0457

K rubbed his eyes. It was 5AM. He had had 5 and a half hours of sleep the night before. He stared at his grimy, oil-stained hands, reminders of yesterday's training with the Section Automatic Weapon (SAW) that he couldn't fully wash off. The black stains were stuck in the furrows of his palms, clearly defining the unique whorls of his fingerprints.

The SAW was a nasty piece of metal. Utilitarian, but also capable of spitting out death at a rate of 400-600 rounds per minute. It also happened to be a bitch to strip and assemble, but within an hour's practice, he could do both in 85 seconds. There would be more killing machines to learn in the days to come.

Running his hand through his (now slightly longer) hair, he looked at the clock. It was getting late. The other companies had not even woken yet. He sighed and began to put on his boots.
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Back again once more. Had sports day today, so I came back only in the afternoon. Taking a cab from Jurong Point back is a killer. I'll stick with the MRT next time. Anyway I failed my friggin' IPPT because the sgt said I "kicked" when I did not, but my legs just went forward 20-30 degrees max. =.= F-ed up. So no count. There go my next few Saturdays. Burnt.

I got guard duty on Wed, and only grabbed 3 hours of sleep that night before heading out for training the next day. Thankfully I stayed up overnight so many times before. My section mates were all surprised to see me up there crawling all over Peng Kang hill with them, but what to do? It was a test. Everyone crashed out on Fri night. Totally slept till the last minute before leaping out of bed and rushing down.

Oh yeah, I had one nights out after the one I missed due to guard duty. Watched Hancock with my section mates before going back. At least we got to relax a bit.

0527

Crump crump crump crump...

The sound of hundreds of boots pounding the ground drilled through the fog of sleep. In addition to weariness, there was another new feeling. Hunger. His stomach cried out to be fed, but there was nothing he could do for it at the moment. He felt that he could go to sleep s soon as he closed his eyes.

All he saw was the grey of PT (Physical Training) vests and the mottled green, brown, and black of their camouflage no. 4 pants. All he wanted to do was sleep. As they ran under the sickly orange glow of the streetlamps, the picture changed to an Impressionist* painting of flailing limbs, jerky light and movement. Then, they were back at the company. And the usual ritual of sweating and shouting began.
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* Before I wrote this I had no idea what an Impressionist painting should look like. I somehow knew it was the correct word. After verifying the term during Wikipedia:

Characteristics of Impressionist painting include visible brush strokes, open composition, emphasis on light in its changing qualities (often accentuating the effects of the passage of time), ordinary subject matter, the inclusion of movement as a crucial element of human perception and experience, and unusual visual angles.

This was quite accurate. Lol. Moving on, I also came across this nice short story posted on my friend's blog. It is entitled "Poor me, lucky them", and was written by an English monk. I find it very meaningful, and I see the point it is getting across. Strikes a chord with me.

"Life as a very junior monk in Thailand seemed so unfair. The senior monks received the best food, sat on the softest cushions and never had to push wheelbarrows. Whereas my one meal of the day was disgusting; I had to sit for long hours in ceremonies on the hard concrete floor (which was lumpy as well, because the villagers were hopeless at laying concrete); and sometimes I had to labour very hard. Poor me, lucky them.

I spent long, unpleasant hours justifying my complaints to myself. The senior monks were probably so enlightened that delicious food would be wasted on them, therefore I should get the best food. The senior monks had been sitting cross-legged on hard floors for years and were used to it, therefore I should get the soft cushions. Moreover, the senior monks were all fat anyway, from eating the best food, so had ""natural upholstery" to their butts. The senior monks just told us junior monks to do the work, and never labouring themselves, so how could they appreciate how hot and tiring pushing wheelbarrows was? The projects were all their ideas anyway, so they should do the work! Poor me, lucky them.

When I became a senior monk, then I ate the best food, sat on a soft cushion and did little physical work. However, I caught myself envying the junior monks. They didn't have to give all the public talks, didn't listen to people's problems all day, and didn't spend hours on administration. They had no responsibilities and so much time for themselves. I heard myself saying, "Poor me, lucky them!"

I soon figured out what was going on. Junior monks have "junior monk sufferings". Senior monks have "senior monks sufferings". When I became a senior monk, I was just exchanging one form of suffering for another form of suffering.

It is precisely the same for single people who envy those who are married, and for married people who envy those who are single. As we all know by now, when we get married, we are only exchanging "single person suffering" for "married person's suffering". Then when we get divorced, we are only exchanging "married person's suffering" for "single person's suffering". Poor me, lucky them.

[sniped for brevity.]

To think that you will be happy by becoming something else is delusion. Becoming something else just exchanges one form of suffering for another form of suffering. But when you are content with who you are now, junior or senior, married or single, then you are free of suffering.

Lucky me, poor them!"

-Ajahn Brahm

And therein lies the beauty of the whole darned thing. Its a elegant answer to face life's difficulties. Surprising that such a simple solution has to be phrased as such for me, (and maybe a lot others) to finally see it. Instead of the haves and the have-nots, maybe people are just the have-this and have-thats.