenge me. I was experienced in this; and most disadvantageous to the girl, I was a hardened skeptic and realist.

It's impossible. I fingered the paper in my pocket as the professor droned on. Impossible. The professor seemed to agree with me as he nodded up and down.

The rant of inexperience and the lack of cousins

My muscle has atrophied. It was actually pretty easy to check. Two months ago, when I was in the midst of studying for my A levels, frisbee was my life. I looked up videos, searched tactics, ran to make myself faster. I could jump and touch the ceiling with my palms in my house.

I taped a measuring tape to the wall and my jump height was 58cm. I was by no means atheletic so my vertical jump was something I was satisfied by. I don't train so the potential to jump higher with knowledge of the average vertical height was another thing that fueled my frisbee craze. Two months later, after hours of computer games and puzzles and sitting on a damn chair. My jump height has dropped by 5cm. I can feel the significance of the loss of height. It does fill me with a little regret. Something I had enjoyed had reaped me the benefits of height; yet the loss of it was sudden and certain.

Which made me reflect on what I have done. Was it worth it? The opportunity cost of whatever had followed frisbee.

	males		females
rating	(inches)	(cm)	(inches)	(cm)
excellent	> 28	> 70	> 24	> 60
very good	24 - 28	61-70	20 - 24	51-60
above average	20 - 24	51-60	16 - 20	41-50
average	16 - 20	41-50	12 - 16	31-40
below average	12 - 16	31-40	8 - 12	21-30
poor	8 - 12	21-30	4 - 8	11-20
very poor	< 8	< 21	< 4	< 11

Mundane things, to be sure, but not to me. I define my life by learning. But by engaging in the action of learning, I would have decided to stop learning something else. Which is very similar to the concept of libertarianism and determinism. I digress, but I have no cousins. My New Year, indeed, every holiday, is with me and my brother in the doldrum. My aunts and uncles, four of them, know not my blogging. Hence I am free to rant. In exchange for cousins, my brother and I have became the apple of everyone's eye. It's pressurising and I do not enjoy it to say the least. There is a subconscious judgement of which has been placed on both of us. That we do not have any cousins have reinforced the concept that we are mere childs. There is no comparison of growths, no mothering of their own childs. One moment that still frustrates me is when I cross the darn road, one of my aunt still tries to hold my hands.

My mom laughed at that. I digress but I need to show a picture of how I have grown up. It's has mostly been my brother and I- which is probably why we are so competitive. We fulfil the roles of rivals and cousins, of enemies and best of friends. We only have the other to interact and we step in each role perfectly.

My aunt, of course, would have a maddeningly superiority complex. Any argument ends with a shake of a head, a smile and a sigh. You lack experience, they would say.

"Time, aunt, is a perception. Perhaps we merely perceive the stasis of space and time to be the passing of it. That time and space are a movie already played frame by frame, but we have the ability of only viewing one frame at a time, and only in the forward direction. The flaws of a three-dimensional creature."

"You lack experience, boy," *smiles*, "one day, when you grow up, you will know time is time. Cannot be changed."

 But an argument with my brother yields more interesting discussions. Which is why I am bleeding thankful I have one.

"Free will exist. I am a proponent of the Many-World Theory. A choice is merely the splitting of one world into many. Wave-functions collapse. Parallel universes locked in temporal steps, exactly the same except for the choice just made."

"No, it doesn't. I don't support the MWT but in fact, it shows it doesn't. Think of it this way. Make a choice and you restrict the other from making one. He makes a choice and it means He, or You in this universe has made another one. There are no exceptions due to the conditions of the MWT. No choice you make is so individualised till the impact is nil."

"Winner of the next reversi match wins the argument."













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