What was supposed to be a catching up session became another self-romanticising saunter at the airport, thanks to perhaps a failed attempt of alarm clock usage. You know who you are and you are hereby forgiven, by virtue of neither my benevolence nor magnanimousness but of innate desire for reclusivity at such an apt venue.

So there I was riding up and down the underutilised escalators of the train station as if I were chancing to peek up a skirt or two. I settled for the innocent railing to lean on for a read and I could see the security officers imagining a detonator tucked somewhere in my impossibly tight jeans. (It was loose 3 months ago.)

The clock struck 7 and I declared the wait over.

Stepped into the Skytrain and leaned (yes the trademark act of perpetual laziness) on the metal bar. I started flipping my 1984.

"Gooday mate!" A greeting audible amidst the assorted, accented murmurs in the carriage. I anticipated an exciting eavesdropping session to commence in a matter of seconds.

"Gooday mate!" I looked up from the miniscule fonts and to my horror there was a Caucasian face upfront.

"Hie." I was too stunned to manage a "Gooday" back.

"Good book you have there, 1984!"

"Thank you." Ok I know it's a dumb reply. It's not written by me like thank him for what. But what else can I say? "Yeah I know." That would have sounded snappy. My brain almost pronounced itself dead for thinking of how to elongate my replies but his eagerness saved everything.

"George Orwell is a fantastic writer. He was able to come up with such a visionary novel at the age of.............."

"I read his Animal Farm." Yet another reply reeking of irrelevance. But it was the best I could manage. My knowledge of George Orwell is as far as he penned those 2 books. Period.

"Oh Animal Farm I didnt read that one. But I know that's pretty good as well." Ok this one I didnt really expect. Thought he was some avid literary fan but he actually lagged me. (I completed the book at a pubescent age of 14, involuntarily) Pride emanated from that temporal sense of superiority barely sufficed as saving grace of my involvement in this queer conversation.

Before I could return a reply and I was seriously at a fix deciding what words to employ, he requested: "Can you show me the cover?"

Flip.

"Oh it's a different version in Singapore."

"Yah." The ultimate patronising response.

"Where are you from?" As if "Gooday" wasn't telling. I hope I sounded perfunctory enough to him not to represent ignorance or imbecility on my part to fail to recognise his Oceanian identity.

"Australia"

And the conversation concluded with "Have a nice day" and a brainless parroting of the same sentence, courtesy of my mouth.

This Aussie made my day. What is it with his friendliness? Nature or nurture? The lack of hesitance to engage in conversing with strangers seem foreign to most of us Singaporeans. Or should I say Asians? Maybe not, I had similar experiences in Thailand and Taiwan. We were preached since young not to speak to strangers by our loving parents, with good intention at heart we know. But does that really matter in who we become? Or is that just one convenient excuse for us not to take initiative in similar public settings? And then let "Asian conservatism" be the ultimate scapegoat, when we benefit so much unconsciously from the very same concept we tend to define thwartedly?

Mummy told us not to talk to strangers when we were young, she didn't tell us to do that forever. But then again, if from young we were taught to be wary of strangers, we tend to cast suspicion on people we do not know and somehow it becomes inherent in us, as a self-defence mechanism. As we mature it's hard to drop our guard even in needless circumstances.

And in this garden city where everybody casts suspicion on everybody it should no surprise that there occurs the death of volunteers willing to make the first move, for fear of being maligned unnecessarily. What do they gain anyway for taking initiative? Gains occur only when there are positive reactions to proactive parties. Exchange of knowledge takes place, one practical plus for all but that isn't the crux, it's a broader issue involved - the atmosphere of bonhomie forged as a nation, one community. Everyone brightening each other's lives like how the Aussie brightened mine.

I shall try harder this time. =)

The normal calender will be one obsolete item for me with effect from tomorrow. Weekends and public holidays will be officially erased, only to be replaced by 8 day cycles which goes like this: Mount Mount Standby Dismount Mount Mount Dismount Standby.

It takes only 62 or so cycles to ORD.

Now for some enlightening.

• Mount refers to doing duties. 1 day is divided into 8 3 hour shifts and averagely a RP does 3 shifts per day, usually inconsecutive. No more uninterrupted 7 hour snoozing sessions.
• Dismount refers to booking out, simply.
• Stand-by refers to staying in camp until 1700 but without official duties for the day. Stand-by is equivalent to dismount if the stand-by day falls on a weekend.

Free weekends will thus become products of coincidence, when the 8 day RP cycle and the 7 day week coordinates to give me a civil servant schedule. So for those who long for my company you can start calculating by progression theorems and make necessary reservations.

As if the agony of dashing to armouries with picnic lanterns under the Mid-Autumn full moon wasn't enough, the possibility of wearing green and holding M16 when people are donning red and clutching oranges dangles in lurking uncertainty.

Or updating through the comms set when people send and receive yuletide greetings on their cell phones.

Or planting behind prowls when people peers at prismatic pyrotechnics in patriotism.

But there is a brighter side to it of course. I have decided to volunteer for the 14th Feb duty next year. Won't feel so left out you know, it's by rule that I have to be at the guard post alone. Thrust me onto the streets and I feel criminalised walking by myself amidst interlocked fingers and rosy fragrance.

So there, I am now a RP officially on duty. =)

Every bloc leave spells an imminent splurging spree. In blatant ignorance of the dwindling fortune in my savings account, I watched "Perfect Catch", "As It Is In Heaven" and "Be With Me" in a span of 24 hours, bought "1984" by George Orwell and "in praise of SLOW" by Carl Honore at Kinokuniya and marked the finale of this festive break by grabbing Corrinne May's "Safe In A Crazy World" from Music Junction.

Boston. Sweden. Singapore. Settings of the respective movies.

4some. 3some. Alone. People involved in watching the respective movies.

Apt for more to engage in boisterous guffawing at a romantic comedy, some as fellow intellectual critics after a Swedish classic and one to attempt digesting an arty farty local mime (nearly).

It was a theatre overload. Considering the last movie before I watched all these is "A Very Long Engagement".

Very long disengagement from the movies indeed.

Whatever, just hope the books and the album will serve as a suffocating seal for my wallet until the next pay day.

Boon Leng. TK. Duck. Me. Korean hunk. Naimei. Jinxing. Auntie. Muppet. Bobo. Starhub. Dont lies. Viky. Company 2nd best. Pastry chef. Junyi. THE condemned. Muffin. Vegetable. Daryl. Plasticboy. Hippo. Ignatius. Sum Ah. Dexter. Yuhao. Jonowee.

Thank you all.

FDC wasn't just about M16, M203, Law, Saw, GPMG technical handling and range, section & platoon live firing, FIBUA, Exercise Earthworm, biochemical warfare and RP lectures.

BMT seemed like a miserable episode with no relevant acquaintances yet with overdosage of incompassionate imbeciles working out at realising their military aspirations.

Here are my long due apologies to all those whom I have disappointed for not securing a place at either command schools. Expectations of me have probably arisen from my CCA background, which I admit, is also my core impelling factor for giving a decent performance in army. I am though, content with my posting. I don't deserve more from the fact that i missed SIT test and was ill for half of BMT. And my conscience tells me not to take them as convenient excuses.

A small platoon at FDC facilitated interaction. And bunking with Chinese speaking comrades augmented the comfort factor. Plus there was no outshining in action. Outcasting is another thing but at least that takes place naturally, and it benefits more than it harms, in quantitative terms. A stronger bond forged among 25 at the expense of condemning 2 who deserved. Worth it.

Our superiors have inferior educational qualifications to us and frankly speaking I benefit more from the slack time effected from their haphazard organisation than their pool of knowledge. And I am not complaining.

A slipshod summary of army life, written amidst bastardly book-in blues.

"A toast to myself!" Heartiest congratulations to Shihao my ex-classmate who is one of the 7 honoured recipients of SAF Overseas Scholarship this year. Wishing him all the best at UCL!

Confession: I dreamt of the waitress who served me at Ichiban Japanese Restaurant @ Esplanade last night. The cynical me has never failed to chide others with similar encounters, not to mention dousing their love-at-first-sight hopes with maligning mockery.

I realised, all while long it was me who wasn't embracing reality.

She is no Jolin no Joanne no Jeanette. I guess she would have looked plain to most. But her looks struck me anyway. She resembled Cheer Chen, her hair her facial features but with bigger eyes. To come up close with Cheer Chen Qi Zhen has always been one of Chan Boon Kian's anticipated moments and yesterday it transpired into reality albeit in a virtual (redefined) form.

So instincts would have fuelled a guy in a similar situation to make orders in utmost gentlemanly decorum peppered with rhetoric queries meant to humour. But the residing cynism in me curbed any polished deportment. I made up for that with legions of furtive glances casted. Then I plucked my courage for something more daring. I looked at her name tag. It read "TRAINEE".

I left with the intention of making a return visit as soon as possible despite hearing my gourmand conscience rallying behind my mind. And I feel no guilt for my lackadaisical moral showing. Seeing a potential Ms Right isn't immoral anyway.

In that dream I met her at a HDB void deck. One of the blocks at Kg Arang. This is as much as I could remember, not even sure if there was any dialogue. But whatever, I woke up smiling more brightly than any other Sunday mornings.

Great Singapore Sale Purchases This Year:

1. Samuel & Kevin Tee (Pink) - $6
2. Samuel & Kevin Tee (Brown) - $6
3. RE- Sling Bag - $54

The T shirts were grabbed on the last day of GSS - $6 all tops $15 all bottoms at all S & K outlets. But like my sling bag the most - light teal, leather sling. Woots.




Albums Which I Have Bought This Year: (clockwise order, from bottom)

1. Fly Away - Corrinne May
2. Unlimited - F.I.R
3. Amphibian - Tanya Chua
4. Stefanie - Stefanie Sun
5. Cheer Chen Compilation - Cheer Chen

Mainly female singers as usual. Proclaimed that I would not buy Stefanie last year but took back my words, her songs are still the best amidst the Mandopop drought this year.

Books Which I Have Read This Year: (clockwise order, from bottom)

1. The Geography of Thought by Richard Nisbett
2. Authenticity by David Boyle
3. The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell
4. Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
5. The Wisdom of Crowds by James Surowiecki

My interest has somehow taken a sociological slant and yes, fiction has never been my cup of tea.