Little Known Sad Fact Of Life

I'll start with a preamble - I like long blog entries because I know I don't read them.

We were activated for a sailing assignment soon after National Day. After we were stood down, instead of the original plan to watch the fireworks just off Bedok, we were ordered to head ashore. The pipe was made and soon the guys were preparing the upper deck for alongside. I found him seated, alone, beside his regrets, memories and unfulfilled objectives. It was only polite to leave him be.

It was my XO's last sailing.

Not many know this but a naval career is seriously not suitable for any Tom, Dick and Harry. To put it colloquially; Kok Leong, Kah Meng and Boon Huat.

Well, people can argue that the same goes for any career. They are probably right. Sailors like us will never know because most of us have never held any other permanent jobs. That's is the nature of a military career. There is only a single intake point, when you are a bright, hopeful and perhaps a tad bit naive late teen or early twenty-something.

During the sailing, we were gossiping about the state of relationships of the guys onboard. There's a new chap who just broke up with his girlfriend of two years on National Day. Then there are the confessions of hedonistic escapades when the ship was in Sattahip which is just about a slightly more than 30 minutes away from Pattaya.

Good Guys Go To Heaven. Bad Guys Go To Pattaya.

There was the case of this guy who was so scared of his wife that it became a running joke amongst the crew. Legend has it that he is a wild stallion when the missus is not around. The evidence stamped in his passport after his jaunts to Hattyai were carefully erased using an ink eraser. And to eliminate further suspicion, he will even go back to base from the airport, change out of his civilians and into his coveralls.

Desperation, is a tender trap.

So what can possibly be going through my XO's mind as he sat there, head cocked slightly to his left and the chin jutting out, fingering his stubble with his index and thumb? What will I be thinking of when I reach his stage, at twenty-nine, having not updated my resume, not to mention not having formally written one. What is there left of a naval career, cut short by ambition, dreams and hopes of a better future, outside. Is there no alternative to having to bring about an end which is inevitable, accelerated by circumstances, systems and plans and policy?

Maybe in another ten years time, he will remember having been the Executive Officer onboard the first class of missile-armed craft in the navy. A 45-metre menace with an arsenal of pain. Though she is on the wrong side of thirty but nobody else in the region is able have her running at her prime. Not like we can. It's a bitch to maintain her but the rewards - insurmountable.

Or so we are told. Or led to believe.

So what is there to remember? The many promises he broke because of "operations"? The failure to turn up for appointments because of "standbys"? The tough time having to explain away why because of "operational exgencies" that planned holiday will need to be shelved. So what is there to remember?

Perhaps remembering the cosy 8-bunked officers' cabin where we shared many meals, watched pirated movies, staged mock interrogations, took part in pseudo-sado-masochist rituals and a slew of other "not suitable for the young" activities? Perhaps the adrenaline kick when the wind comes at you, all 40 knots worth of, in the last remaining open bridge in the flotilla, deafening you at the same time opening up your sense for situational awarenes . Perhaps the entire experience of having served onboard a ship that had seen several transfiguration from the removal of Y-Gun, removal of Gabriel missiles, installation of the MISTRAL surface to air missile pad, installation of the Harpoon missile deck, addition of compartment space, system upgrades upon system upgrades. Where the archives and heritage of every ship in the squadron reads like a Who's Who in the navy fraternity.

No girls allowed. Except for the brief period of two years when one ship was commandered by a female.

In another two years time, I will be the person alone with my thoughts. And as I reminisce, what will be running through my head?