Throughout nineteen years of living, I have learned many things about life, but one stood out; whenever what I plan does not go as expected, the only word that soothes me is ‘persevere’. Perseverance is elegant – very simple, yet significant.  I often hear teenagers of my age moaning and groaning about their being selected as trainees in National Service; I, on the other hand, was utterly pleased when I knew that I would be going for it. My friends, for instance, would rather spend their time loafing around shopping complexes, window-shopping until they drop. Just like what Kowinski explained in “Kids in the Mall: Growing Up Controlled”, teenagers prefer spending more time with their peers to doing other beneficial activities. However, I was really looking forward to joining national Service. At long last, after months of doing nothing at home – thanks to the long waiting of SPM result – could I go out to have a long breather, away from the ultimate boredom.

            On March 17 2007, hyped up with the thought of leaving Kluang for a grace period of three months, I woke up extremely early that morning. I would not want to miss the bus to Jempol, I said to myself. After a light breakfast, which my aunt bought at the mamak stall next door, we headed to Kluang Pavilion. When we reached there, I almost though that there was war.Once I got out of the car, a rush of cacophony assaulted my ears – the honks of cars, the hum of bus engines releasing toxic gases into the air, the shouting of small kids playing at the roadside, the merry laughter shared by friends who knew each other, the weeping of parents whom did not want to let go of their children – that I had to retreat into the car.

“Mak Tam, are you sure we are at the right place? This place looks more like a funeral to me,” I complained to Norsiah, my beloved aunt.“Well, you told me that you are supposed to report to the National Service trainers here, right? Don’t tell me you gave me the wrong address,” she muttered to herself.I observed the surrounding. There were lines of black-and-blue canopies near the buses, and I saw a plethora of army jeeps parking at the opposite side of the pavilion; I was indeed sure that I was on the right place. Gaining my composure back, I kissed my aunt, stepped out of the car with a firm resolve, and headed to the weirdly designed camps. Carrying my luggage in one hand and a big blue pail in the other, I made a beeline for the registration…