I know you won’t get a chance to read this letter but I hope you’ll somehow be able to from wherever you are right now.

Like many, I had the privilege of working closely with you the last 6 months of our service. I don’t think I really got to know you that well, perhaps because we are similar, quiet and reserved in character. You didn’t even tell us that you were heading to UK for further studies till we pressured you time and again before we ORDed. The days I remembered with you were out in the fields of Singapore and Australia. For a while, you were so worried that you weren’t going to make the trip with us to Australia because you might be made to stay in Singapore to train the next batch of OPFOR soldiers. But in the end, you made it anyway.

I think our first outfield exercise together was King’s Cup in August of 2008. It lasted 10 days and had one of the worst weather when it poured the whole afternoon and night. We sat through the night in our Gortex on jerry cans at the top of this small unsheltered slope, waiting for the rain to stop but it didn’t. Cold and drenched, we didn’t speak much, the static of the radio punctuating the pitter-patter of raindrops. Predawn, as the rain trickled into a drizzle, we lighted a small fire to warm our hands. When the battle was over and we waited at the bottom of the slope to be picked up, you fell asleep almost instantly, physically and mentally drained from the sleepless night before. We tried to make a fool of you but you were sleeping so soundly, nothing could stir you awake.

You were so excited when you found out that you could finally make the trip to Australia with us. I don’t recall much of the time outfield but I do clearly remember the night when we celebrated the end of the exercise in camp. Alcohol and snacks were free-flow that night and you started playing number-guessing with KL. When the beer ran out, you guys downed red wine. KL ended up drunk and speaking gibberish while you still looked pretty sober. And when I threw up in the tent after RO, you came over with a bucket, told me to have a good night’s rest and to use the bucket if I needed to throw up during the night. Thankfully, I didn’t.

You are an exemplary officer; a true leader. You didn’t impose your authority upon us although there was one time that you made us really pissed with you. But we knew you had no other choice because it would have been worst had it been somebody else. It was already lights out when JK entered our bunks and told us to fall in. We thought it was another one of those usual turnouts but this one turned out to be different. It was only until we reached the parade square that we realized that we were the only platoon there. And the person that turned us out was none other than you. When you deemed that we were too slow, you made us change into our PT kit. Since then, we’ve always teased you about the incident, trying to make you feel guilty, but deep down, I believe you know that we were just joking.

You’ve always put your men before yourself. There was once when JW spilled the noodles from his mess-tin just as he was done cooking, you took out your own pack of instant noodles and handed it to him without saying a word. Many a time, when we gathered outfield to cook, you didn’t join us. Instead, you busied yourself with your own work. Even when I offered to whip up something for you, you politely declined. Out in the field when I was tired from listening to the radio, you would take over though most of the time I woke, you were already asleep with the receiver in your hands. During a particular exercise, when the skies opened up and OC didn’t allow us to retreat to the training shed a couple tens of metres away, you defied his order and led us to take shelter.

Back in camp, when time permitted, you always came down to help us, whether it’s right before bookout or on nights where we had to work doubly hard because someone misplaced his SFT or PU battery. I recall the time you bought me a Mac Grilled Foldover when some of us had to stay back during the weekend to ready our stuff for Australia. Knowing that I didn’t make any orders, you took it on your own buy something for me to munch on. You know, we were always speculating whether you drove into camp and where you parked your car. On bookout days, we deliberately slowed our footsteps to see if we can catch you driving out, but never once we did.

The last week before we ORDed, we surprised you a Carebear memorabilia with all our well-wishes. We wished you happiness, success and health but I guess it didn’t work out in the end. You didn’t say much then, except for a simple thank-you, but in your eyes, we could see unspeakable tears of joy and appreciation. After we all ORDed, we met up a couple of times, sometimes at Nigel’s place, and others outside. The last was at a farewell dinner we organized for you a few weeks before you flew off to UK. It was at Seoul Garden, Bugis. You came late, but you came. I didn’t get much chance to talk to you as we were sat at different tables, but you were already contented seeing us there. That was the last time I saw you in person.

The night you were flying off, I messaged to inform you that we won’t be able to send you off because we were all caught up with school. You replied that it’s okay and told me that we would definitely meet up after you get back. But I guess that’s not going to happen. I wondered if things would have turned out differently if we went. I believe we’ll all still meet up for a meal someday, perhaps 60, 70 years down the road, on the other side. A couple weeks after you reached UK, I messaged to find out how you’re doing. You said all’s fine and the weather’s good. I told you to take care of yourself and we’d be seeing you back in Singapore soon. That was the last conversation we had.

I wish I knew you better, but life has cruelly taken you away from us. Your smile and warmth will always resonate when we think fondly of you; your name mentioned whenever we recall our days in OPFOR. You may be gone but in our hearts, you’ll live on, forever 21. I hope you’ve found peace.

Love from a friend and runner,
YC