In Service of My Nation, Part 1....

Okay, to you who may or may not have noticed, I mentioned National Service in my first post. Yes, I was one of the [un]lucky few whom were chosen to partake in the glorious country of Malaysia's very own National Service Training Program (which I shall now refer to as NS).

It was a quiet afternoon I was spending in my friend Hadri's house. We had been informed that the postings of the candidates (victims) of NS were up. As the nervous wrecks we were, we stuck on the computer checking if our names were among the dreaded list.

My friends were fortunate. My fate was not theirs. They had the luxury of not being drafted into the army (whatever twisted version of it we were conscripted into). I was the last one to check if my name was in the list. Before that, I had been indifferent to the prospect of going to NS. I had heard the stories of it bringing the best and worst out of people. On one hand, this was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. On the other, it was a balant waste of my time, time that could be devoted to the furtherment of mankind (playing WoW). Once my name turned up on that list, perhaps, my indifference morphed into seething hatred. Not instantly, but over the course of my first 3 weeks in camp.

Another factor was my (then undetermined) imminent move to Canada. My parents had planned for us, the entire family to get our landed immigrant status. If I had somehow been unfortunate, the term of NS would clash with the planned flight and trip and so many things would have been different. However, for whatever brief moment, fate smiled apon me, and they worked out. I went to Canada for 3 weeks, getting things set up for my second coming (I hear a voice from high up say, "that's copyright infringement!").

On the last day, as in the day before my flight home, I visited the high school to clarify certain things. As it turned out, I could have attended high school in Canada. So, with 3 hours, I had to decided between staying in Canada, and doing Grade 12, and never return home for fear that the government would flag my passport and get detained for not going to NS, and the worst part was staying away even before I said goodbye to my friends.

Now, I'm not a very sentimental guy, but my friends deserve at least a goodbye, right?

The second alternative was the one I chose: I still debate internally about the decision. To return home, and deal with the consequences of lacking a Grade 12 education. This would basically put me in the predicament I described a few posts back, where I had to take 3 courses that do not really exist in the University.

But, I digress. Back to NS. So, when I return, I had 2 weeks to enjoy the comforts of home before I was thrust into the internment camps fashioned from whatever scraps the government could salvage from the surrounding villages. I was unimpressed. I quickly made alliances, however. Unlike most, I did not discriminate race, and was civil to everyone in my dormitory. However, I found friends in those I share most in, namely proficiency in the English language. Within the week, I returned home for a short while, and resteeled my spirit for the ordeal that was to come.

More to come, soon.

-Gabe