u/HeteroVillain

On 3 Aug I underwent a left transscrotal microsurgical Varicoelectomy. This meant that the cut was made on the scrotum itself, on the left side.

The rationale given by the urologist was that he could remove most of the faulty testicle veins without hurting the veins in the subinguinal area, that do not belong to the testicle.

Anyway, first week was hell. The aches and pains are definitely higher on the pain scale as the scrotum is covered in sensitive nerve endings. I used a walking stick to reduce the weight I placed on my left side.

I limited my movements to the bare essentials: toilet time and consumption of food. I iced my area for the first week to reduce the aching feeling.

To aid in my recovery, I religiously consumed chicken essence. The rationale was to consume simple amino acids that help to boost the physical recovery as fast as possible. If you do not have chicken essence, chicken soup is a good alternative.

As my doctor cut a lot of faulty veins, there was some blood congestion in the surgical area, I was prescribed pentoxifylline (varicose vein medication) to boost the blood flow.

Currently I'm on my 3rd week of recovery, the wound has sealed but I still would walk gingerly to prevent any physical exertion.

Back in BMT, I had a buddy named Jacob (not his real name). He was a simple guy back then, all smiles and full of heart. Even though he was sometimes quite blur, he never lacked sincerity. Yet behind that easygoing smile, there was an occasional glint in his eyes, a quiet hunger for something more ambitious and grander. Through the upheavals of outfield, the routine route marches, and enduring the long waits in between, I began to rely on my buddy.

"Yo bro, I am damn shag. I'm going to take a break," I would mutter under muted breath, as I collapsed onto my dirty field pack.

Jacob chuckled: "Eh now got good weather should dig more, if there's rain later it's gonna be shittier hahaha"

As if someone was playing a trick, we were soon met with heavy torrential rain.

Cold bullets pelting against our helmets and our skin. Additionally, the warm humid layer stayed with us so it was extremely uncomfortable.

But as they used to say, the day is over when the day ends. We laughed together and we complained together. As the sun set, we laid in the tent, thoroughly exhausted, and we let out a huge sigh. "Wah, I really hope that we can shower immediately after outfield."

"Same same," Jacob said, his gaze fixed upward as if looking past the roof of the tent. "If I was a sergeant or lieutenant, I hope that I can give everyone more welfare. It really sucks to be in the mud, in the sun, in the rain, and in the shit." He spoke of leadership not just as a passing wish, but as a destination he was already eyeing.

Weeks passed. I was unfortunately fortunate to have performed averagely and remained a man. Jacob, on the other hand, was fortunately unfortunate and became a sergeant. His quiet ambition had finally been answered.

I remember him arriving back to our camp after command school with an emotionless face. Was the cheerfulness a facade, or did something change him inside? I wondered what caused him to harden as he grimaced at all of his bunkmates. He began nitpicking harder.

Dust would mysteriously appear before every bookout, and our breaks were shorter than the other coys. Looking at him bark orders, I realized the ultimate tragedy of authority. He, a product of the system, had reduced our brotherhood to a hierarchy. Like spoiled wine, things soured with our whole group.

Power is a chaser, a drink. As they say: man takes a drink, a drink takes a drink, drink takes the man. Power consumes all. I witnessed what it could do, as it consumed Jacob.

He had taken his first sip, and it had completely corrupted his memory. He saw his friends as disposable digits. The difference in power came solely from a rank badge, proving that power always blinds the person who holds the cup.

Looking back, I realized I was no longer dealing with my buddy. It was just chevrons.

Long ago when I was a chao recruit on a barren island known as Pulau Tekong, I met a funny dude named Elden Ring (fake name to hide his identity). On any given occasion, our batchmates would've made fun of his real name but given the fact that he was affiliated with gang activities, they were less incentivised to do so.

So one fine day, I was shoveling sand into the sand bags because I got tio marked by my retarded sargen. In the meantime, Elden was about to have his smoke break and was chatting up with the aunty on the MT line. His line of sight accidentally matched up with mine and then he started to walk up to me. He lit up his cigarette and took a puff before blowing it at my face.

"Eh you wan hit or not?" said Elden. He shrugged after I politely refused. He stared at me for a bit longer before he started talking to me.

"Fking stupid NS ccb, making me waste so much time when I can make money for my wife and I" he grumbled as he looked up at the planes flying past our shitty island.

"Oh you're married?" I replied. I didn't know someone had no standards whatsoever and settled for this dude LOL.

"Yeah, bopian lah. I fking trigger happy lah then kena emptied the magazine lor. Now she out there with my kid growing in her stomach"

I was silently weighing the options: should I teach him biology or am I feeling hungry for a knuckle sandwich.

I decided to remain silent.

Soon after, the silence got too much so I questioned: "Do you actually like the girl? Or was it just uhh one time misfire thing?"

He nudged my elbow and said: "of course I love her sia. I love her so much that I even let her keep her surname"

"Wait yeah you haven't even told me her name, what's her name?" I probed further.

"Her Chinese name is 玛琳 (Ma Lin). Her surname is 葛 (Ge)." Elden replied steadily.

He then took a big puff of his cigarette and then shout towards the sea. "I LOVE YOU MA LIN GE RING"

"End of issue nineteen. I'm such a troubled genius. I'm so good at writing yet no one seems to understand me" Rodeoman679 muttered under fine breath, which smelled strongly of expired instant noodles. "I know what must be done, I will reinvent the wheel by putting aliens into ah boys to men!".

He failed to realise a dark silhouette behind him. The man swung his bat and bashed into rodeoman's thick skull, which is denser than even tungsten. The bat shattered into pieces, so there wasn't any bleeding and no loss of IQ (you can only go so low).

Jack Neo peers at the fan fiction writer, Rodeoman679, convulsing up and down like a person with a seizure. Jack Neo stares blankly and says: "There can only be one shitty writer in this town".

Rodeoman gasped for air:"M-must... write... Issue 20... I must show... my Magnum opus... my retardation!!" His bloodshot eyes showed his abnormal willpower to write absolute TRASH.

Jack Neo pulls out an OSIM sponsored, ergonomic, memory foam massage pillow, ensuring the brand logo faces the camera, and proceeds to smother his face.

Rodeoman's weak spaghetti arms flailed up and down and proceeded to slap Jack Neo's face.

"THIS IS FOR DESECRATING MY FRANCHISE!" Jack Neo shouted. Jack Neo barely winced from the slaps and proceeded to tighten his grip, activating the pillow's "Deep Kneading Shiatsu" mode, and pressed firmly into the room temperature IQ writer's face.

And finally, rodeoman's body stops moving. Jack Neo gasped for air and pants up and down, checking his watch to ensure the placement deal was secure. "It's finally over. I can finally make ah girls go firefighting now".

THE END

A certain minister says the cost of providing free transport for NSFs would need to be cross subsidized by other commuters through higher fares, or by taxpayers. But here is the question. For a nation that generates a budget surplus each year, why can we not support our men who are contributing to the nation? That same minister, in my own words, has mentioned that national service is a civic duty and not a transactional one. So why should we expect our men to bear additional "transactional" expenses? Isn't that a rhetorical contradiction?

Civic duty refers to the legal obligations and moral responsibilities a citizen owes to their community or nation. Now I believe a nation, represented by its government, also owes fundamental duties to its people in exchange for their allegiance and compliance. So why can't I turn the argument around and say the government has a CIVIC DUTY to contribute more to our men?

And I know the government can always find ways to justify its position through the use of specific linguistic terms, but I believe as a bottom line, beyond serving our two years, our men should be compensated in a way that is due and fair regardless of monetary arguments. It is ultimately a basis of social good.

And its not about political correctness, it is about being correct. So don't get me started on issues like slippery slope or change the topic to upholding the sacred duty/intrinsic motivation of a soldier.