Sunday, April 26, 2009

Me, I'm not Here.

I remember December the 8th 1992 like it happened yesterday. Standing there and waving goodbye to my parents as I boarded the 3 tonner. Really not having a clue to what was in store for me. 2 years and 5 months of absolute hell and a real waste of my time. I was drafted into the army and as luck would have it, I was posted to Pulau Tekong( those days it was not the only Basic Military School but it was known to be the worst). To top it all off, I then ended up in the Infantry unit as a rifleman and then a signaller. Unbelievable! No, do Not get me wrong, I have to be honest here. Some of the most fun and laughter I had was while I was serving my national service. In fact I would probably not change that for anything else. It's just the very idea of them making us do that that pisses me of. Defending the country, my ass. A total of about 15 years later of service and yearly reservist later, I do not feel anymore love for my country now than I did back then. In fact it's had the reverse effect. I do not feel like this is MY country at all. . This country is NOT my home. I don't know where my home country is or if I even have one. But this country is not it. Every year, this government brings more and more foreigners into this country. Mostly people from China. These jokers can't speak a word of English. And yet I am told that I need to learn to speak Mandarin to communicate with them?! Isn't it suppose to be the other way around? I feel like a foreigner in my own country! I am not joking when I say that they are all over the place. Even if you were to go down to the shops and order some food, it is very likely you'd be talking to one of them. And they'd give you that stupid look when they don't know what you ordered. English is our working language and Bahasa Melayu our true national language. Neither works for them. Once upon a time it felt like it was my country. When I started my national service, I actually believed it was. As I bled and sweated and yes I cried as I went through it, I still believed that I was doing it for a larger cause. I thought I was doing it for my home. I thought I was doing it for the children that I saw on the way to camp every week. For the people who went about to their jobs, even maybe the poor bus driver in service No.2 taking me to Hendon Camp that evening... . . . But now I know, this island is nothing more then a hotel and the people who live here, the people for whom I thought I was doing it all for, they do not love me. I wasn't doing it just for my family. I thought my country was suppose to be my family. Now I know. My country, my politicians, my people, do it only for themselves. Today, they don't think of me like I did them. My battered body, my weakened knees is not their concern. So I guess that'll be it then.

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