Is this really real?

More Allusions

We're a pebble aren't we?

Roots

Results are out. I'm going back to where it all started.
I can hardly contain my excitment. Myles!!! Wait for me dude, I'll be there in 3 weeks.
It was confusing, in some way, I was hoping for more. Yet, I knew this was coming from the very first day. When you get something safe, you tend to wonder what if you took the path less travelled.
9 months is a very long time. 11 months is an even longer time. Finally the wait is over, I see a closure coming up soon. I'm happy it ends like this. I really am.
But sometimes, I wondered what if I didnt held anything back. Could all this be different? It odd, I have a friend who was 100% willing to swap places with me, but it got rejected.
I have many people to thank. God is one, you are among the few others that have helped me through. Even if you werent here, I felt as though you were and that was, that is all that matters.
Dont be sorry.

SA Series II

Peds returns with the Stand Alone Series. Thanks to Tim, or Hiro or whoever who took this. Lame

Degenerate?

Many people say it, many enlistees claim this to be true. Our time in National Service deprives us of our cerebral needs. In other words, NS makes you stupid.
I believed this for the longest time. It seems perfectly logical, if you are trained to follow orders like a machine... you'll naturally be moudled into a grunt.
A prime example was probably in P.Tekong. As a fresh Recruit, we are pushed around by the overwhelming sgts. As my own friend puts it, we really 'loose so much' in terms of thinking and sophistication. Sgts tell me to do: I follow. Its a sensor-shoot cycle. You hear an order, you execute it, you see and enemy, you shoot. No wonder, why so many youths claim to have their intellect levels lowered and vanishing individuality upon entering the service.
But take one moment and think about it. What does being under an overall control have to be with one self's being? This is a common misunderstanding that many people have and I want to shed my view upon this matter.
We, especially the guys, have played strategy games. Be it C&C, Starcraft or DOTA. In it, we have control over unit. Our minions are like what they are, unit. Each produced and spawned from a template. There is no individuality between specimens within a type of unit, there is only different kinds of units. In other words, all your soldiers are monotonously banded and streamed. Within each band, everyone's profile is homogenous. These are grunts without any identity. They are mere assets.
Now, flip the table around. We are now the soldiers. We might therefore view BMT as the pre-production stage. After our posting, we are streamed into bands, just as how masses of war units are produced. Taking this into assumption, we might therefore think that a homogenous profile is expected among the whole platoon, or even brigade. Drones will be purely drones, Harvesters will be purely harvesters. In the same way, an infantry man will always be and expected to become part of a homogenous infantry-man-profile. This therefore, makes you homogenous. A lack of identity, a lack of say. You become an asset not a person.
But think about it. Games are games. This is reality. Personalities of people are as endless as the colours in the rainbow. Directives have never been imposed for us to adopt a same profile. Other than our uniforms, we are perfectly free to maintain ourselves. Uniform and drills symbolise unity and perhaps uniformity but it does not mean homogenity.
Many of us, tend to use the excuse of following orders to switch off our minds. Does screaming superiors really force us to discard our identities? It never served this purpose and it never caused us to loose ourselves. We merely let this be an excuse for us

Desperate

Hello ho ho!! This is urgent::
I desperately need a mp3 of Terriyaki Boyz 's "Tokyo drift"

I swear-- its not for personal consumption.... I just need it.

JLU (Kids stuff)

This is for YongXi. This is seriously inbal.
For your info, Morgan Le Fay's son, Mordred obtained some powerful amulet. Fed up with how his mom is always using him and keeping him eternally as a kid, he decides to banish all adults from earth. His mom and Justice League included.
As part of her revenge, she transforms the JLU into children to bypass the curse. Hilarity ensured.

Pride

It took me 9 months to notice how lost I have become.
some people may wish to associate what we go through with pride.
It sweetens things up, make everything feel so much better.
Its alright if many of you have the wrong percpetion of us. We all did too before we came in.
Cultured, smart gentlemen in a crisp white, clean uniform, standing on the parade square holding a polished sword. The fire is seen through his eyes, his passion on his face. OH! how smart he looks.
But that is not what we really are. That is not the final product, that is not even a proper depiction of us.
What about the sweat and the tears? (**** the common expression) What about the mud, the dirt, the shit, the piss we endured. Do you know what ugly things we have seen or possibly even become?
I sat there stunned. A quiet epiphany that dawned upon me. I am not the dreamy knight fairy tales are made of. I didn't even come close.

I am just a rugged grunt who was lucky in the early months of bmt. I hoped to be more... for you guys. for you, for me, for everyone. Now God goes in full circle and slaps me back to square one. He made me notice that there is a grunt in all of us. But I lost myself and let the grunt take over.
.
.




Some things are better left unsaid.

Rah

Rah rah rah rah rah rah rah rah rah

rah
RAha rah aha raha rah rah rah r ah


rah? -RAH!

Joke

who was I joking? Its not going to end. Its never going to end. They just keep coming and coming. If its not Redland, its the parade or some other lame sheet from friends. Its never going to end... I'm so tired---

A Mission Statement

I still remember clearly my very first mission. How it started... how it ended. I can still feel the glare of the sun against my helmet lining, the sweat permeating through my sleeves and pants. I had no rifle then, so I was issued with 'universal rounds'.
It was a psedo-patrol mission with my whole section knowing nuts about the formations or battle procedures. I can see how my group was ambushed and how the murmur of 'bang-bang's were heard along our sides.
After that, endless mission has had me jaded and worn out. Missions came and went, outfields after outfields. Jungle, mud and grime was everything I was moulded to embrace. Breathe in the uniformity, Our sense of fashion became our sense of survival. Survial was the only fashion we knew.
Finally, our final mission is not figment of our dreams but of our memories. My last mission ended at 0615, November the 3rd, 2006. It was dark. There I stood, against the window, gasping for air from my last burst of energy.
I wasn't planned to engage, I was the load bearer, the camel. The Backpack pressed my shoulders down with the excess night-vision goggles and heavy rations. I had 12 rounds with me... just in case. But the shots rang out and pierced our planning. Floomp- Leonard down. and off goes peds-delivery collecting ammo from dead bodies. ( who was very much interactive)
The pressure on my shoulders, the heat in my helmet against the cold morning air. I can smell the gunpowder in my nose and the recoil of my rifle as I emptied the rest of my mags into the opposite block.
'click'-- The last round is fired off mere seconds before Ceasefire. It ends the way it should.

Panther

I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I can feel everything wrapping up.
Its engulfing me in the final burst.

to all my lit-friends; I really feel like Lta. Jimmy Cross.
I feel his burden, his fears, his anxieties