Letter.

The toughest part of my BMT is over - the field camp. Despite being cut short due to the haze, it still carried on nonetheless, albeit being profoundly absurd. We set a record: the first and pioneer batch to have a sitest (Situational Test used to assess candidates suited for command school) indoors. Like i mentioned, the whole thing was a little absurd - brimming on ridicule - but i'm just glad the whole thing's over.

But it's only through the field camp that the ugly side of people is elucidated. The good are sorted from the bad like fresh catch from the rotten, and you see a multitude of different characters when people get tired and mentally exhausted. Drained of much of your energy, people turn lazy and often, do not bother about moving fast or keeping to the field discipline; many could not care less about helping those around them (and some even went to the extent of using less energy so others will have no option but to step in to assist). One soon learns to suppress annoyance; to exercise self-control; to display selflessness; to adopt love. For building up anger only serves to create a platform for more conflict, and does not deter or solve the main problem in any way. And i must admit, when i asked God to teach me what it means to be patient, this was definitely more than what i had in mind. But we got through, eventually. 

Yet the most resonant takeaway from the field camp stems from the moment we received our letters - letters which, written by our parents at the request of the SAF, are given to us after an emotional speech from the commanders and a backbreaking day digging what they call a shellscrape (a coffin-like hole in the ground where you're meant to prone in for cover). Opening the envelope, i found two letters - one from my mother and one from my father. My mother's letter was enough to move me deeply, but it was the sight of my father's long handwritten letter that got the tears flowing. He wrote about my volunteer work: that though they didn't talk much about it at home, they were exceedingly proud of me, and that i have a heart of gold. He wrote about how much they loved me, and how rooted they are in their belief that i'll excel and eventually get to study the course i'm so determined to get into, and how much support i already and will have in the days to come. Then he proceeded with encouragement from the Bible, and the whole thing left me inundated with emotion; stunned with speechlessness and tears. 

When i think back on it now, i can still remember my father's handwriting on that particular paper - the strokes; the curves; the ink; the words. i get a sense of deja vu as i remember the emotions i experienced that day. And i wonder to myself: God, my Father in Heaven, writes His letter to me in the form of the Bible. Shouldn't my reaction to His letter be the same - overflowing with joy and moved by His love to tears? Instead, i sin incessantly. i want and yearn for things that probably exist outside His will. i recently came to know about my friend whom, even after his unsuccessful appeal to NUS Medicine, got a letter of acceptance just yesterday. And i, foolishly and in delusion, went to check my mailbox with the hope that mine came too. Not surprisingly, i came back disappointed (i didn't even have to use the key to open the letterbox - looking through the opening, it was already clear that it was empty). Do i love God as much as i love my earthly parents? Do i love God as much as i love Medicine, for that matter? i have no concrete answer to that, and it shames me greatly.

God forgive my humanness. And Blessed Birthday, Mother.