For him, she was the light at the end of the tunnel. The one thing that kept him going, something to look forward to during the weekends. Then she left; suddenly weekends didn’t seem as wonderful. Returning home, one question he had never asked himself before popped into his mind: “What am I to do?”

Life, when one lives purposefully, seems easy — as if it were effortless; but when one finds no sense in it, everyday’s torturous. To labour over something without knowing the reason why is one of life’s most painful things. He, I believe not of the most patriotic disposition, served in the army “for her”. Now that she’s gone, serving is now a “for what?”

I quote Albert Camus:

The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labour.

Hating the Army

Is serving in the army any different? I’ve always wondered why we have to serve. Propaganda dictates we serve for the “love of our country”… I sure don’t. I serve because I have to — if I don’t, the government would declare war on me. Every single day I wake up to roll the rock up the hill, only for the rock to fall back down during the night.

Over and over this will play out, till the end of national service comes. Then after that, new problems will arise, perhaps to do with work, or studies, or maybe marital, and over and over again the pain-pleasure cycle will come about, till eventually I leave this world.

Sometimes I think life is the most wonderful thing.

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