I'm suffering from a withdrawal syndrome

Since I arrived home safely not too long ago, I should probably be sprawled on my bed, making up for the lost hours of sleep I could have enjoyed had I not traded them in to spend the entire bus ride home in his company - which, by the way, is not something I regret. But because my heart's heavy with emotions and knowing myself, I wouldn't be at ease until I have let it all out and only then, sleeping would be an option. So, I will proceed by stating that as hard as it was for me to say goodbye as tears welled up around my eyes each time I hugged someone, apart of me is glad to be back home. In any given situation, I realized that I'm always lead back to believe that time, no matter how we manage it, always runs out. But I still can't wrap my head around the fact that 71 days just passed me by in a blink of an eye. I plead guilty and admit But at first I counted down the days to when it would end; to when the countdown at the hall would reach 0 days but towards the end, I found myself wishing that the days multiplied.

Funny how one moment I was torn in knowing I had to leave home and everyone behind, crying hysterically while my eyes puffed up and my face a pale mask and the next... trying to fight back big, fat lumps of tears from streaming down my face because I had to leave the camp I've grown to accept as my second home. Pretty much everything about the reality I'm forced to go up against is hard to drink in- the circles of friendship that was built upon the solid grounds of teamwork and togetherness has to now survive the hurdle of distance, the mutual respect I gained from the trainers and the staff has to be placed in the hands of time, the picturesque scenery I was blessed to wake up to every morning has to be traded in for murky buildings and skyscrapers. While I chose to refer to my departure to National Service as a much needed retreat from the post-high school boredom that I know will await me, it also was a therapeutic getaway of self-discovery and to discover which path in life is just for me to lead. Or so I had hoped it would be.

But what happens to ring with more truth is that my time spent away at camp was, for the most part, a retreat that concealed and robbed me of my inner talents and abilities, caging not me but what I normally do on a daily basis. When the day came for the authorities to lay down the ground rules, we were told of what we could not do and the consequences that followed had they been broken, and singing in the shower was one of them. The singing session in the shower I would always look forward had to be, for the lack of a better word, supervised - I had to control the tone of my voice, keeping it at neutral. And the time I spent hidden underneath my blanket, with the torchlight on as I jot down the events of my day every night was suppose to imprint on me a flow of writing, but instead... I find myself scrambling for words that suit what I'm feeling and praying for my creative juices to flow through my fingertips. In other words, I came home feeling like a cave-woman; forgetting how it felt like to sing at the top of my lungs or pen down my thoughts the way I'd use to so effortlessly do. I still feel handicapped, in a way.

Apart from feeling handicapped, there's also the feeling that everything around me seems different. Let's begin with my parents, for instance. In almost every aspect - when it comes to my social life, especially - they have come around to be more lenient when compared to the way they were when I was in high-school. There's a new easiness in our conversations - no more neck-to-neck arguments about the downfall in my grades or the choking overprotectiveness when it comes to boys or even about my often tendency to be anywhere but at home. All I have to do now is just inform them of my plans, my transport and and the people whom I'll be out with and it's as simple as that. I don't have that hammering urgency in my mind to lie to them or to do something behind their backs - trust, is the word. I've lost their trust in me once before, and I'm in no condition to lose it again. Consider it a lesson learned. But I think the difference I see is due to the fact that everyone is having a lot on their plate to deal with. And to top the list is Kak Manisah's tragic recent discovery that she has stage 4 colon cancer.

Upon arriving home, I'm back to spending my weekdays at Nanny's house but instead of seeing the bubbly and hardworking maid I've known my whole life as I walk through the front door, I now see a weaker and shrunken version of her. You'd think I'd know what to do when it comes to situations like these - since I've had to attend weeks of character building classes while at NS - but the truth is, you can never be prepared for what's to come. It is hard for me to see her in such a pitiful state, but it's even harder to see her cry out of that stabbing pain in her gut and know that there's nothing I can do to ease her pain or soothe her plight. I'm helpless. I could probably compare this unfortunate circumstance to a game of domino; when one chip is slightly pushed down, the others will follow up in a linear sequence and one after another everything will be hit down. In this case, my parents and Grandma are the ones that get effected. So much until it's literally burning holes in their pockets as they take on the responsibility to pay for the sky-rocketing price of her upcoming surgery and treatment.

But now that I realized I've said too much, let's just leave the further insight for another post. Shall we? (Or just take it as it is)

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I apologize for digressing but this is what happens when you have too much swirling around in your mind and you can't possibly pick which matters most. But right here, right now, my mind is deterring me to a folder in my brain which holds memories of my experience at National Service (now we're back to the main point!). I really am suffering from PLKN Withdrawal Syndrome, aren't I? - Dad pointed it out to me, and he's right. I guess when you spend so much time doing something, you'll get used to it and it becomes a part of you in a certain way. And I might have said this before but that is exactly what being at PLKN has become; a part of me.

I may never get the opportunity to relive my PLKN experience, but the days, minutes and seconds spent there would always be etched in my memory. And hey, I'm also proud of myself for taking on the challenge of going up against what my friends and family members have warned me about - the unappetizing food, the grueling schedule, the heartless trainers etc etc. Instead of just nodding to whatever they tell me - about pros and cons of PLKN - I can now say that I've gone through it.

But truth be told, I couldn't have done it had I not been surrounded by amazing people who are of different races and beliefs and who come from different backgrounds. People whom I've grown so used to being around, almost like family. What I'm sure of is that we have all made friends that we'd keep for life. At least I know I have. So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank all of you - even to those whom I've never said a word to - for blessing me with fragments of precious mometns I'd keep for the rest of my life.