Couldn't we try?
It's funny.
January 21 2005
"Disillusion sets in. There are a sea of faces, but I see none of them. It is a factory production line, and I am caught right smack in the middle of it. They stereotype us. I stereotype them. They stereotype me. I think I have lost my sense of identity, and no, it is not just the card. I saw him today, or was it yesterday? I seem to have lost track of time. The sun scorches. Mindless routines that will turn us into leaders...someday. I feel the heat. I hear a siren somewhere in the distance. Was it yesterday, or this afternoon? A mirage in the desert. I am thirsty......"
January 21 2008
I used to think that we usually lost ourselves into stereotypes when we entered NS. A place where a natural camouflage painted itself on our faces, and we would blend in. I could be called Shane, or I could be called Koh, or I could be called 3305. I used to think that to the commanders, I was just another batch, just another recruit, just another generic form of life being that presented in their presence.
I think, I was wrong.
Having a taste of the outside world for quite some time now, I look to my BMT and OCT days with fonder. There, I was someone's leader, I was someone's friend, I was someone's brother. I crawled in the mud with my platoon mates, outwardly showing signs of disgust, but inwardly laughing a tear. I paddled against the wrath of mother nature with my squad mates, and when I was weak, they carried me.
I think, we lose ourselves when we come out to the real world. And it's a daily struggle to prevent that from happening. It's not so much a destruction, but a degeneration, till you fade into nothingness, and the people who once knew you, don't recognise you anymore. Mindless routines. The sun scorches. There are a sea of faces, but I see none of them. It is a factory production line, and I am caught right smack in the middle of it. Disillusion sets in.
They stereotype us. I stereotype them. They stereotype me.
January 21 2005 (continued)
"....I am thirsty. I lost my water bottle. Parched lips. Dehydration. The sun scorches.
He found my water bottle. He gave it to me."
Degeneration.
January 21 2005
"Disillusion sets in. There are a sea of faces, but I see none of them. It is a factory production line, and I am caught right smack in the middle of it. They stereotype us. I stereotype them. They stereotype me. I think I have lost my sense of identity, and no, it is not just the card. I saw him today, or was it yesterday? I seem to have lost track of time. The sun scorches. Mindless routines that will turn us into leaders...someday. I feel the heat. I hear a siren somewhere in the distance. Was it yesterday, or this afternoon? A mirage in the desert. I am thirsty......"
January 21 2008
I used to think that we usually lost ourselves into stereotypes when we entered NS. A place where a natural camouflage painted itself on our faces, and we would blend in. I could be called Shane, or I could be called Koh, or I could be called 3305. I used to think that to the commanders, I was just another batch, just another recruit, just another generic form of life being that presented in their presence.
I think, I was wrong.
Having a taste of the outside world for quite some time now, I look to my BMT and OCT days with fonder. There, I was someone's leader, I was someone's friend, I was someone's brother. I crawled in the mud with my platoon mates, outwardly showing signs of disgust, but inwardly laughing a tear. I paddled against the wrath of mother nature with my squad mates, and when I was weak, they carried me.
I think, we lose ourselves when we come out to the real world. And it's a daily struggle to prevent that from happening. It's not so much a destruction, but a degeneration, till you fade into nothingness, and the people who once knew you, don't recognise you anymore. Mindless routines. The sun scorches. There are a sea of faces, but I see none of them. It is a factory production line, and I am caught right smack in the middle of it. Disillusion sets in.
They stereotype us. I stereotype them. They stereotype me.
January 21 2005 (continued)
"....I am thirsty. I lost my water bottle. Parched lips. Dehydration. The sun scorches.
He found my water bottle. He gave it to me."
Degeneration.
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