Why People Shoot People

The second day of Learning Journey brought us to Army Museum Singapore. There we learnt about several interesting bits about the Singapore Armed Forces such as their obsession with warm cooked meals for soldiers, and the resulting SAF innovation - a mobile kitchen that can serve 300+ soldiers after a maximum of 30 minutes of set up. Apparently this equipment had been tested successfully when fighting Talibans in Afghanistan. It is an entertaining juxtaposition of bloody dangerous war and safe cozy "home-cooked" meals. But I guess such meals are important in rejuvenating the soldiers after a tough day, and maintaining a high morale.

But fun bits aside, I think I want to talk about unsettling things, I, unlike SAF, am obsessed with being uncomfortable. Discomfort is like clowns, they unsettle and amuse, and evoke certain thoughts.

So, what was unsettling?

Shooting rifles at human-shaped targets and really wanting to do it again (and again).

We visited a shooting range where we were each asked to shoot human-shaped targets with rifles, to simulate army training.

When I shot my first shot, I was really just focused on shooting fast and accurately. When I successfully shot my first target (nicely in the head) my conscience remarked aloud, "I feel like a cold-blooded murderer." Nonetheless, I kept shooting, and ended up with a perfect score.

My heart was palpitating to an inexplicable adrenaline after leaving the shooting range. When I told my classmates about this, one classmate hi-fived me in a show of empathy.

The adrenaline is a feeling echoing and simply happening throughout the body. It was not adrenaline where hot blood coursed. It was just the heart pumping, and pumping, and pumping (yet one does not feel the blood flowing), in its rhythmic cheer for more. I dare not think more of what.

Five minutes or so later, I began shaking quite visibly. My knees were weak, my hands trembled. Looking back, they eerily resemble druggies' withdrawal symptoms.

Anyway, when there was a chance to shoot again, I instinctively volunteered (very enthusiastically) to go again.

I missed almost all the shots. Perhaps they were subconsciously intentionally missed but I was also using the harder M-16 rifle (compared to the previous easier SAR-21 rifle).

The adrenaline though, and the craving to do it again... It is sick how people get a kick out of shooting human targets. At some point the human-shaped targets just became targets.

Maybe I should not be so bothered since the targets were not human to begin with. Maybe if the human-shaped targets were square cardboard cards I would have felt the adrenaline as well. Maybe it was an adrenaline associated with the shooting only.

But the thing is, there IS a difference between consciously registering the target as human-shaped before shooting, and registering the target as a cardboard square before shooting. There is a difference between deriving pleasure from hitting the bull's eye and deriving pleasure from shooting a person's head.

I don't know what to feel. Maybe my response is an evolutionary thing. Maybe it was just thrill at doing something new.

It's just that the next time I shoot a huamn-shaped target, within the few seconds of aiming for the head and pressing the trigger, I wonder if I could have changed.

Why Modernisation Harms Asian Countries More Than Western Countries (Part I)

The Story

I went on my first Learning Journey for the year today to Balestier. As part of the Learning Journey, we were supposed to reflect on whether Balestier was representative of "authentic" culture or "real" Singapore. While we made our way to the first checkpoint, a traditional bakery, some auntie walked past us and spat rather bitterly "What stupid school is this?" The answer was staring at her quite plainly from many of our classmates' shirts. Perhaps that was why she commented, loud enough for us to hear. We were never really quite welcome.

Undiscouraged, we manoeuvred around the shophouses, peered suspiciously at the traditional bakery, tried to get on the bakers' good side by purchasing bread, failed, moved on to the next checkpoint, cautiously stroked coffee tins at the coffee factory, remarked rather loudly on incredibly expensive coffee prices, and landed ourself in a nice cool air-conditioned hipster café. Familiar American pop remixes blasted from speakers, English-looking bicycles hoisted up as decorations on the wall.

There we settled ourselves down, bought some expensive drinks and dessert because they were "at least cheaper than Starbucks". We decided to stay there, enjoy the spacious cleanliness and fill in the Learning Journey handout.

At some point, while filling in the handout,  I became deeply unsettled. I realised that of all previous places we visited, all the reverberations of Singapore's past, I felt most comfortable in this hipster café, listening to Western music, watching people drink overpriced camomile tea, Coke float, ice cream cake, surrounded by Western everything.

I proceeded on with the Learning Journey trying to squish this realisation. I mean, afterwards we all seemed rather happy eating hawker food. We discussed rather energetically about how wonderful the chilli sauce was, and how oyster omelette artfully balances the oyster's slime with crispy fried egg. I could not squish this nagging feeling though, that maybe if we had to choose between hawker food and hipster cafés, hipster café would outshine every time.

The last checkpoint was Sun Yat Sen Nanyang Memorial Hall. People took selfies of themselves imitating poses of bronze statues and sculptures surrounding the building. It was like visiting a zoo. After five minutes or so, everyone left.

I didn't. Not because I am special, though maybe pretentious. I just thought since it was free entry I might as well make use of the opportunity to tour the exhibits. Tour the exhibits I did, but I did not look long at them. There were too many Chinese characters. They put me off. I ought to be ashamed.

I stopped in front of a documentary because I saw George Yeo's face on it. It was a documentary in English, and I stayed. It was some drab thing about the Xinhai Revolution. As I tried to take notes, I was pleasantly surprised that there was free Wi-Fi. Using the Wi-Fi, I played my game, still standing in front of the documentary screen, headphones on my ears. Occasionally I would change back to the Notes app so Chinese elderly walking past would not judge me.

How to modernise without losing your essence? (...) The West wants us to be like them, but we have to, in our core, know of our ancestry and draw upon it deep strength. (...) Learn from the West but do not be westernised (...) Sun Yat Sen had British education and was a Christian, but he remained Chinese in his encounters with Westerners (...) There is a reason why China likes the Singaporean model. Because we are modernised, we are open to new ideas, but our very core, we are not Western (...) It is important we stay true to ourselves. something along these lines came out from George Yeo's mouth.

The documentary was recorded in 2001 (or 2003, I did not pay much attention except confirm it was not recent).

A/N The previous post has many glaring problems but (I am sorry)I will not be editing them. Perhaps as an act of self-indulgence but I wanted to keep the mistakes as part of the memory of my first legitimate blog post in a long time. By the same logic, I might not be editing this and upcoming posts until a certain time where I decided I should stop being lame.

There will be a Part II to this where I actually address the post title. I just really want to sleep right now.

Start Dancing

I've always wanted to have a blog for a really long time now. I've created multiple blogs and trying to make them perfect and beautiful, but I never posted anything. Nothing I created originally at least. I have 'curation' 'museum' blogs where I share things I like, but they are really just my insecure self trying to self-expression under less prying eyes (like those of people who know and can judge me on Facebook and Instagram).

Another reason I put off blogging is because of blog names and pen names. I think I am moderately comfortable with my current names so I will stick with them first.

This first post will possibly set a terrible tone for the rest of the blog but I really want to get this post out, on a nice date. March reminds me of flowers and the March sisters from Little Women (never finished reading it). Seven reminds me of my crush. Monday represents a beginning.

Here's to dancing the beginning. You may come dance (or walk) with me.