My Thoughts on Two Years of My Time

It has been over two months since my ORD (Operationally Ready Date, signifying the end of full-time national service), marking the end of another chapter in my life. Although it has been a while since then, I still find myself occasionally waking up and thinking about when my next book-in will be, what time I need to report to the parade square, and when my next conduct will be. In a way, I feel a bit institutionalized, used to a regimented life that I am now finding hard to break out of. 

It reminds me of Brooks Hatlen, a character from one of my favourite movies, Shawshank Redemption. Brooks was an important member of Shawshank Prison, working in the library as well as being an important member of his close-knit group of friends. Brooks spends 50 years of his life in Shawshank prison, and upon leaving the prison after his sentence, finds himself lost when adjusting to his newfound civilian life. It is difficult for him to adjust from a place where he holds an important role in an organization to become an ordinary citizen. While national service (NS) is most certainly not like a prison, and 50 years is far greater than 2 years, the sense of being “lost” that Brooks felt resonates with me, albeit to a far lesser degree. It feels weird to not have a team under you, to have people address you by your rank, or to constantly be working towards a specific task. 

That being said, I had a similar feeling when I enlisted two years ago. The initial transition from civilian to military life was also difficult, not in terms of the physical tasks I had to perform, but rather the mental block that I had to overcome. Preceding my enlistment date was one of the most enjoyable 6 month periods in my life: from being accepted into university, to travelling with my friends on a senior trip, to graduating high school, there was not much more I could have asked for to conclude my high school experience. This made enlistment all the more harder, especially with the backdrop of what most of my friends were doing after high school. They were travelling around the world with their families, getting prepared for their college experiences, and settling into their new lifestyles. It definitely seemed a lot more enjoyable than joining the military. 

However, at the end of the day, I chose to be in that particular position. In 7th grade, my parents gave me the option of taking permanent residency (PR) in Singapore, a decision which would ultimately determine whether I had to do NS. I decided to take PR, not thinking much of my decision and hoping that as I got older I would be able to answer why I said yes to NS. But on enlistment day, I still found myself finding it difficult to find my “why” for doing NS. Sure, there was the argument that doing NS would enhance my eventual college application, but I had already committed to a school I liked, so that argument was nullified. There is also the argument that doing NS would allow me to get a Singaporean passport (incidentally, our recent citizenship application was rejected), one of the most powerful passports in the world. But this was just for ease of travel and wasn’t sufficient justification for having to donate two years of my time. As such, I found myself lost in the question I asked myself in 7th grade, too lost to feel emotional about leaving my parents or focusing on the long road ahead of me. 

After enlistment, I entered Basic Military Training (BMT), a nine-week course focussed on transitioning newly enlisted young men into trained soldiers. Our training involved physical training, learning marching drills, weapon handling, live firing, combat training, basic survival skills, and warfighting skills, among other things. The training in BMT is relatively simple and wasn’t a drastic physical adjustment for me as I had played sports throughout high school and was in relatively good shape. The soldiering skills were not too difficult as well; sure, it took a while to learn how to wear the uniform and how to hold a gun, but after you get the hang of it, it’s not too difficult. 

What I did find an adjustment, however, was the culture of my peers around me. They were all kind and caring in their own right, but they had grown up in a drastically different Singapore than what I had experienced. Coming from an international school in Singapore, I grew up in a sheltered lifestyle, a bubble of privilege surrounded by people similar to myself. I went to a school for which my parents paid expensive fees. My friends and I all stayed in condominiums or landed properties. Almost all the people I knew had cars. None of my friends and I had to ever worry about our next meal or having to work ourselves to make a living. My peers and I had travelled across the world on our parents' dime, experiencing a variety of cultures and experiences. In contrast, my peers in BMT, as well as throughout the rest of NS, had grown up in a drastically different lifestyle. Most had gone through the local education system, completing some permutation of secondary school, ITE, polytechnic, or junior college (JC). I enlisted in a polytechnic intake batch, which meant some of my peers had been working for the last 5 years of their lives. Some of my peers were fathers, some were husbands, and many of them were the sole breadwinners in their families. Some stayed in HDBs; I had never been to an HDB apartment before, apart from my math tuition in middle school or to order a taxi after school. I was interacting with a side of Singapore that I had not previously. It was an adjustment on so many levels; the accent, the humour, the slang, and the vibes were completely different from what I had experienced in high school. Despite our differences, I formed close relationships with my peers, as we all treated each other kindly and worried about our joint well-being. 

After BMT, I was posted to Officer Cadet School (OCS), which became home for the next 9 months as I commenced the journey to officership. I expected training in OCS to be significantly more difficult than BMT, as the standards demanded of officers were relatively higher than that of a basic trained soldier. It certainly lived up to the hype. From a mixed-bag platoon in BMT who all had varying motivation levels, my platoon in OCS was a collection of people who all wanted to do well for themselves and showcase their leadership. This made the first couple of weeks relatively intense, as everyone wanted to overpower the other person and look good in front of the instructors. That being said, it was still enjoyable. From a 16-man bunk in BMT, I transitioned to a 2-man bunk in OCS, akin to a dorm room at a university. The first three months in OCS were specific to our area of service; for me, I was a part of the army, so my training mostly concerned planning for land objectives and further weapons training. These first three months, called “service term”, passed by quickly, each day busier than the next. But I formed close bonds once again, growing closer to my peers through our joint overcoming of obstacles. Most of the time, I was too busy to think about the actuality of my actions and each passing week. For many NSFs (full-time national servicemen), this reflects the nature of the two years, with each passing day in camp marking a day closer to booking out (going home for the weekend), and each hour over the weekend marking an hour closer to booking in (reporting back to camp). This repetitive pattern is characterized by the quote “booking in to book out, booking out to book in”, words close to the heart for any NSF. 

Following the first three months of OCS, those in the army service would be posted out to their respective vocations. For my batch of officers, the possible vocations included infantry, signals, logistics, combat engineers, army intelligence, and armour. While we had little choice in choosing our vocations, there was a “preference form” in which we could indicate which vocation we would most like to be a part of. This feigned optionality, but most of us knew that our vocational fates were predetermined. Given the fact that I wasn’t a Singapore citizen, I knew that my security clearance was low. Individuals with higher security clearance can be placed into units which handle more sensitive information, normally characterized by vocations like signals and army intelligence. Lower security clearance individuals are usually placed into infantry, a relatively less tactful unit which absorbs soldiers of varying backgrounds. Because I believed my fate was predetermined as a result of my clearance, I embraced the fact and placed infantry as my top choice. In addition, infantry would give me the toughest training, something which I knew would test my abilities but also be an experience I could reflect fondly upon afterwards. Unsurprisingly, I was placed into the infantry, which marked the next six months of my time in OCS. 

Infantry training was difficult. It had similarities to what I had experienced in my first three months of OCS but took those concepts to a far deeper level. The vocation was certainly less technical than the experience I would find in other vocations; there was less studying for tests and not as much of a need to understand complex machinery. We did learn how to use a variety of weapon systems, but most of this training was practical and not theory-based. However, the relative lack of technical knowledge was compensated for by the large amount of physical exertion my peers and I had to put in. We would walk tactically long into the night, carrying heavy loads with aching bodies. I got used to the term “shag”, a Singlish term which means tiredness. After walking for long distances, we would go into warfighting situations, having to plan quickly and decisively in a short space of time. While the planning was not difficult in comparison to the academic tests I faced in high school, its difficulty was exacerbated by the fatigue we felt in each situation. That being said, the experience was more than fulfilling. I had the opportunity to go overseas to train in more difficult terrain, working long into the night and carrying out back-to-back missions. But in those tough moments in the field, however stressful or complex the situation was, there also existed a sense of calmness and comfort. When you knew the person in the foxhole next to you was also going through the same experience, when you knew the person next to you would also go the extra mile for you, and when you knew that someone else would have your back, it made the going a little easier, the load a little lighter, the temperature a little cooler, and the experience a little smoother. With the help of my peers, as well as the support of commandos (elite paratroopers who also had to go through infantry training on their road to officership), I made it through the infantry proterm and was commissioned as an officer. 

After completing my infantry officership training, I was posted to Basic Military Training Center (BMTC), as a trainer of newly enlisted soldiers. A year prior, I was one of those new recruits, and now, people in that position would be under my charge. Initially, I was disappointed to get posted to BMTC, particularly due to the distance from camp to my house. But over time, I got used to the travel, and it didn’t matter much at the end of my experience. While the long travel time was a transition, the evolution from trainee to officer was also difficult. Rather than being the one following instructions, I was now one of the people issuing said instructions. This transition isn’t something you can prepare for; rather, you learn through actually experiencing it for yourself. 

I am sure that many of my family friends have had to go through these same transitions in corporate settings. Leadership is something much easier said than done. I had done numerous exercises in the past explaining the kind of leader I intended to be, listing in great detail the qualities I wanted to develop and the skills I should possess. But implementing these skills when you have subordinates under you is far more difficult. Managing their welfare and their workload, as well as ensuring that your visions are aligned from the top down, is a complex undertaking. Understanding when to be the bad guy, when to be the good guy, how close you can get with the people under you, how much work you can delegate to the next person, and how you manage your schedule, are tasks that cannot be taught. I made a lot of mistakes in this respect, not because I was lazy, but because I was not empathetic in some instances. In addition, I sometimes grew too friendly to my subordinates, which made my instructions hold less weight. I think this was one of my most important experiences; it’s not often that you get to hold a difficult leadership position which carries weight and importance for someone of my age. I definitely could have been better in my performance, but the experience helped me learn skills that will be important for me when I eventually enter my career.

More than developing my leadership, my experience at BMTC allowed me to develop meaningful relationships with a new group of interesting people. Ultimately, these were the guys who helped me get through the rest of the NS journey, a reminder that you do not walk your path alone. I would always dread taking the long 3-hour journey to camp, traversing across both land and sea, but when you reach the company line and see all your friends around you, you realize there is no place you’d rather be. It is those relationships that make NS worth it, far more than any rank or accolade you attain. These relationships are fleeting yet incredibly improbable. By some chance, both of our uncontrolled national service journeys led us down paths that intersect. You don’t know who will be your best friend, who you will get along with, or whether you will ever see some person again. It makes you think about all of the relationships you’ve built, and how transient environments can lend themselves to complex shared experiences. You never know who your next friend is going to be or what your next experience will deliver, you just have to be kind and hope that you meet the right people along the way. 

            As I’m getting ready to start university in 3 weeks, I keep falling back to the question I posed myself in 7th grade. And in truth, I still don’t know whether the opportunity cost of delaying my studies by two years was worth it. Sometimes I do wish I was entering my junior year in university and would be studying with kids my age. Maybe I would have been better off and grasped an opportunity that doesn’t exist now. What I do know is that I tried to put my best foot forward over the two years, regardless of whether my abilities could substantiate my intentions. It makes this arduous and unlikely journey something I can accept.