This is, quite simply, the best of times and the worst of times.
My Basic Rescue Training is o-vah! So, yay for that!
My computer slipped into yet another coma. So, boo for that!
But let's stick to the positives, shall we?
This past week in camp is basically a technicality. Like the few weeks after exams, we have to be there or be punished even though we have absolutely nothing to do. Just imagine restless teenage boys hanging around a dorm. No TV, no radio, no girls, no booze.
I was used to that, but I was the only one. By Wednesday, some guy trying to be clever stuck 'Welcome to Woodbridge' on our dorm doors. Eh, he's probably right, all the guys were getting loopy.
But by 5PM, Thursday, it was all worth the waiting.
We, the cuckoo birds of Bravo Company, left, left, left righted ourselves away from 7 weeks of daily torture (with weekends off). I will never ever experience another moment like that again where the mood is unanimously joyous. I hope not, because if I do, it'll be because I'd be released from prison.
My fellow recruits, most of them anyway, are the most annoying, most jerk-ass, and best reasons for the existence for the word 'asshole' I have ever hoped to never meet again. But after 7 weeks together, I couldn't help but feel that I'll miss them, at least for enduring all the same shit I went through.
But that was Thursday morning. 12 hours, dozens of 'Hafizahs' and hundreds of butt pinches later (maybe they're jealous of my well-rounded posterior), the feeling was gone.
Because of one recruit's mysterious ability to remember my 3 second TV appearance, I've been asked to sing for them every single day. Rihanna's Unfaithful (YAWN) was requested often. So at the end, I was asked to sing one last time.
So I sang Green Day's Good Riddance (Time of Your Life). My most emotional performance, let me tell you.
The jerks, bless 'em (no, not really), thought it was sweet of me saying goodbye through that song. Out of curiosity, I asked if they knew what "Riddance" meant.
Too many of them said no.
I'm not going to blast them for their lack of education. I mean, one of them had to leave school by Primary 2. Lord knows the lives they went through. Having said that, I went through quite a bit myself last time. I remember throwing myself on a thankfully not so busy road back when I was in Primary 3 because I couldn't take all the teasing anymore.
I've grown up a bit since then, and the teasings in camp never reached the heights of cruelty that it did in my lower Primary School days (which is the reason why I rarely laugh at jokes making fun of me, even if by someone I truly love. Deep-rooted childhood scars and all that), but I have had it with people treating me as a cushion for all their sharpest jibes as a way of being friends with me.
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Mat: Eh, jom lah, Fiz, why always sit alone? Join us lah, talk cock a bit.
Me: I'd love to, but we both know that all these discussions will quickly descend into a "Who Mimics Fiz's Voice Best" competition. Or maybe a fascinating forum over why I'm such an absent-minded, accident-prone weirdo.
Mat: Huh? Eh, can don't speak so cheem or not?
Me: It's okay. I'll just sit here, smiling to myself.
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'sigh'
There goes my promise of not complaining about them anymore. It stops here now.
One last thing though.
Did you know: My self-imposed ban on all curse words ended when I entered National Service.
So it was with the utmost satisfaction that I showed my two middle fingers at them as I boarded the bus while they decided to wait for the next bus and shouted the biggest "FUCK YOU!" the nearby cemetary has ever heard.
The looks on their faces and the way I felt after that beats all the Mee Soto in the world.
Ok then, vocation time. Which will it be? Storeman? Driver?
Clerk?
Huh, jobs aren't meant to be enjoyed anyway.
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