your standing on our streets

Alot happened during BMT, but i made it in the end. I remember the feeling of absolute elation as i marched down the jetty for my first book out on a saturday after a month of confinement on the island.

The outside world seemed so strange, so beguilingly safe. I rushed home to change and get out of the house as soon as possible. The lights of orchard road were so bewildering that night, the intoxication of the streets. Traffic and surging crowds. I wanted to drown in every shade of colour and sound. Every now and then amongst the masses i would spot a shaved head and be reminded.

Everyweekend after that on that island was the rollercoaster of elation on saturdays and the incredible low on sunday evenings. The sickening sound of the grinding metal of the floating jetty as your combat boots made heavy steps towards the boat that would take you back.

At night in camp i was always the last in my bunk to go to sleep, well past the 2230hrs lights out timing. the whole day's automatic reaction activities and abuse was a straightjacket on your mind. i desperately needed to be alone for awhile, i needed to be able to think beyond a base level response to reward and punishment. my friend told me it was better not to think. i would walk the corridors chasing ghosts that never came, smoke illegal cigarettes( the sea breeze would smoke half) and look out across the sea at the shimmery yellow lights of the mainland. The sea was black as the sky was black and you couldnt really tell where one ended and the other began. The ships were like stars floating in void, all i needed to do was to take of my glasses to let myopia and astigmatism enhance the illusion.
No matter how sad or dislillusioned and broken you felt, there was still so much beauty on that island.

One night i almost gave up though, i wont go into details.

I had to spend time in the jungle during certain periods. During our field camp somebody took a crap on a hillside cos we set up out tents late at night and hadnt properly designated a toilet yet. The next day our commanders made the whole company leapard crawl up the side of the mountain, til one of us found his shit, they threw thunder flashes behind us to hurry us.

I hated digging trenches the most. After five hours of digging through hard rocky ground, ( with the sparks flying i felt like i was working in a smithy) i finally managed to dig my trench, it was just enough for my body to buried in the ground. It rained violently and the inside of my trench was milo. By that stage of field camp, personal hygiene became a weird custom from a faraway place.
i spent the whole night lying in my lovely hole and on the wet grass when i was afraid my rifle would turn to rust. covered in filth and dirt, my face was greened and blackened with camo for many days now, it seemed more natural than the colour of my skin.

i felt so at home lying on the forest floor in the peace and darkness of the night like i was part of the forest, it was strange, on one hand i couldnt stand it and i was longing to get the hell out of there, on the other hand i enjoyed feeling detached from my ordinary concerns and feelings and the complications of modern life. (Mirrors are implements used to calculate the difference between reality and the idealized self, The only mirrors in the jungle are mirrors soldiers keep to camoflauge their faces and become their surroundings.)

A plane flew overhead, i thought of kris 6997 km away, the dichotomy ended. i just wanted to go home.

that night i also saw ghosts on the island for the first time. among the trees when i waited alone on the hillside. very tall black figures gliding among the trees.