Reminiscing...

The Image of Officer Cadets: What Went Wrong?

Every year, two batches of Officer Cadets are handpicked and plucked out from the foliages of Tekong. They are transferred back into the blue concrete jungles of Singapore to train to be National Service Police Inspectors. They are the future senior officers, tasked with leading National Service Police Officers and even the full-time Police Officers. This in itself is a considerable responsibility and the question, which undoubtedly preoccupies everyone, except the cadets of course is who in the right sense of mind, would entrust national servicemen with such a huge responsibility.

Well, we can try to convince ourselves that out of four thousand army recruits, we were the ‘chosen’ forty-two. Surely that counts for something. Having made it to Command School is an achievement in itself. It assures us that we possess leadership qualities, aptitude and composure under pressure. Having gone through the rigorous training in Tekong, we are expected to be fitter, stronger and more disciplined then the trainees. There may be truth in these statements, but more often then not, behind the amulets or the stripes that we wear, we are no different from the average police trainee. We have been constantly bombarded with praise and exaltations that inevitably, we begin to believe what others say. There is no wrong in believing to be the best, but herein lies the root of our image problem.

The fact of the matter is that we are generally not well liked. Generally because there are of course instructors and fellow trainees who make the effort to get to know us better. But a large number of instructors or trainees have made shown their indisposition to us from time to time. Is it because unlike them, some of us are more fluent in English, hence it seems as if we look down upon those who speak in mother tongue? Or is it because we are empowered to enforce discipline yet somehow, it always seem that we ourselves do not meet the high standards that we set for others. The average trainee looks at us and says to himself, what makes him better than me? I can be just as fit, just as disciplined. The only difference is that they have been to Tekong and that they have either graduated from junior colleges or polytechnics.

A famous writer once said, “You can’t be envious and happy at the same time.” What is there to be jealous about? For starters, we get an allowance that is almost twice as much as a trainee. Perhaps, this allowance is justified, seeing that we shoulder greater responsibility. However responsibility is abstract and unquantifiable. With the amount of allowance we are getting, trainees expect us to run faster and run longer. Instead, they see that at six o’clock, we are free to do whatever we want, just like them. Naturally, the trainees will come to the conclusion that we are doing just the same amount of work as they are. On top of this, we have spacious rooms, an air-conditioned mess and apparently our rooms are also ‘air-conditioned’. Envy breeds resentment and resentment begets unhappiness and these trainees are not averse to showing their displeasure.

A prominent drill instructor in Home Team Academy has more often than not impressed upon all trainees that rank has its privileges. In every uniformed organization, this mantra has been repeated over and over again, much to the exacerbation of subordinates. Perhaps as we advance into the future, we need to reexamine the effectiveness of clutching on to old values and initiate a paradigm shift. Regular police officers that have served many years in the force would naturally feel a slight twinge of resentment towards us. They have had to slog it out in the force for almost a decade or so when out of the green, we come in. Officer Cadet Trainees, passing out as senior officers, holding a higher rank.

What went wrong? Singapore’s meritorious system no doubt. The government appoints those who excel in studies as leaders. It is automatically assumed that the book smart possess leadership skills and high emotional quotient on top of the high intelligence quotient. As much as we try to sugar coat reality, we were chosen not because we are fitter or stronger or possibly even better leaders. In fact, police trainees can make just as good Cadets as army boys; as seen in the up graders we take in every batch. But the grim truth is we did better in school. These privileges have been bestowed upon us by virtue of our academic results and it just does not seem fair.

Hermann Goering, a German military leader once cautioned, “Education is dangerous, every educated person is a future enemy.” Unfortunately, that is precisely what we have become, the enemy. However, to simply go on and complain about the situation, the injustice and the unfairness, would be fruitless. Instead, we should rise to the occasion and prove to ourselves that we are true leaders. True leaders captivate their followers and build trust. They gain respect, instead of assuming that our rank will immediately ameliorate respect. We must stop believing in the mantra, “rank has its privileges” and instead, be prepared to relinquish these privileges and show our fellow trainees that we work hard and ultimately, justify the privileges conferred upon us.

We cannot change the mindset of others overnight, but we can be the squad that starts the change.

Passing out is never easy I know, but I have to go...

Previously, my posts were mostly factual pieces with the occasional short stories such as ‘Animal Instinct’ and ‘Secret Love’. My main purpose of setting this blog is to give my articles more exposure. I still secretly harbor the prospects of being approached to write professionally.

However, recent events, namely my passing out parade have led me to rethink the contents of my blog. This will be my first autobiographical post, and it could very well be my last, but for the time being, enjoy!

Passing out, for the uninitiated, is one of the most joyous occasions of any Singaporean male. After a grueling three months as a recruit and having all rights revoked, all is forgiven when we pass out. Our loved ones are invited to a grand parade that marks the end of our training. On that day, we are the stars of the show and all eyes are fixed on us as we march into the Parade Square, shiny boots and all.

After Basic Military Training, I attended the Officer Cadet Course with the Singapore Police Force. The course lasted another seven months and as usual, we had a grand passing out parade at the end of the course. However, let me tell you, the passing out parade is a sneaky little bugger. Up till two weeks ago, I had not given much thought to the parade. It existed, but in the far corners of my mind. Life still revolved around training, afternoon naps, bad meals and the Internet, plus a few movie screenings on the side. Life was pretty much normal. Then, it happened.

Two weeks of drill practices, warm mornings and sweltering afternoons. The thing about parades is that it mostly involves us graduates standing completely still under the hot sun, sweating and unsmiling. It reminds me of the Terra-cotta soldiers. Yes, we were baked under the sun in similar fashion. And why nobody smiles during the parade? Well, the Parade Square is considered sacred grounds in uniformed organizations and smiling is considered a grave and prosecutable sin.

If there is one thing I do not like about National Service is marching. So parades are really not my thing. I am not bad at marching, just terribly lousy. The fact that I am tall (well taller than average) does not help my cause either. Being tall means whenever my squad marches in, I am right in front. Being right in front makes me one of the most prominent cadets marching in the contingent. Being prominent means the drill instructor always spots my mistake.

Drill instructors are strange creatures. They shout and bark and make practice unbearable. But after the practice, they revert back to normality. It is worse when they constantly pick on one person, especially when that person happens to be me. I know they are just doing their job, and it is all for the good of the parade but believe me; it is not an experience that I would relive again. Ever.

So we polished our marching and rifle drills along with our boots, and in a flash, I found myself waking up on the parade day itself. The passing out parade starts at five in the afternoon, and while we waited, it seemed to take another seven months. So we waited, and waited, and waited some more, till we could not bear the wait and decided to sleep it out.

Next thing I knew, we were getting dressed, putting on our ceremonial suits, sliding on our gloves and lacing up our boots. And for the first time, I was excited. I have never felt so excited since I was five and got my first taste of chocolate. It was not so much the excitement of the parade, but the fact that we were about to be commissioned, and our course had finally ended. No more lectures, sadistic instructors and best of all no more marching!

As we marched into the parade square, I could feel my heart thumping rapidly. This was my parade, and the colorful guests seating in front of us had only eyes for us. The parade was a success, but I have a niggling suspicion that it is because our parents do not want to tell us we sucked. But for the sake of my ego, I will take their word for it. In fact, I might have seen a smile almost forming on our drill instructors stoic face. Maybe it was my imagination.

The parade marked the end of my training, and as I look back upon it, it truly symbolizes my experience in the Home Team Academy. We marched in together as a squad and marched out of the parade square, marking the end of our training. It is a sad moment when you realize the guys you have spent the last seven months with through thick and thin, good times and bad all going our separate ways.

However, the feeling of despondency only sets in the next day, when you are at home alone, aimlessly channel surfing instead of training in camp with your mates. It is only at parades when one can see so called men hugging and taking photos like enthusiastic school kids but who can blame them?

Forgive me for defacing Abba’s hit ‘Knowing you, knowing me’ but passing out is never easy I know, but I have to go...

Animal Instinct

He meticulously tapes his left hand, so tightly he feels a numbing sensation in his fingertips. The grimy walls of the changing room shake tremulously as the boisterous crowd outside chant “Beast! Beast! Beast!” He shudders involuntarily.

He has an unblemished record. Nineteen wins to date. Seventeen of which were won by knockouts. Each time he steps into a ring, the arena explodes with cheers. Cameras go click consecutively, accompanied by blinding flashes of light. It is a spectacular show of lights and sounds.

But he remains the main spectacle. Pacing up and down the ring, throwing quick shadow punches, he senses the supporters gawping at him. It suffocates him. He can only clench his teeth and throw his punches more furiously.

Beast. It escapes him how he earned the nickname. They tell him he is unique. He is unlike any other Muay Thai fighter in the circuit. He fights like a beast. He hates it when they compare him to an animal. It is not his fault. He knows no other way to fight.

He comes from a proud family of fighters. At three, he started practicing Muay Thai. Before he could learn to fight, he learnt to steel his heart. He remembers his first fight vividly. His father grabbed his shoulder and said, “Only the strong survives. There is no hesitation, no sympathy, and no mercy. Do not disappoint me.”

His father would be proud of him today. But he is not proud of himself. He no longer sleeps peacefully at night. He sees fear reflected in his opponent eyes as they fall to the floor. But he sees himself unmoved. He sees the referee pulling him back, lest he further injures the defeated opponent.

His own brutality frightens him.

The time comes. His twentieth fight tonight. By now the tips of his finger are cold and numb. His manager beckons him, “Come Beast. They are waiting.” Nobody calls him by his real name now. They call themselves supporters, his fans, but they have forgotten his name.

He stands up slowly and pulls his robe tighter to his muscular frame, using it to protect him from the piercing chants and stares of his supporters. He begins to mouth a prayer, the very same prayer his father whispered to him the day he started training to be a Muay Thai fighter.

Bless me with the strength of the elephant

And the speed of the windy monkey

Let me soar with the wings of an eagle

And gift me the spirit of the tiger.

He wonders if his humanity is the price he has to pay for God’s blessings. Perhaps, long ago, his heart had already become numb and cold.

Oh what a tangled web we weave...

“Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive”

Sir Walter Scott

Dorm life: How to be a good roommate?

Currently, I am serving a short stint in the police force. As a trainee, I am required to stay in camp during the weekdays. For the past five months, I have been in close proximity with my roommate. To date, neither of us has filed protection orders against each other. As such, I believe I do have a certain amount of authority on this subject.

The most important characteristic of a good roommate is patience. I have had my fair share of disagreements with my roommate, but all have been settled amicably. This was largely because both of us were willing to compromise, and believe me, compromise requires patience. Initially there were minor issues such as who takes the bed beside the window, who takes out the thrash or who cleans the toilet. Naturally, humans have a streak of self-centeredness. We tend to look for solutions that serve us best.

However, I realized that this mindset has to be drastically changed. Basic chores should be divided equally because this concerns your personal health. Perhaps some of you may not be as lucky as me to have a roommate who is a health/hygiene freak. Some of you may be stuck with complete slobs but do not fret. Do your fair share, and if you are feeling charitable, help to sweep up around his area too. In the long run, you are taking care of your own health and hopefully, your roommate might feel guilty for not doing any work and eventually relent to doing his share of the chores.

Being patient also means to not sweat the small stuff. Everyone has their own irritating habit. Most of the time, it cannot be controlled, such as sleep-talking, snoring or teeth-grinding. My own roommate sleep talks and although it was amusing at first, it drove me crazy after a few nights. Here I was trying to get my precious sleep when all of the sudden, my roommate starts spouting incomprehensible nonsense. I had to grit my teeth and endure his sleep talking.

Talking to him about his habits is a good idea. He might get offended and subsequently turn the gun around and accuse you of having your own irritating habits. It is better to thrash out all your problems early on and decide if you can spend the rest of your time in college with your roommate. However, I think that doing so is a bad idea. If you apply for a change of roommates, you are only running away from your problems. What if the next roommate is worse? I do not believe in running away from my problems.

I realize that if you just remain patient, eventually you will get use to his idiosyncrasies. Man has been the most successful species on Earth because we can adapt quickly. We will learn to filter out the irritating noises that escape from his mouth or learn to ignore his habits.

When sharing a room with someone else, there are three phases that one goes through. The first phase I dub the “awkwardly trying to accommodate each other” stage, for want of a better name. This phase is the shortest of the three phases. Again, it is only human nature to want to portray a good image or impression to strangers. During this phase, we will go out of the way to accommodate each other. The chores are split evenly, your roommate does not complain when you take the bed he wants or leaves the toilet seat up after you have used it. This phase lasts all of a week.

Next is the “step on my side of the room and I will strangle you” phase. This phase occurs when either you or your roommate can no longer stand each other habits. Your roommates stops trying to impress and leaves all the dirty work to you, literally. He takes your stuff without permission but guards his own belonging preciously. Communication is minimal at this point and if looks could kill, the police would be investigating a double homicide. However, do not be alarmed or disheartened. The second phase is a transition phase and if you have reached this phase, then you are only a few weeks away from the last phase.

The last phase is the “frat buddies” phase. Somehow, you have managed to get to this final stage with only scratches and bruised egos. The question on your mind now would no doubt be how I get from eternal enemies to sworn brothers? The answer is simple. Patience. Time heals all wounds and with time you will be able to settle your differences. Eventually both of you will learn to compromise, to give and take. Sharing a room with someone can be a life-changing experience. Well, maybe that statement is exaggerated, but honestly I have learnt so many valuable lessons.

I have learnt to lend a listening ear, even when all I want to do is complain about my day. I have learnt to respect my roommate for who he is, appreciate his culture and traditional practices. I have learnt that one good turn always deserves another. For example, on some days, he might ask me to buy him dinner, even though that would mean I would have to make a detour but on another occasion he might help me with my assignments (i.e. let me copy his work).

Being a good roommate is important if you want to enjoy your life in the university. Trust me the “frat buddies” phase is truly liberating. At this point, you and your roommate would share such a close relationship that he would not bat an eyelid if you pranced around naked on your bed. Instead of dividing chores equally, you both blackmail a freshman into cleaning your room for you. Ah! The perks of a healthy relationship. And it all starts with a little bit of patience!

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If you had the choice of two women to wed,
(Though of course the idea is quite absurd)
And the first from her heels to her dainty head
Was charming in every sense of the word:
And yet in the past (I grieve to state),
She never had been exactly "straight".

And the second -- she was beyond all cavil,
A model of virtue, I must confess;
And yet, alas! she was dull as the devil,
And rather a dowd in the way of dress;
Though what she was lacking in wit and beauty,
She more than made up for in "sense of duty".

Now, suppose you must wed, and make no blunder,
And either would love you, and let you win her --
Which of the two would you choose, I wonder,
The stolid saint or the sparkling sinner?

Robert W. Service

Secret Love

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

Stumbling haphazardly through college, one barely had the time to breathe, let alone fall in love. With the assignments, the projects and examinations, I had no time for serious love. I permitted myself to harmless flirting, but love was a definite no-no. That was until I saw her.

Up till recently, I was still unsure why I fell so helplessly head over heels over this girl. Two years on, the feelings have subsided. We have moved on along our own separate paths but sometimes I still see her or chance upon an old photo. I cannot help but smack myself on the head and ask myself, “What the hell was I thinking?”

The truth of the matter was that this girl was not exceptional. She was no Aphrodite, no Helen of Troy. She was the quiet one in school, spending her time mostly alone, always rushing off from one place to another. Myself, I was not exactly Mr. Popular either. But neither was I reclusive or friendless. I would say I was pretty normal, an average Joe. But this story is not about me. It is about her.

I never knew she even existed till after a year in college, when fate almost brought us together. I say almost because technically, I was nearly ten feet away from her. I was shuffling behind her, when she glanced back and our eyes locked for all of two seconds. She quickly turned back and hurried off, as if she had just made eye contact with a mass murderer. There were no fireworks, no birds chirping around me and instead of angels singing, I heard the discipline mistress shouting at me for being late. But I knew this was the start of a secret love.

From our first encounter, it seemed as if we were meant to be together. I kept bumping into her around school. I found out she sat in front of my class during lectures and slowly began to piece together her daily routine. This girl, she moved like clockwork. She would be in school the same time every morning, sit at the exact same spot in lectures and have her lunch at one sharp in the canteen (at the same spot and buying food from the same stall of course). She would then proceed to the library and seat at the back to study.

I began to think that maybe this girl was obsessive compulsive and a wee bit psycho. But I realized how easy her uncompromising routine made it for me to stalk her. Yes, that is right. I freely admit that I ‘stalked’ her. Of course I did not follow her home or wait for her at bus-stops, but I started to look forward to seeing her in school. A day would not have been complete without having a glance at her. She was not the weird one. I was.

It sounds pathetic, but I was addicted to her like a drug. I was addicted to the half-second glances I got each day. My friends laughed at me. They could not understand what I saw in her and honestly, neither could I. I knew things were starting to spiral out of control when I started to use metro sexual hair products and had begun to write poetry dedicated to her. I knew I had to make a decision. I was going to make my move. The moment I decided to, I regretted it at once.

It sounds easy, to just go up to a girl and start a conversation but trust me it is not. Either that or there is something hopelessly wrong with me and I am a social imbecile. I think the main reason why I was so afraid of making contact was the fear of rejection. I was not prepared for an ego bruising. I kept giving myself excuses. We did not know each other, we had nothing, and I really mean absolutely nothing, in common. I would have given up on my hopeless pursuit but she just would not let me.

The moment I resolved to abandon my fancy dreams, she just had to smile. I will never know if she smiled at me, or was just smiling at something in my general direction. I sleep better at night believing that it was me she smiled at though. This was the smile that would have launched a thousand ships. This was the revelatory smile. At that point it hit me why I was so hopeless enamored by her.

Obviously testosterones played a huge part, but I believe it was the fact that I never ever got to know her better, the fact that she always seemed out of reach that drove me crazy in love. She was the forbidden fruit. And men being men would always want a bite of the fruit. What we cannot have is what we want most dearly. There was no happy ending for my story. I spent a month rehearsing the perfect lines, planning for the perfect time to make my move. I was supposed to talk to her at prom. She did not show.

Looking back, I can only laugh at my own foolishness. My secret love taught me a lot. She showed me my insecurities, she gave me valuable life lessons, and she did it all in the ten minutes we actually saw each other. That is right. After a year and a half, the total times we have bumped into each other would not even amount to ten minutes. I cannot remember how she looked the first time we met. I cannot remember her smile either. But I still remember her name, and that is my secret.