Cradle’s Regalia

I bend down to tie my shoelaces twice,
Adjusting my dark trusted shades as I look behind,
Casting a shadow in the light that begins to fades thin,
I stare at the worn chains on my hands.

The moment when the clock strikes twelve.

A figure stands judging me,
From behind the looking glass,
It stands firm showing no fear,
It beckons at me,
Mocking.

The energy flows from my eyes.

I pick up the smoothed brick of my wasted time,
I look up at the sky and roar,
Bearing down the brick in my hands with all my weight,
As I fall to my knees I close my eyes.

I hear the breaking chains as I stand up.

The figure begins to scream,
I pull my hand backwards,
And with all my effort I send it forth,
Smashing through the glass.

It is done.
-Breaking the record’s song.

I close my eyes, as if from a view of a camera going 360 degrees around me, in one quick cinematic, from toe to head. With the wind blowing in my hair and me stretching my hands forward, there it is, freedom in form of a plaque, a thank you and the return of my identity card. The current record is broken, its time to play the next one. This record’s done.

And here I am sitting down, listening to music through my earphones and typing away, thinking about the two years have come to pass, from the moment I sat down in the chair and they took my identity, to create a new generic one, which crumbled within minutes of taking it, only to leave my real persona behind, It never touched me thoroughly, I don’t it would have changed me at all even if it were even more, but it did give me an insight to how many people actually were broken by the army so long ago. An old age ritual that many Singaporeans have and will continue to go through. A rite of passage of sorts, that only Singaporean men have the chance to understand because they went through it. Women have their own, and their first rite of passage as women starts way earlier than us in a certain way, I guess most would understand I mean, a nice way to call it, would be the crimson moon. It something men will never get a chance to understand, women might have the chance to experience what we get, if they entered the army and actually shaved their head. But I don’t think anyone has done it yet in Singapore army.

From the island camp to the hill of officers, it was a great change of scenery and not to mention location. The very entrance of Safti was something to behold, a smooth giant wall with the logo of Safti on it, the home of the officer cadets. Perhaps the most beautiful camp (People often argue with me to insist that I call it an institute, but it’s easier for me to just call it camp) in all the Singapore armed forces. It has a terraced garden that leads from the main OCS building down several flights of stairs down a hill to the cookhouse, that eventual brings you to a pond that is filtered from a fountain that is filled with many coy fish and two beautifully groomed trees on each side that grow on carpet grass. If it wasn’t a camp, it would have made an amazing resort.

The record has stopped playing, the music is finished, no need to run around scrambling for a chair anymore, no more calls in the middle of the night asking about military work, keys, information. Its time I put a new record on to play, and dance a new dance.

The fog that once was has cleared,
Leaving a vast field that had been left to fallow,
The blindfolded dance in the fog has come to end.

A ray of light hits my eyes as I remove the blindfold,
The music begins to flow around me,
I feel the movement in my feet.

With each sway to the beat I relearn a feat,
Remembering what it is like to believe in myself,
To reach my hand out to grab my dreams.
-The dance of dreams

After much afterthought, I’ve always contemplated what represents me and means the most to me. I thought of objects that represented me, which would be my regalia. Regalia are about someone’s insignia of office that is represented through objects such as shields, crowns, swords or even clothes, I see regalia as the insignia of my persona and true self. I’ve thought, what would be my regalia? Looking at my white oak bokkens, those were the first two objects that came to my mind, do they represent me? The wooden version of the katana, bokkens were meant to for training the art of using a katana without the dangers of a metal blade. The bokkens are aren’t harmless though, the durability of the Japanese white oak and design can be used to shatter bone and even kill, but is less deadly that a live katana that can cut through skin and even joints easily. For many samurai, their lives and spirits could be summed up in these blades, but I know I am no samurai of these times, but rather a Ronin, who is someone who follows no master and is not bound by laws. The Japanese translation of Ronin is “drifting wanderer.”

But are these bokkens truly my regalia? Do they represent me best? That was what I questioned. A close friend of mine would dispute it, saying that I do not represent the honor that is associated with the sword. Much of my skill with the sword is self learnt with guidance here and there from various people, one important thing I learnt was that the main thing about the sword is not simply about striking the sword with one’s hand, but rather, the sword’s power comes from the entire body’s movement, from step to stance and commitment of the move or block. The sword is a weapon that can be used to destroy, but it can also be a weapon that is used to protect, to preserve life. Thus, in using it to protect, you give life in a way. My bokkens represent my desire to protect and strength, they are definitely one of my regalia.

The next object I looked at was my 2003 leather composite converse basketball, which represents my pass passion for basketball, playing basketball recently, I realized that what I learnt from my sword art, could be applied in basketball, the game was simply the ball, it was about the entire ball affecting the movement of the ball. I never had such insight before, thus I would not consider the basketball as a choice of regalia. It was not a representation of me now, but it does represent my past, but its impact isn’t that great in my life. I hope to play basketball more regularly for many years to come, and hopefully reignite the passion within me and my close friends whom I used to play countless hours of basketball with.

The third thing I looked at was my book of poems. It contains my best work, handwritten in different colors. For me to hand write something would mean I truly like it and find it worth the time of me slowly writing it carefully in with maximum focus. The reason being is that I have terrible handwriting due to my hands being unsteady. I could never draw a straight line, and I even have problems drawing a straight line with a ruler. There is always a slight shiver, thus I normally always typed out my poetry, and I don’t write down very often. In order for the handwriting to appear eligible and even look alright, I have to focus very hard to keep my hand steady which often leads to my hand cramping if I were to write for too long. Thus, the keyboard is like a gift from the gods, a precious medium for me to weave my words into poetry, without the strain on my hands.

The cover of the book is a picture of sandman in a gold background, it was given to me by my brother as a Christmas present a few years ago. It’s something I treasure deeply, and it only contains a few poems, although I’ve written more than a hundred fifty (I lost count, this was the number perhaps a year and a half ago.) I only truly liked a few and fewer that I found worth writing into the book. Since the start of my secondary school many years ago, I started writing poetry that was used to express myself, and it became something more than just a simple avenue to express my feelings but an art which I came to appreciate and enjoy. It is definitely something that means a lot to me, and represents my artistic persona, it is to me definitely one of my regalia.

The bokkens and my book of poems are my two regalia, which I treasure greatly and keep with great care. The two items represents two sides of me, one side to protect and to strive to be a better person, and the other to create and express myself.

I say a quiet prayer on my knees in front my blade,
With my hands cupped around the handle,
I bow my head as the tears rain to the ground,
I ask for no forgiveness.

But I ask for the strength to wield my soul with conviction.

There is a chain tied round my waist,
It’s connected to a book of words,
In which represent my the voice of my soul,
It is louder than any word I have spoken.

From which my contemplations of condemnation leap out into reality.

As I wield my blade to protect,
I offer comfort to those,
In my dance of words,
A solemn embrace of the physical and mental.

Giving an ending which is a coup de grace.
-Cradle’s Regalia.