It was the absolute worst day of my life, almost a full year ago. Progress Check Flight, and I needed to demonstrate my flying abilities to the test instructor so he could clear me for my next sortie. I can still remember every detail like it was yesterday, and as I learnt in psychology, that is one of the symptoms of PTSD. But I guess it's a haunting memory which serves to teach me now, a lesson I have to learn even now.
I prepared for the flight, every detail from before take-off to after landing. I spent the weekend in base to prepare, I took time during my breaks to mental fly every detail, and the night before, I kept going over each detail again and again, to make sure I didn't make them.
Then it came to my flight, and the errors started from the ground. Weather came in, it became a touch and go whether I would be taking off that day for my tests. I did, and I forgot details I had practised many times before even before walking to the aircraft. My checks went on with difficulty, I made some error calls on the radio, I took off late because there were too many aircraft in the circuit.
In the air, clouds obscured my vision at the altitude I was supposed to operate. There was supposed to be inclement weather, so I took my aircraft down below the operating level to do my air exercises. Bad call, as turbulence affected me throughout my tests. I screwed up on stalls, I made bad judgements on area management, and my flying simply wasn't up to par as I wrested control over my plane with the weather. Then, I was supposed to recover back to base.
I wasn't sure with the recovery route having panicked throghout, I missed a call, switched to traffic controller at the wrong time. Then, while making my descent, I busted protocols and went faster than normal, and on my way back, I focused on lowering speed I forgot my altitude for low level recovery. I was 900ft AMSL(above mean sea level) and ground was at 300ft AMSL, if I was overflying the CBD, I would have been been a permanant fixture on UOB tower. My instructor had been watching throughout and letting me commit all these errors, until I was so low he was worried I was going to let him become more acquainted with the vegetation. He took over and quietly brought me home. My nerves were wracked, I wasn't able to even do after-landing checks without screwing up. I got out the aircraft wrong, I almost walked into another aircraft taxying out, and when I reached the water cooler I was trembling and ready to break down.
It wasn't over. I had my debrief to go for still, and for such a screwed up flight which I had prepared so well for, I was not looking forward to it. My test instructor took one look at me and asked if I had come all the way to fail on purpose, to collect good money and go home when I had made my share. At that point, I was ready to find a really tall building to jump off. I walked/stumbled my way to the toilet and just broke down. That was the absolute lowest point in my life. Worse than having not done well for A-Levels, worse than not qualifying for any scholarships, worse than death even. At that point, I was a good for nothing, money grubbing, worthless piece of roadkill, and I still do not know how I managed to get out of that day alive.
Maybe it was the anger, that I was called a money minded cock-up, that I was there for the salary. I wasn't, I was truly hoping to make a career of flying then, and I made my point after going to the test instructor after work to clear up my reputation. I wanted to pass, because it was my dream.
Maybe it was the eternal idealist in me, that failures never seemed too far from me but I never seemed to cave in. Breaking down in the toilet, I picked myself up and walked straight to my review instructor for some coaching before the end of that horrible day.
Maybe it was just a quote which stuck in me. 'Why do we fall? So that we learn how to get up.' It was another failure in the long list of screw-ups which define my life, but hell if I'm gonna lie down and stay down.
I learned some things on that Black Tuesday, things which stick with me till now. Prepare too much, and improvisation becomes difficult. Take things too seriously, and life becomes seriously screwed up. Every day, is another day. I am still learning lessons, as evidenced by this post-study reflection which I am undergoing now.
Pain is inevitable, suffering optional. That's a new lesson, and I think most relevant now. I make some pretty lousy decisions sometimes, but suffering the consequences far longer than they are supposed to last is entirely up to me, and I think it's about time I end it. I'll make small changes, not drastic ones, but changes nonetheless. I've got to find new focus, a new direction, and not blindly stumble again like I did after that check flight from hell.
I'm finding new meaning in the quotes I get from that test instructor oh so long ago, in that debriefing room. In one year, the meaning has changed for me, 'When everything seems to go against you, remember that pilots take-off into the wind, not with it' It's a matter of taking failure in stride, and just going on to achieve what you want, even though you might not know what you want yet. I might have FUBARed on military aviation, but that ain't the end yet, there's something else for me still. Something I need to find.
Don
20071126
20071005
20070924
17 Hours to...
OMGawd. OMGawd. OMGawd. Fanboy raves... Jumps around like mad monkey. I'm such a nerd. But I can't help it, IMHO, it's just the biggest video game release OF ALL TIME.
20070904
20070618
Lest we forget
It is an honourable and serious charge
that I today lay upon you,
(name)
in appointing you
(position)
Maintain by your bearing
And conduct the diginity of your position.
Protect the weak, spur the faint hearted,
Curb the unruly and the thoughtless.
Suffer your own cheerful devotion and zeal.
Be firm, be discreet,
Be as far above favour as you are above fear.
Go now on your path of leadership,
Conscious of the trust reposed in you,
And may God prosper your work.
So maybe I can remember the entire Officer's Creed even now, and recite back from front, but hey, this one still beats every pledge out there. This one means something, and doesn't compromise. It still takes the cake, every time.
that I today lay upon you,
(name)
in appointing you
(position)
Maintain by your bearing
And conduct the diginity of your position.
Protect the weak, spur the faint hearted,
Curb the unruly and the thoughtless.
Suffer your own cheerful devotion and zeal.
Be firm, be discreet,
Be as far above favour as you are above fear.
Go now on your path of leadership,
Conscious of the trust reposed in you,
And may God prosper your work.
So maybe I can remember the entire Officer's Creed even now, and recite back from front, but hey, this one still beats every pledge out there. This one means something, and doesn't compromise. It still takes the cake, every time.
20070610
Covering my six, 24/7
The Sunday Times Lifestyle section covered an interesting trend nowadays. Nicole and Celeste Chen, 21 and 17 respectively, have 16000 friends. Each. And that's going by official numbers, unofficially it may be double that. How you may ask? By a very vague, superficial and utterly derogatory definition of the word, friend. Click on friendster, myspace, facebook or any of the other gazillion services available on the World Wide Web, find a handsome/pretty face, then look for the button which says 'add as friend'. Making a friend is as simple as that nowadays, you don't even need to know the person, or have met, spoken, even communicate before. Just add him or her.I admit I was part of this fad a while back. It certainly seems enticing to have your profile page full of people, and to have hundreds, even thousands of people who 'know' you, makes you feel like a celebrity. You have so many people whom you can call on to hang out with, and those many good-looking people makes you look good by association. But that's where the illusion ends. You really don't know those people, and a good majority will never want to meet you anyway. You only see the public image people want you to see, but never the private person underneath. You might argue the 'body count' matters only for instant gratification purposes, just to feel 'shiok', but then at the end of the day, when you lower the expectations for a friend, then that's what you have left, 16000 faces who only smile for you.
A friendster only smiles for the camera. A friend cries with you, gets angry for or over you, feels for you. A friendster writes a testimonial which lists all your positive points. A friend tells you all about you, good or bad, and still sticks with you, despite the shortcomings, flaws, imperfections. A friendster is displayed on your profile page for the world to see. A friend couldn't care less whether anybody else knows about him or her, as long as he or she is by your side, or your back. And they'll stay there, as long as you do the same for them.
I have this small group of real friends. Maybe even brothers, since we have shed tears, sweat and blood together, and that's even before all of us were sucked into the Big Green Machine. We were together since our secondary school days, where friends are hard to come by and good friends even more so. We went through the same school, ate the same canteen food, suffered through the same camps, slept in the same tents, ogled at the same girls, basically lived through the same school life. But that's where the similarities end, because we dealt with life in our own way. Some of us lived next to MM, own 2 cars, have a bungalow, while others dwell in modest HDB housing. Some were popular with girls, having had 3 or more girlfriends, while others were content to have known any girls at all. Some are destined for greatness, studying in prestigious schools on government scholarships, while others are happy to be in SMU, NUS or NTU. With so many factors in between us, you ask how the hell did we stick together for almost a decade already?
Frankly, I can't explain. This 'band of brothers' wasn't formed by clicking on an 'add' button. Maybe it was those camps where we had to endure. Both the camp, and each other. Endure the cooking without salt, or the loud snore kings, or the sabo kings who almost always accumulate push-ups for us, simply by opening their mouths. Maybe it was the guyz outings. Where we lanned, or watched some movie and utter 'banzai!' or 'ahhooohhh!'(like a wolf, or a Spartan) for weeks after. Maybe it was the scheming. Against 'the man', who insisted on tradition in all that we do and loved to have a Coke can in his hand. Or the plotting of campfires, to flood the Atrium with people and make them cheer and vote for lip-syncing performers. Or planning to go some 'nua' beach in the region, or climb a mountain. There are so many maybes, but most probably we became friends because of everything.
We live through the best and worst of what each one of us had to offer. I know who has the worst smelling feet, who snores loudest, who is afraid of the dark, who has what problems in his life now, who needs to have a girlfriend real soon. Likewise, these guyz know my vulnerabilities, my strengths, my lowest point, my highest point, me. We know each other so that we can cover for each other, hold on tighter when someone falters or close ranks when hardships are abound. It's like the Spartan shield wall, an impregnable wall of shield and spear, made up of the man who stands to your left and right, who will not retreat because you are by their side. They trust you to cover their six, all the time, and they'll do the same for you. So maybe we had the occasional betrayal or pang seh (sorry mew and nick), but when it matters, we'll be there, for each other.
So when you ask me if I'll trade these 10 friends for your 16000, it's like Xerxes offering the world to King Leonidas for his 300. I'll give you the same stoic look, and ask you to take your offer. And shove it.
Don
20070609
Need some pretty things?
Hello. i'm in your house, brandon.
Visit www.honey-milk-tea.blogspot.com for exquisite handmade accessories made with tenderlove and everlasting care. Most stuff are snapped up by now, less for 2 pairs of earrings. but we we'll be updating sooooooooooon.
Yes you're right this is a blatant and shameless advertorial spam. spam. spam. spam. spam. whoohoo!
Love,
honeymilktea
ps. Brandon chen rules the world
Visit www.honey-milk-tea.blogspot.com for exquisite handmade accessories made with tenderlove and everlasting care. Most stuff are snapped up by now, less for 2 pairs of earrings. but we we'll be updating sooooooooooon.
Yes you're right this is a blatant and shameless advertorial spam. spam. spam. spam. spam. whoohoo!
Love,
honeymilktea
ps. Brandon chen rules the world
20070604
RI that was...
RI looks so...functional now...The beloved prefect's room is now relegated to a corner booth, in the CCA room's section. Looks like the bookstore if you ask me, but then Welfare Dept. has always been the place to lend out stuff. But it's so small, puny by Gryphon's Lair standards. Those days, the prefect's room wouldn't be closed at 6pm! I know it's the school holidays, but even during my school holidays, I don't remember having a life outside of school! It was spent in the PB room hatching a plan to take over the school! OK maybe not, but it was along the scale of something like that. We were always busy with something, and the room was always open, with someone strumming the guitar or playing Liero or Pikachu volleyball, others sitting by the big table planning an event or other, and still others on the carrom board.
Then of course there's the scout's den. But it's in such a mess now I'm afraid of posting any photos of it in its current state. I know it's annual camp and all, but for the place to be so messy is inexcusable. GQM! Horseshoe! Clean up the den before I make you lick the place till it's spick and span. Plus we had parents and old boys today, if they saw how we maintain our den, we'll be classified as glorified rag and bone men.
But as usual, the sun setting in RI can never be missed. It's a sight to behold, either while sitting on the stadium steps or looking out over the linkway. The sunset photo was taken above the canteen (you're reading that right, there is now a floor above the canteen...or rather the canteen has been moved below the floor).
RI that was. Comes from the one-liner in Firefly, where the characters describe 'Earth-that-was' because none of them have ever been there, but all have heard of how it was. The RI we knew then no longer exists in the form that we recognise, it has changed to become something new for a new generation. To all the Rafflesians now, all we can describe to them was RI that was, because they would know the school differently. RI may change, but I hope a Rafflesian never does.
20070416
Buddies
To the less handsome looking gentleman in this photograph, best of luck in your future flying, and here's hoping to seeing you with the coveted wings (I can't remember the young eagles thing already, hahaz sorry mate). Good hunting buddy, and try to keep your appetite too...20070412
Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
- WILLIAM BLAKE
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell through all its regions.
A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer wandering here and there
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so:
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands,
Throughout all these human lands;
Tools were made and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright
And returned to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
The beggar's rags fluttering in air
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier armed with sword and gun
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
Or if protected from on high
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mocked in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner who sits so sly
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough
To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
A riddle or the cricket's cry
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
- WILLIAM BLAKE
20070321
Burrows Syndrome
Have been catching up on serials I missed while I was away, rented season 1 of Prison Break, which is entertaining in a highly unplausible yet wildly exciting kind of way. Feel a bit like Lincoln Burrows though, like on death row awaiting for the seat, but having hope of escape torturing him throughout. Alas, today is my day though, at least it ends today, and I can stop hoping. Let the DC flow, all 10000 volts of it.
Don
Don
20070319
The Torment of Hope
It's one of those days. And I'm starting to feel like these kind of days are getting a whole lot more common, especially with so much down-time now I am having now. I was MSN-ing with a course-mate who's down under, talking about how things are going down at the squadron, how his first solo was so shit-hot and the course feeling under the weather and all, then the feeling hits me. I know how stressful and crappy things can get when you're there, how the days seem to last forever when you're suffering. And I wish I was with him. Still.
I failed. I thought I had come to accept that fact, adjusted to go on with my life. I planned, charting out a course for which I can take outside of the Air Force, seeing a life ahead without the military in my life. I enjoyed, eating every damn thing I missed in Australia for which I have every chance now to gorge myself with, going out with friends and trying to have a good time with my girlfriend. I looked past my mistakes, past the last shitty sortie I had, putting away the dress blues and peak cap, returning every damn bit of flying equipment back to where they came from. And still I look back. And stare.
It's like I never left. I sleep most nights, late as I can trying to tire myself, so I don't end up dreaming so much, and still I see it. The operations board, the planning room, the safety equipment room, the aircraft, the cockpit. That view from 1000 feet. I wake up, thinking I woke up too late and looking for my flight boots, then I see the view outside my window, and realise it's not the Officers' Mess Annexe I'm looking down at, but Redhill Market. The checks, the R/T, the QFI's voice is still with me. I remember every word.
I've done my clearance, but I haven't had my closure. Maybe signing the contract termination will do it for me, but then it's not till FTS gets the thing together for me to sign. I still have to wait. Life goes on, but painfully slow. I want to forget, move on, but time doesn't want to move any faster or heal any better for me. I want to carry on, but then I haven't ORD. I want to stop flying, but I still have another chance for the commercial route. I want to live my next phase, but it's not here yet. I want to say I quit, but hope doesn't let me. I know it's only a matter of time, but the question of when is eating at me, and somehow, not knowing only makes one think too much, hope too much.
Read somewhere before, some book somewhere, Woman Warrior or something like that, my Lit text, that normal people move on and say different things. They tell different stories. But crazy people tell the same story over and over again. They never stop. Because they hold onto something so stubbornly, they let go of their sanity. Let me let go, please.
Don
I failed. I thought I had come to accept that fact, adjusted to go on with my life. I planned, charting out a course for which I can take outside of the Air Force, seeing a life ahead without the military in my life. I enjoyed, eating every damn thing I missed in Australia for which I have every chance now to gorge myself with, going out with friends and trying to have a good time with my girlfriend. I looked past my mistakes, past the last shitty sortie I had, putting away the dress blues and peak cap, returning every damn bit of flying equipment back to where they came from. And still I look back. And stare.
It's like I never left. I sleep most nights, late as I can trying to tire myself, so I don't end up dreaming so much, and still I see it. The operations board, the planning room, the safety equipment room, the aircraft, the cockpit. That view from 1000 feet. I wake up, thinking I woke up too late and looking for my flight boots, then I see the view outside my window, and realise it's not the Officers' Mess Annexe I'm looking down at, but Redhill Market. The checks, the R/T, the QFI's voice is still with me. I remember every word.
I've done my clearance, but I haven't had my closure. Maybe signing the contract termination will do it for me, but then it's not till FTS gets the thing together for me to sign. I still have to wait. Life goes on, but painfully slow. I want to forget, move on, but time doesn't want to move any faster or heal any better for me. I want to carry on, but then I haven't ORD. I want to stop flying, but I still have another chance for the commercial route. I want to live my next phase, but it's not here yet. I want to say I quit, but hope doesn't let me. I know it's only a matter of time, but the question of when is eating at me, and somehow, not knowing only makes one think too much, hope too much.
Read somewhere before, some book somewhere, Woman Warrior or something like that, my Lit text, that normal people move on and say different things. They tell different stories. But crazy people tell the same story over and over again. They never stop. Because they hold onto something so stubbornly, they let go of their sanity. Let me let go, please.
Don
20070228
Because I Fly
Because I fly,
I laugh more than other men
I look up
And see more than they.
I know how clouds feel
What it's like to have the blue
In my lap.
To look down
On birds
To feel freedom in a thing called the stick
Who but I Can slice between God's billow-legs
And feel them laugh and crash with His step?
Who else has seen the unclimbed peaks?
The rainbow's secret?
The real reason birds sing?
Because I fly
I envy no man on earth.
20070101
Welcome back to the suck
Someone has been watching too much Jarhead. That's the first thing my friend said to me as I stepped back onto base, back from 10 days home leave. But then again, can't blame him, he had to cover all the duties over here while we were home. He was working while I was partying away Christmas, out with my girlfriend, or simply spending time with the family. Kudos to the men and women who serve while we enjoy this festive season.
I'm back in the suck, and yes, it feels exactly as it sounds. Been here 4 days and I'm bored beyond comprehension. Need to pick up the tempo again, but there's no tempo to pick up until the base reopens. It's a dead town here, no one here except the few of us who have to man the skeleton crew. No one wants to do it, but there's no one else to do it, which leaves us.
Happy new year to all, ain't that merry for us watching the frontier here, but hell, here's to hoping the year isn't half as bad as how it began for me. For one, let this be the year where I get my half-wings. Whole lot of things left unresolved in the last year, but maybe it's the time now for things to get tied up. Or cut off. Either way, resolved is the end result.
Life hasn't been rosy or treating me well, but I won't forget the small graces it shows me. Didn't manage to do as much as I wanted when I was back in Singapore, but now, it doesn't matter anymore. 10 days may be way too short, but hey, I wasn't supposed to be back this December anyway. Kind of wished I didn't go home, now it only makes me feel more homesick. Let time heal these wounds, and work drown those memories. I still have something to accomplish here. I still hope I do.
Don
I'm back in the suck, and yes, it feels exactly as it sounds. Been here 4 days and I'm bored beyond comprehension. Need to pick up the tempo again, but there's no tempo to pick up until the base reopens. It's a dead town here, no one here except the few of us who have to man the skeleton crew. No one wants to do it, but there's no one else to do it, which leaves us.
Happy new year to all, ain't that merry for us watching the frontier here, but hell, here's to hoping the year isn't half as bad as how it began for me. For one, let this be the year where I get my half-wings. Whole lot of things left unresolved in the last year, but maybe it's the time now for things to get tied up. Or cut off. Either way, resolved is the end result.
Life hasn't been rosy or treating me well, but I won't forget the small graces it shows me. Didn't manage to do as much as I wanted when I was back in Singapore, but now, it doesn't matter anymore. 10 days may be way too short, but hey, I wasn't supposed to be back this December anyway. Kind of wished I didn't go home, now it only makes me feel more homesick. Let time heal these wounds, and work drown those memories. I still have something to accomplish here. I still hope I do.
Don
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