We Were Soldiers

For two years now, I've lived life one day at a time. Actually, that was an absolutely stupid thing to say. Is there any other way to live?

From one point of view, it has been an utter waste of my time. For one thing, I have forgotten every single thing I learnt at Pasir Ris Town Community College. Although all signs would show that it had nothing to do with my National Service, it is indeed a very convenient thing to blame your problems on.
For many of us, going to NS has been one of the things we dreaded our entire lives from the moment we could comprehend the fact that we were males of the species. The stigmata or dare I say, penalty of being a boy born in Singapore. We curse the government for the senselessness of the policy, we curse our ancestors for moving here from their shacks and shanty towns, we curse the females (particularly feminists) for not having any sort of national duty or liability. We sit down and complain for days on end about some Full Time Regular serviceman who bullies us because it gives his life a little bit more meaning beyond his daily routine of tightening screws on a 25 year-old piece of machinery. We have watched the world move around us as we remained stagnant and trapped in a pit of shit, mud and shit. Yes two shits. We have whined and moaned and bitched and complained to every ear that would turn in our direction. Perhaps seeking pity and perhaps because we have had so much monotonous nonsense drummed into our brains that it became all we could talk about.

My entire life I've been a world class pessimist. In any pursuit, I expect failure. The occaisional successes came as unforseen blips in an otherwise perfect record of mediocrity. And for some reason, when it came to the greatest pitfall of them all, I turned right around. I wanted something out of NS. I did not want to spend two years filled with hatred for something I had no way out of. This was going to be my time.

I still remember so clearly my first night at the Tekong Hyatt Hotel. Sitting on the brick floor, picking at the greenish moss growing between the spaces as one by one a voice called out IC numbers. Sounding more and more like a glowing hot metal rod was being shoved up his backside, we sat there for three hours, uncertain of the fate that lay awaiting. That's all we were then. Not people, not sentient beings. We were just a number. It was the most awful feeling, being surrounded by hundreds of people who all looked exactly the same because of the haircuts and identical thick black framed glasses. We did not even have the chance to bathe after our haircuts and little pieces of hair poked my body at just about every acupressure point.

In the days that followed I went along with every word, in the hope that it would lead me to "be somebody".
When it was time to work, we cleaned liked hygeine technicians on ecstacy (the drug, not the emotion). Running here and there trying to eliminate every trace of dust and crawling around on the floor and using makeshift detergents to clean off the stains. Inevitably the persons in charge would still find something wrong and we'd spend the next few minutes "making love to the floor" as they put it. I meant doing push ups. I was trying to be funny. I'm sorry, NS has reduced my sense of humour to the level of an over ripe potato. See how easy it is to blame things on NS? And potato's don't even ripen. They're tubers or some shit.

We were bitten by every insect we'd ever heard of, and twice as much more by mysterious things that crawled about our faces at night. We dug holes to function as our toilets, and helped to clear up when people with bad aiming could not defacate into the seemingly spacious cavities.
We marched everywhere because obviously walking was not good enough, except for people with ranks.

You know at this juncture, I could actually go on for another 6 days about the things I've done, but I will write more only if you want to hear it. Because my fellow army men, you would know this all to well. And to the girls, your boyfriends, guys you're interested in, guys you wish would leave you alone have all probably talked about nothing more than this for a long long time now. But in any case, tell me.

At the end of it all, what have I gained, even with the positive mindset? Absolutely nothing. But you know what? It doesn't matter, because it is all over now, and it was that way of thinking that made it pass, just like really runny diarrhea. You have to be able to tell yourself that you know one day it will be over. When I sit here typing now, it's almost as if these two years never happened at all. It's easier said than done, but all you need is the faith and belief that this will be over, and you will be free.

I think I started by saying "from one point of view" earlier, this would imply that there was another point of view. I thought you wouldn't notice.. but damn I know you did. You didn't did you?

What has made these two years worthwhile in every single way is the people that I've met. In the outside world, our paths would never have crossed, but today, we would fight to the death (someone else's death) for them, and together with them. Somehow, spending time wallowing in a pool of shit with a group of people builds unbreakeable bonds. I know what you're thinking of, those SAF advertisements you see inundating every form of media. They feature some fake ass supposed army men portraying various aspects of what we're supposed to have gone through. Handling some high tech nonsense with deeply focused looks on their faces and running around screaming with guns with green paint all over. It was never like that. NS was never about all this action packed rubbish. The essence of it was a bunch of obese guys walking around without their shirts on and having deep meaningful discussions of possible ways of escaping work. It doesn't mean we're not Brothers In Arms. We're real people, not some good looking actors who'd whine when they broke a nail in the scene where he was pressing some buttons on a touch screen.

And now that it is all over, you might ask me in a naive and chirpy voice, "So Kurt, now you'll be willing to fight and die for your country?"
My answer would be firm and simple.
"Hell No."

But for the friends that I have made, they mean more than King and Country. We survived this together, and this tribute is for you.

These pictures are what I can only try to describe in words, and I hope it will be a window into what we all went through.



This has been an experience typical of life. We hated every moment of it while it happened, but once we get it behind us, it will always be something that we can look upon fondly. Time has that funny way of messing with our minds.

Nothing could really describe the feelings today, as we took one last drive around camp, offering well wishes to everyone, even the ones we hated and hoped the exact opposite for. Just the thought of not having to go back again, not having to live on a razor's edge and being able to sleep and wake up anytime and anywhere and not needing to have a care in the world, at least for now.

And so it is with great pride that I untidily stuff all my uniforms and equipment into big black garbage bags, blatantly hoping that I will never have to use them again. Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Kurt (...and so we called it a day.)