'Sir, wo de tong xi leh? What if someone took them liao? then how? The other time I came out, wo de tong xi all kena stolen leh! Then I asked encik for help but in the end also nothing...' the boyish looking inmate, with a clean shaven head and dragons and phoenixes dancing around his body or what is affectionately known as ang gong, blurted out.
I was stumped for a moment, not knowing what to say to calm his anxieties. All I could offer was a pair of attentive ears. This was not the only occasion where I was lost for words in the time that I had spent in the interview room.
Snippets of the lives of the inmates that I interviewed were sufficient to amaze me. Parents divorced; Dad ran away with another woman; Mum left to shoulder the burden of the family; Got involved in the wrong company; Joined gangs; Had animals and chinese characters drawn on body; Dropped out of school to work to help out with the family expenses; Got girlfriend pregnant; Some kept the child and married the girl; Others decided to end it prematurely...
How do you react when you hear of these stories? These stories were from a world so foreign. A world that I had not had any contact with before I entered the army. Sheltered in a world where the pursuits of of academic excellence, fame and fortune dictated the lives of everyone, I was ignorant of the harsh realities that faced the people living in the lower rungs of society.
That was until I joined the infantry, as a commander. Here, majority of the men came from rough, humble backgrounds. Being conscripted into the army at the tender age of 18 brought another challenge to their lives. No longer could they work to contribute to the family's income. The meagre allowances given by the army would prove to be largely insufficient. No longer could they enjoy the company of their buddies and girlfriends or tend to their newly formed families. The ideals of patriotism and of defending the country that belonged to them were far-fetched and alien. Survival was the only thing on their minds.
The majority of the men took this new challenge on their chins and quickly adapted to the rules and orders of life in the service. Credit to these men, for life in the army for them was largely harsh and monotonous, with few, if any, rewards at all. A few, unfortunately, fell by the wayside. These men broke rules in their barracks, designated homes for their period of service in the army, to tend to problems that erupted in their real homes; homes that they would eventually return to no matter how tattered and torn... Some were lucky for they had understanding commanders who turned a blind eye to their excursions that broke the rules and regulations cast in stone. The less fortunate ones were severely punished for their rule-breaking behaviour. Some were sent to the detention barracks, the so called prison for military personnel.
And this was the place that I had to visit on the resumption of my military service during the last month of my university holidays. I was to interview the men from my unit who were detained in this place as a show of concern; an act that was supposed to say to them: you have not been forgotten.
Alas, reality lives in a different world from idealism. Listening to anecdotes from the men, I chuckled as some recounted how they were made to wait for a vehicle to pick them up on the day of release during their previous stay in the detention barracks. Apparently, no one had remembered that they were to be returning. Of all the men that I interviewed, majority were in there for going AWOL, or Absent Without Official Leave. Of these, many were there not for the first time. On their previous release, the men had difficulties intergrating back into their unit as their comrades had moved on without them and their commanders often gave them cold or little support, imposing on them strict restrictions to adhere to. Besides, their problems at home were not settled yet and soon, they were back on their excursions again. Many wanted to escape to find a job so that they could contribute to repaying the debts that were mounting at home. Most ended up in illicit jobs that paid well but offered little security. For some, wife and baby were waiting to be fed at home; For others, Mums and siblings were awaiting assistance at home; How could they not answer the call of duty? But answering that call would mean that the call of duty to their country would have to be disrupted. And that would mean serious consequences.
Financial assistance schemes are available for the men but the criteria are so strict that it is difficult for most of them to fall within the requirements. Even if they were poor enough to fall within the criteria, the enormous waiting time for all the red tape to be cut would prove to be another giant obstacle. By the time assistance was rendered, much damage would already have been done.
I always had a soft spot for these people. There is hardly anything in their lives that they could look forward to. Indeed the future looks bleak for them. With only a secondary school education, the types of jobs that they could apply for are few and far between. Competition with cheaper foreign workers would drive them further down the pecking order. How are they going to survive in the future, let alone start and keep a family going? Do they even know what a family means, having come from broken and empty homes?
I wanted to do something for them. But my hands were tied. Tied by the strict regulations in the service; tied by the limitations of my appointment and rank; tied by the restrictions of realities... All I could do was to provide a listening ear, and jot down their grievances on a sheet of paper. Hopefully, one day, someone can pick it up to read and do something to improve the lives of these men... These men who live in a world so close yet so far away from the world that the rest of us belong to...
