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...
