I haven’t been updating for a fortnight. It’s not for laziness, just I haven’t found the eloquence I deem adequate to write whenever I attempt to. You see, I have been reading loads of Mathew Ward’s translation of post war literature lately. His terse and concise words are making me think differently of English. I have been speaking much to myself regarding it, so I wouldn’t dare write anything until I have understood the balance. Nine days have passed, I must still lack a mile of finding it, but I definitely feel oblige to after so long an absence. With that said, the obligation may be an ironic one, I know. Considering that nobody reads this space anymore there shouldn’t be the slightest speck of writing responsibility on my part, let alone obligation. But this isn’t for anyone but myself. Maybe echoing my thoughts inside just isn’t enough, I need to write to prove I am alive. I can’t hold it any longer and therefore I do. So before I read, I seek for my understanding of the queer sentence structure.
Hi world, it’s me and my bald head again. The barbers came in once more and trimmed our heads shorter than before, whom I unwillingly paid $2 to for a half fuck job. To shoehorn an excuse to shine better light out of my ugly head, I can only foolishly pray that my lost hair is the thorn to my plan of weight gaining. I lost 200gramms this week, a very bad note to start my weekend freedom with.
Field camp is over and so is rifle range. I did alright for both I guess, more so on the latter. Staying out for four days was more manageable than expected. There wasn’t as much discomfort as most of the others complained. I was free of heat rashes and any annoying itches, only a couple of blisters on my sole. It quite a miracle considering I wore the same shirt and didn’t bathe or properly powdered myself for the entire course. My skin may not look pleasing but it’s surely durable from this experience. The combat ration that everyone was dreading of was more than edible as well, not a great margin of difference from those served in the cookhouse. It’s the weak and unadaptive minds that makes it bad. My bowels were almost regular. Some slight constipation on the initial two days but they were eventually cleared on the fourth. It didn’t affect any of the activities I participated in so there should be no fuss on that. The shellscrape digging was tedious but gradually completed by the third hour. I was panting like a dehydrated dog by the end of it but I guess I wasn’t too aware of my heavy breathing. I was constantly concerned about a tree which I accidentally hacked in the process. The tree bled of red fluid. I was deliberately superstitious then and thought it must be something to do with the supernatural. But nothing happened in the end. I am neither cursed of maimed. That’s boring, but I guess it’s good boring.
Field camp isn’t enjoyable. But there was two instances of novelty which I must mention. Firstly, the stars. It’s unimaginable. To see the difference in the available constellations just a few kilometers away from our bunks. But maybe it’s because of the skies that were clear of mundane buildings or I wasn’t staring at the skies enough when I had books with me. Nevertheless, the stars were beautiful. Especially on the last night where we slept on a helicopter landing bay devoid of tall trees, the night sky was just glittering. Not that I love astrology, but that’s novelty.
Secondly, thanks to one polite lighting that landed at the circumference of our basha tent site, the whole company was evacuated to some ruin down building just before our sleep. The evacuation was fun, to be running in the dark with our hands gripping firm on one another’s shoulder forming a caterpillar. What’s better is, the moment we set of on our journey, dejavu shook me. I remembered myself being in a scene like this before, it was vivid. So clear I remembered myself commenting about my dejavu to my section mate quarter way through the journey upon reaching a fork. A recruit that was left far behind took the wrong turn then and there and a battalion was dispatched to find him. I liked this story and didn’t want to change it. So I held on my words and told him what I had to right at that interstice. I was excited. We reached the abandoned building shortly, fell in clumsily and counted our strength. Everyone was accounted for and nobody was missing. It’s a disappointment.
That’s all for field camp. Nothing more or less to it. There were more antics that complimented it, just too minor to be mentioned.
Rifle range was alright. To me, it was nothing about proving my eagle eye or stable hands. As mentioned, I don’t like guns. I was more concerned about keeping fit for future melodies and having heard stories on the draggy process, pushing my patience to the limits. Being patient isn’t my thing. It took 14hours for two full platoons to complete the firing, both day and night shots. In which I spent 13.5 hours waiting and the remaining collecting and discharging live rounds. I regret not bringing a book to read to avoid looking like a nerd, I should have done so. I fired 32 shots and missed 4 which qualifies me as an marksman. But there’s nothing to boast about with the SAR21 at a hundred meter range. It’s meant to be a give away.
The night ended with us reaching back to company line two in the morning and we slept at three. We slept for a little over two hours before having our breakfast. After which, we scrubbed the carbon off our rifles. Scotchbrite did the magic for me while others cursed and swear with their hand occupied for the next three hours. I spent that time finishing off my third novel of Dostoevsky.
That’s all for the highlight for the previous two weeks narrated as simply as I can. Bye