I still remember holding the pink I/C in my hands, unwilling to let it go. My family and friends accompanied me to the main auditorium of the huge building, a tall flight of steps directly in front of us leading all the way up to the top.

A huge banner read: Welcome to BMTC.

We reached the bottom of the flight of steps, where I would be led into the auditorium to rehearse the reciting of the SAF pledge. But before that I was about to do something that would signify the end of life as I knew it and the start of another. I handed over my pink I/C. It was a symbolic exchange—putting the responsibility of this child from the arms of his parents to the nation. From then on, I became a son of the Army.

I had never seen so many three stripes in my life. There we sat in the auditorium, wide-eyed and innocent, chastened for the slightest disquiet, barked at by the sergeants to “Sit straight!” or “Don’t talk!” We went about rehearsing for the entire ceremony, and I remembered how one poor chap was made to recite the pledge on stage. For laughing. I wondered what he found so funny about the whole thing.

My heart pounded hard. Minutes later parents and friends swarmed into the auditorium, seated behind us, treated to a show of military precision; how we sat up ramrod straight, hands clutched and on our thighs, eyes unmoving, how we stood up in unison, reciting the SAF pledge with a show of pride, especially that last line:

“…I, will defend Singapore, WITH MY LIFE!!!”

I’m sure emotions ran high at that moment, a fleeting sensation of throbbing patriotism coursing through the veins of all true-blue Singaporeans in that huge, air-conditioned hall. Oh the treatment we went through to achieve that effect…

Fast forward.

The rain pelted heavily as I reached the camp. I had excused myself from my temp job for the morning for this. The RP greeted me as I showed him my 11-B, who opened the gate to let me pass through. This would be the last time I would step into this place.

I ventured into the medical centre, but the MO was not around.

“Off to the DB to do some inspection,” the duty medic said.

I asked if I could have a new FFI certificate, as previously my company medic had lost it. Minutes later, he passed to me the piece of paper.

I then proceeded to my OC’s office, braving the rain, running like there’s no tomorrow, legs pushing me onward and onward…

Three knocks and I entered, glee on my face, a smile from one ear to the next. I flashed the certificate in front of him, and he responded by giving me the things that I’ve been coveting for all this while: my pink I/C, clearance form, and a blue piece of paper that said: completed full-time national service.

I smiled even wider. I jumped on the inside, displaying a cool but happy exterior. We shook hands, a firm handshake injected with much appreciation.

“Thank you for your services,” he said to me, a brief sentence that almost failed to register in my mind. I was thinking about something else. My mind was outside, out of the camp, in the city where I belong.

The rain did not stop. I gave the camp one last look as I stepped outside the gates. The guard commander was scolding one of the men. Motorcycles and cars lined the car park. Curious glances here and there. I displayed my certificate of service unintentionally to one poor guy who walked past me, who muttered something I couldn’t catch, thinking I was making fun of him.

The rain never felt so good.

It is hard to believe that finally, two years of full-time NS had come to an end. It came to me not as a train that came head-on, but a soft thud; a gradual realization, a gentle slope, a smooth ascending curve, like mom’s home-cooked meal, slow to prepare, but tasting extremely good.

It had been a journey I would never forget. Through the trials and difficulties, heart breaks and struggles, I have learnt more about human relationships in two years of National Service than in twenty years of my life. I have had my fair share of triumphs and tragedies, but in the midst of it all I came out a better person.

It is amazing how shortcomings actually draw people together. In my time there, conflicts were rife, rumours and gossips spread like wildfire. I was wary of all this, and I tried hard to cover up my glaring flaws. But the more I try to hide them, the more obvious they became. I was an imperfect person in an imperfect organization run by imperfect people, who in their limited ways, tried to make their surroundings a better place to live in (though they often fail, sometimes spectacularly). But that’s the beauty of it, no?