Cadet-Aviator

There was more to these lessons to the ones I had before: they included ‘Enhanced Etiquette'. This was new for me.

In Elite Camp we did have courses in the organization of the armed forces, we had to know ranks, uniforms, insignia, how to address a colonel or how to address a general – as if we were going to run into one. Now things went further.

We got texts about the background of the whole of Malaysian society, especially about the role of tradition and religion in shaping hierarchies including those in the forces. I already knew that my colonel was more than just a colonel – people showed extra deference to him, as he was related to a noble family.

The text also put us in our places, as cadets: we were the lowest of the low. We owed the Army an enormous debt of gratitude for simply allowing us to serve. There was a distinct echo of what my therapist and I had talked about: I should serve the colonel and strive to be a perfect cadet, not for my own sake, or my own pride, but because there was no other option for someone like me, ranking lowest in the great hierarchy of the country. It was made clear to us that this was fundamental to our existence – we were not a bunch of schoolboys doing cadet exercises because we thought they’d be fun, or useful for our development. We were inferior. We had to be in uniform and give ourselves to this higher order. This was the only way a polite society would make use of us.

So we had to practice showing respect. We practiced the kowtow and ‘full prostration’. It may sound odd, but the instructors spent long hours getting that right, and not just in the classroom.

I went down, nose to the floor, in the officer’s mess; on more than one occasion we were ordered to prostrate when we were outside, on a wet and muddy parade ground.

Show no hesitation: lie down, face down, obey. Breathe. Lie there as long as the officer decides. Let the rain soak you, let the mud invade every fibre of your uniform. Let the obedience remove any reservation you might have about who you are or what you think of yourself. Show respect. 

And yes, once we were told to stand up, we would get uniform inspections. As we were covered in mud; we were duly punished.

When I had returned from Elite Camp – and that seemed ages ago – I had been ordered to follow a number of courses ‘Mess & Household training’.

I wrote about this before: they were very detailed lessons in everything to do with managing a household, or an officer’s mess, a restaurant or a hotel; I had my first experience as a household servant in Elite Camp.

The nice thing about these new classes was that I wasn’t alone. I was joined by other cadets who looked just as perfect as I did and who - I learned later - had also volunteered to become full time cadet-servants.

We got in-depth lessons in care of textiles and clothes - laundry, ironing, dry cleaning, storage, different fabrics in uniforms; lessons in the care of leather, boots shoes, belts, harnesses.

We were instructed how to stand correctly, how to ‘deliver’ a plate or a glass to a dinner table, how to remove a dirty knife and swiftly replace it and how to do all that without making noise or bothering the diner; how to clean floors and furniture, how to use vacuum cleaners, and we even got some basic cooking skills, so we could make breakfasts, coffee, tea, mix drinks, and all that.

I got all that again, but at a higher level. How to treat silver cutlery, porcelain services, crystal glassware; how to starch a shirt, or just starch the collar; how to perform repairs on clothes; how to make shoes and belt buckles sparkle, and all that – you’ve guessed it – without speaking, without being noticed. 

There were – as I now learned – a few small platoons of cadets who were in cadet-servant training too. They were all Malaysian, so I stuck out. I did notice that the boys in my class were all the same age and, quite importantly, the same build, the same length: it seemed we were grouped together for aesthetic reasons, too. 

As we were following instructions, during the lessons, there was a certain amount of contact allowed, we had to communicate about certain things – you can’t fold a large bedsheet without uttering at least a few words – but this was limited to strict practical necessity. I never heard a name, for instance, I never said ‘thanks’ or ‘well done’ – all that was off limits. 

The instructors were very competent, and had very little patience; you could make a mistake once, but not twice. As soon as an instructor spoke to you, you got to attention and accepted the reprimand or the punishment. 

When lessons were over, we all had other tasks to perform, households to go to – but before we were dismissed we were usually just ‘put in storage’ – we’d stand in the office, to attention, until we got the order; oddly enough, the instructors put us really close together, bodies touching.

Another job: the colonel’s young son, XY, just about 11 when I was posted in the household. 

At first I had felt sorry for him. He was a lively boy, basically as nice as any kid his age, but the colonel had determined that he was to have a military upbringing. He was raised in a world of strict rules and severe punishments. This was nothing out of the ordinary; kids in Asia in those days, certainly with military parents, were very disciplined anyway.

He went to a junior military school on the compound, he was enrolled in a junior drill squad. He had hardly any time to himself. He could hang out with school friends, but only if they were in uniform, which meant that they could not do boy stuff.

He also had to attend a prep programme for officer’s kids on Saturdays, and through that he was often ‘invited’ to present himself to ‘informal’ meetings of senior officers and young cadets.

I had attended such ‘convivial’ meetings myself, when I was still in school. They involved gruelling uniform inspections before you were let in, and then you were expected to show that you were overjoyed and honoured to be in the presence of these magnificent officers, who would then bore you to death with their career trivia.

The worst thing was when you were ‘invited’ to join them for dinner, and you’d sit in your perfect uniform trying to listen to everything they told you – because there would be questions, later.

XY went through all that, obediently, but he would often sulk, when I was taking care of him, and say ‘I don’t want to do uniform anymore.’ 

At first I had tried to encourage him in a friendly way, but now my status was just cadet 4th class. XY, young as he was, outranked me, and he had been instructed by his father to treat me strictly as a servant.

He made no effort to make my life easier. I was under orders not to speak, so I couldn’t help him or encourage him even if I wanted to. I did continue to try my best to make him look perfect; if only because when XY was corrected for flaws, then so was I.

Every day after school XY spent some time with the colonel in his office, for a recap of his school day, plans for the weekend, normal things, but there too, XY had to be in perfect uniform, stand to attention.

The colonel used the cane on him, although never in anger.

Another part of my duties.

The colonel had a busy job. I’m not quite sure what his position in the barracks was – he was not the commanding officer and his duties did not involve much presence ‘in the field’ or on the parade ground, but he certainly wasn’t a mere pencil pusher. From what I gathered he was charged with ‘strategy and long term procurement’, which meant he drew up outlines for defence policy, and then what the politicians might have to acquire – material, men, ships, planes, guns. 

He had a younger officer as an aide de camp, who acted as his secretary, did the paperwork, answered the phone, and would also deal with some of my chores. This was not just in the office on the base, but also at home – the aide would come over to the house, often, as the colonel usually spent a few hours working after dinner.

I was used for small tasks, messages, getting the mail and such, mostly at the house, but the colonel also used me to carry his bag, especially when he had an important meeting somewhere.

This was very much a prestige thing: most officers of his rank had an aide, but not all had a cadet-servant. I would walk four paces behind my colonel, into the office, and as I wrote before, he’d take a folder from his bag, and I was ordered to stand and wait.

This could take all afternoon. Sometimes I stood on the porch of a building, which I liked, more often I stood in the hallway of the office.

I had some experience with that, when I was younger, and when I was being prepared for a ‘convivial’ meeting; there too, my superiors would have a habit of just ‘parking’ a cadet, as you would a bicycle.

A senior cadet, posted in that office, would occasionally order me to take a toilet break and drink water, for a minute or so; other than that I stood as ordered, facing forward, making sure I didn't 'accidentally' lean against the wall. For hours.

Standing like that is not easy, but I had been trained, I knew how to avoid fainting spells (your blood inevitably sinks to the lower part of your body, causing faints, so you 'work' the muscles in your thighs and back, to keep circulation up), and I had done my bit in Elite Camp, on those late-night honorary vigils.

Then: the colonel’s wardrobe and laundry. I did everything.

The colonel and his wife had separate bedrooms, and I spent a lot of time in his. It was a general rule that every item in his wardrobe had to be in absolute perfect state, clean and fresh, the ironing meticulous, every fold in every sleeve precise, not a speck of dust anywhere.

I cleaned the room, made the bed, washed the sheets and pillowcases, polished the desk, made sure the curtains and the mosquito nets were exactly as he wanted it.

In spite of the climate the colonel tended to wear full uniform even on hot days, and changed his shirt often, sometimes four, five times a day – and I was in charge of washing them, ironing them, starching the collars, every day.

The same with his white underwear, his socks; I kept about a dozen pairs of black shoes in sparkling condition. 

My Mess & Houshold training had given me the skills to do a good job, but the level was raised; the colonel had shirts in different fabrics, which all required extra care.

The house had a modern washing machine, but not a spin drier, so I hung the shirts in my attic room, mostly above my bed, where I also did the ironing.

Let me give you an idea of how my days were filled. First: the daily inspections of my appearance and my room returned.

I could expect a sudden command from any officer or any senior cadet, at any moment, and he would go over my uniform, my hands, my hair, with a fine toothcomb.

He would get on his knees to check the shine on my belt buckle and the shine on my shoes. I was used to this, but it could still be pretty intense, especially when I was in a hurry to finish one thing and start another.

Not going to school did not mean that my life became any easier. 

I applied myself. I really did: I had this voice in the back of my head that this was not just what I had wanted to do, but it was what had to happen. 

The colonel now had a free hand to really engage with my training as a cadet, and as an orderly. As I was now also his pupil – his adopted son, if you like – I was bound to obey orders on many levels. Any laziness or disobedience would be an infraction of military discipline, but it would also offend the colonel’s personal authority. Things had been strict; they got even stricter, and whatever boy or free spirit I had been before I entered the cadet service became a distant concept. 

The Army had nice old-school words for it - valet, minder, aide, footman - but essentially I was the colonel's full-time servant. This had a long tradition in the British military. Officers of high rank had always had a 'minder', who even in the trenches would take care of his uniforms, his boots, his food, as a servant in civilian life would be doing. This practice had survived in the Malay Army, particularly for officers with a connection to the ruling noble families, such as my colonel. 

I was now on hand to serve the colonel 24 hours a day, seven days a week. There was never any mention of ‘days off’ or ‘Christmas breaks’. I had dozens of chores in and around the house, the colonel’s personal laundry and cleaning most prominent among them, and others were now added to the list. I was not allowed to talk to anyone, unless ordered to. I was, oddly enough, still exempt from corporal punishment; I had expected the colonel to impose that on me, but he hadn’t.

The colonel signed me up for additional Mess & Houshold training, which pleased me at first, if only because I would probably be around some other cadets, for a change.

Also surprising, in a nice way, was that the colonel arranged for me to receive more uniform items, more shirts, more ties, more shoulder lapels - now in the red and gold of the Army Cadet service, which I liked – and shorts, which were very welcome. My room remained the same dingy attic room, with nothing more than a bed, a cupboard, a chair and a small desk. With the school clothes the last remaining bits of my old life had been removed. 

Finally, the colonel determined that I was to have more physical training and drill exercises, to improve my stamina. I was to find out just how long I could stand to attention, waiting for a meeting to be over, or a dinner to end.

There I was: 15 years old, a cadet in uniform, in full-time service, and there was now really nothing to keep the Army, the Army Cadets and my colonel to shape me exactly as they saw fit.

You may wonder why a normal 15-year old kid would consent to be drilled into shape and made a servant – and not just a servant, but a houseboy, an orderly serving an older man, waiting on him hand and foot.

What made it possible (or what made it ‘work’) was that on several moments in this long process I had talked to people I trusted. They made me understand that I was not ordered to obey by outside forces, but by an inner drive to be submissive and obedient. My life was now unusally strict, unusually isolated, but I had volunteered for it. I had wanted it.

I had visited with the Army therapist, who had been very kind and understanding, but also resolute.

She got me to confess, in tears, that all I really wanted was to obey and serve. It was a real ‘coming out’. I confessed that I loved the uniform, I loved being challenged by the discipline, but that I was ‘nothing’ yet, I wanted to be trained, I wanted to be useful. 

I was ordered to go back to her a few times. We would continue to talk about the ‘profound truth’ of that confession. Every time she made me open up to the reality of this 'inner drive'.

After the first of those sessions I had felt so embarrassed about my 'resistance' that I had apologised to the colonel, on my knees, and told him I would obey his wishes.

He took that very ‘fatherly’, patted me on the head, and said: ‘Good boy, cadet. Stop worrying, stop thinking.'

'I know you are looking for clarity, cadet. A simple life. You will have that, now, here. The same schedule, every day, every week, every month. Stop worrying. I will determine how you live. I will determing where you live. You will become fully disciplined, fully obedient, perfect in every detail, and just plain content to be of service. Nothing else.'

Without the distraction and worries of school life I found that any ‘second thoughts’ faded away, surprisingly swiftly. You might say that the process of submission and indoctrination was paying off (and you’d be right).

All my orders were clear, my daily schedule was clear, my uniform requirements were clear, there wasn’t any reason to worry about anything other than being perfect in service.

Day after day, week after week, this attitude ingrained itself, became my first nature:

‘Just do what is asked of you.'

'Do it well.'

'Don’t talk. Be quiet.'

'Don’t resist doing what you really want to do’.

To my relief and, yes, peace of mind, I found that not thinking about myself actually made things easy. I put my energy into doing things 110%, in the house, in my Army duties, in drill and exercise.

This was all arranged in a matter of weeks, and it had gone largely over my head. I assumed, of course, that the Army, the cadet service, the colonel, and my Dad had agreed on this – even though my Dad had told me he opposed the idea.

I did not go back to school to say goodbye. I simply disappeared. I put my handsome white shirts with the stiff high collars in a box with the school ties and the long socks.

Some of my mates called me at the house, wondering what was happening, but I was unable to reply; they had been told at school that I had moved to another school, at short notice. As I was the son of diplomats, this was not uncommon. I guess they just moved on.

When this happened, I had been in the colonel’s house on the Army compound for just over three months.

I had applied for this kind of life, thinking it was a temporary thing, a kind of internship, a chance to learn some new cadet skills. It made sense also because Dad was going to be away a lot, so why not find a kind of foster family and do some cadet training at the same time?

Initially, I had been shocked with what was expected of me, and I had struggled to keep up. I could not be a good student and a good house-cadet at the same time. My grades suffered, the colonel was unhappy, his son got demerits at school and at cadet drill for uniform flaws and they were my fault, and so on. Something had to give. So when I was told that my school duties had ended, I actually felt relieved. Now I could meet the cadet challenge. It was very much what any 15-year old boy might feel, a chance to prove himself, to excel, suprise his elders. If this had been a football team, I would have been on the training pitch every day, all day. 

I had walked away from that phone call with my Dad, not really thinking about what he had meant (and not really understanding what it all meant to him, his son abandoning him for a uniformed life of service).

At the risk of getting ahead of the story: Dad wasn’t my parent anymore. When I had enlisted in the cadet service, and signed my name and sworn an oath, I had officially joined the Malay Army, and was now subject to military law. As I was under 16, the Army had, in a very real legal sense, adopted me. The Army had appointed the colonel as my legal guardian.

I had never realised that that was the consequence of my joining up; neither had my Dad realised that, when he agreed to having me posted there, under the colonel’s wings, he had formally given me up for adoption. Only when he found that the colonel had taken me out of school, and that there was nothing he could do about it, did the reality of that sink in. This was the beginning of a long legal battle, of which I was not aware. I will save the outcome for later in this story.

[Dear reader, I apologise for the gap in publication. Recounting the events of my youth in Asia continues to have quite an impact on me, more than I expected. I will pick up where I left off. I am using a different (but eerily accurate) way of conjuring up images.

These stories are essentially true; they happened decades ago, in a southeast Asian country - not the one described here.

When I last posted, I wrote that my guardian, the colonel, wanted me to drop out of school. My Dad had objected.]

Out of school 

A week or so later I reported for my evening assessment, and the colonel very matter of factly said: ‘Cadet, you are released from your school attendance, effective immediately. Your father has informed me that as he will continue to travel, both in this country and to Europe, he has consented; I am executing my authority as your legal guardian. I will allow contact between you and him but only after my permission, and these contacts will be open to my scrutiny.’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘You will not go to school tomorrow. This is permanent. You will no longer be referred to as cadet-student, just as cadet, fourth class. You will only refer to yourself as ‘cadet’, no first names or surnames.'

'You will remove all items of your school uniform from your room and make them available for disposal to charity. From now on you will be only in your cadet whites, your service uniforms, or your army greens.’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘To be frank, cadet: you know that I have doubts about your motivation to become a true cadet. I have expressed some disappointment about your application in this house and I have let you know that perhaps you'd be better placed in active service, as a regular private.'

'I was never happy to see you in your school uniform; it was a distraction, it gave you too much to think about, and your service here suffered. I am ready to give you another chance, which means that in your life here you will focus on service and obedience, and nothing else.'

‘Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.’

I wanted to ask a question, but I thought better of it.

‘Wait outside, I may need you. Dismissed.’

I stood outside. The house was quiet.

After he received my second letter, my Dad called me. He had a bit more time, this time; he was clearly upset, worried.

According to the new rules, I could talk to him, but only while the colonel was in the office, and heard everything I said. But: in the state of mind I was in, after the therapist, I found it very easy to let this sense of obedience and service take over.

For Dad, it was frustrating.

‘Son, I’m dead against you leaving school. There’s just no way. It’s great that you have this … hobby of yours, and I suppose it’s fine that you want to live there, and not go to a normal boarding school, while I’m away, but I can’t have you throw away your future because your officers says so.’

‘Yes Sir, but please, I think it’s the right thing to do, Dad, Sir, it’s only a few months, right?’

‘That’s not what this officer has told me. He says ‘indefinitely’, and then after you turn sixteen he’ll decide what you’ll do next.’

‘Yes Sir. I hate to contradict you, Sir, but really, I want to do this, Dad. You’ve know this for a long time, remember when we went to Thailand, and I cried because I felt wrong to be in just my school uniform… I want this, Dad’

‘I know, son, but this is too big a decision to make on your own, son’

‘I know, Sir, the colonel will make that decision for me, and I’m happy that he will do so, Sir’

‘Hold on, son, I’m still your Dad and I say what’s what, right. Leave the colonel to me.’

‘Yes Sir’

‘Son, surely you see that you are able to do all sorts of things, later on, when we’re back in Europe, any university course, you’re so smart. Even if you wanted a military career, you’ll need that education, right?’

‘Yes Sir, but what if… what if the course I’m on, as a Mess & Household cadet, is really the best thing for me now, Sir? I mean I’m quite good at it, although the colonel makes it clear that I have a lot more to learn, I mean I’m still sloppy in so many things, I’m not a good cleaner, and…’

‘Son, it’s not up for debate, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to your colonel, and we’ll sort this out. This project I’m on is winding down, I should be back at the house in a few weeks, a month at most, and you’ll just come back and live with me there. And you can do cadets or space cadets or jungle ballet or whatever you please, then, but you’ll be in school.’

‘Yes Sir. I apologise for contradicting you, Sir.’

‘And lay off the ‘Sir’, for god’s sake.’

‘I’m under cadet rules, Sir, I’m afraid that’s what I’ll call you, Sir.’

‘Fine. Now don’t worry about this. I’ll deal with it, call you next week or so.’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘Goodnight, son’

Goodnight, Sir.’

The colonel said, quietly: 'Cadet, for failing to address a superior adult correctly, two demerits. For contradicting your father, two demerits. Report to sergeant Yu Sunday morning, discpline detail, four hours.

The visit to the therapist had a profound effect.

I was suprised at myself, first of all, the loss of control. At that age, I almost never cried, my emotions never got the better of me; so I was amazed that she got me to say the things I said – that I wantedto be an obedient boy, that I knew I was meant to serve.

I felt alarmed and confused, but I also felt that there was a truth in it. It was bewildering, but in a way also liberating, it gave me a sense of clarity – and it was that last feeling, that caught on.

But in the first few days after that session I was confused and emotional. Every evening I went and stood to attention next to the door of the colonel’s office at 8.30 sharp, waiting for him to call me in for my evening ‘assessment’. The first evening after my therapy session he said nothing, and nothing on the second day; on the third day I was given a punishment for a bad grade in school, and only then did he say something: 

‘I trust your meeting with the therapist was useful, cadet.’

It was not a question.

‘Yes Sir, thank you Sir.’

‘Anything to say about that, cadet?’

‘Yes Sir, thank you Sir.’

Again the emotions kicked in. I stood to attention, but I was shaking inside, trying not to burst into tears. I heard myself say things which I hadn’t dreamed of saying before, but the therapist had opened the doors. 

‘I am deeply sorry and I humbly apologise for my poor performance, Sir.’

'You will apologise on your knees, cadet.'

I obeyed. I had no resistance.

'Well?"

‘The officer-therapist said that I’m proud and acting against my own self, Sir.'

‘What’s that, your 'own self'?’

‘Well… I am a boy... but I am a cadet because I want to serve… Sir’

‘And?’

‘And obey, Sir. Please Sir, I’m really sorry Sir.’

Again, tears welling up.

‘Go on?’

'She said that I need to accept that fact, Sir, I'm just not like other boys, Sir.'

'So?'

‘I apologise for my bad behaviour and will obey without question, Sir.’

‘Good. So no more begging me for a relief of your duties, eh, cadet-student?’

‘No Sir.’

It all came out without thinking, freely, 'liberated'. No resistance.

‘Good. Now, the officer-therapist has contacted me about those duties. I will spend some more time with XY, but your duties remain the same. I know that your service here and your school work are hard to combine, I was never happy with the arrangement, so I’ve contacted your father about taking you out of school for a leap year, as you so wisely suggested to him in your last letter, cadet.’

‘Yes Sir’

‘We will know what he thinks soon. However, I have already informed your school that this is going to happen, cadet.’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘You’ll still go to school, for now, but I expect this to pass in a few weeks. Until your 16th birthday you will continue to serve as a cadet, officially as a junior private, and I will remain your legal guardian, cadet-student. I will decide what you will do or not do in the coming years, cadet-student. Is that clear?

‘Yes Sir.’

'What that means, cadet, is that there will be no excuse for anything under 110% performance, cadet. You will become fully disciplined, fully obedient, perfect in every detail, and just plain content to be of service.'

'Yes Sir.'

'I know you are looking for clarity, cadet. A simple life. You have that, now, here. The same schedule, every day, every week, every month. Stop worrying; I will determine how you live and where you live.'

'Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.'

‘Dismissed.’

As I went back upstairs to my attic room I felt oddly relieved. The colonel had a way of making things very simple.

I remembered how that simplicity had seemed so attractive to me in the first place, the clarity of a disciplined life. The truth of who I was and why I was there was finally sinking in.

I went to work. I spent about three hours doing XY’s laundry and ironing, separating blues from whites. I focused. I knew I had to be calm, quiet, helpful and pleasant, become clear and open and numb, lose my pride and my sense of self. Complete obedience was the only way forward, now. It made perfect sense; I would stop feeling unhappy. 

I went to see the Army therapist, a friendly female officer, slightly older than the colonel. She said that she was a professional psychologist, and even though this chat had been arranged by my superior officer, I could speak freely, there would be no record, nothing I said would ‘leave the room’. She did know my file, so she knew how I got to where I was now. 

I was, then, very vulnerable. The angry outburst by the colonel, with that threat of posting me somewhere far way in the jungle, for years to come, had shaken me badly. At the same time I couldn’t really get my head around my own feelings. Was this really what I wanted? A healthy young European 15-year old, wanting to 'serve and ‘obey’, wanting to kneel for Army officers, polish their floors, polish their boots, stand to attention for hours holding a briefcase? No social life, no interaction with other cadets? Uniform every day? Standing to attention in your own room, to fill the time before you could go to bed? I knew I did all that because I wanted to do that – but at the time I never knew exactly what made me want it.

The meeting would have a profound effect, perhaps even a devastating one.

‘I understand you’ve had a bit of a discussion with your commanding officer?’

‘Yes Ma’m. About my duties, mostly, Ma’m. It’s just too much for me, Ma’m, it’s too much work, I can’t deal with it all, and I’m really alone in that house, and ... ’

‘And…?’

‘Well, I have to serve the colonel, but I also have to take care of his son, and I have no idea how to do that, I mean I can’t raise that boy to be a soldier, make him obey every little order, I can see he’s not happy with all that.’

‘I see. That may be a burden to you, indeed. Let’s take a step back, if I may. I know from your file that your school cadet corps went to national finals, you went to conviviality meetings, you volunteered for Elite Camp, you were proud to go there a second time. Your superiors note that you never failed to do the honorary guard at night, your behavior was always exemplary, and so on – am I wrong to think you wanted to be a real cadet and do everything that means, including serve senior officers?’

‘Yes Ma’m, but I guess I didn’t quite understand what that would mean, I mean I was fine with doing Mess & Household in Camp or in the Officer’s Mess, but now it seems the colonel is going to make this my career, or at least what I have to do for the next years.’

‘And?’

‘Well, my parents and I had other ideas about what to do after school, go back to Europe with my family, go to university maybe, not this life.’

‘Yes, but at the same time, you chose this life?’

‘Well, yes, but now my officer says I could now be posted anywhere, or even as a regular soldier somewhere in the jungle for years…’

‘And you don’t like that prospect?’

‘No Ma’m, I mean I am a good cadet, but I can’t be just a soldier somewhere in the jungle for the next years, I mean I’m not even a Malay national, Ma’m.’

‘What would you like to see happen, then?’

‘I don’t know, Ma’m, I mean I don’t want to throw in the towel, I love being a cadet, I love the uniform, everything, but maybe I should be sent home, figure out a way to live with Dad, maybe with a housekeeper, just do cadet drill at school, like the other boys.’

‘Before we get to that, let me ask you something else. You have sworn an oath of obedience only a few months ago. What does that mean to you now?’

That was a tough one.

‘Well, I was proud to do that, but I think now I didn’t really know what it meant, I also didn’t understand what it meant that the Army was now my legal guardian, and not my Dad, so there is the big mistake, Ma’m.’

‘A mistake, perhaps, cadet.’

‘Yes Ma’m.’

‘Let me ask you another thing. You’ve been a cadet for almost four years now, first in school, then in the Program. At every step you were taught to follow orders, to be obedient, to serve.’

‘Yes Ma’m.’

‘I believe you were part of a group of boys who chose to wear the uniform at all times, is that right?’

‘Yes Ma’m, a bunch of us at school, we were very keen to do well in cadet drill, Ma’m. It became a bit of a game for us, I guess, we outdid each other in looking perfect, that kind of thing.’

‘So what does obedience mean to you, now?’

‘Well, … I guess… I’m still young, 15, so I’m not really an adult, still a child, in a way, and I have to accept that I have to learn things, how to deal with my superiors, or my betters, how to be a good member of society, things like that, and I guess I have to obey what other people tell me to do, until I am older.’

‘Hmm, yes, but that sounds very… practical to me. Didn’t you feel anything else, when it comes to obedience?’

‘Like what, Ma’m?’

‘Something stronger than just doing what your teachers tell you to do?’

‘I suppose, Ma’m.’

‘Can you tell me when you felt that?’

That came out surprisingly easily.

‘When I was in Camp, doing these endless drills, in the heat, you know, long marches, my brain just went numb at times Ma'm. It just shut down, all I felt was the rhythm of the march, left right left right left right, and all I could see was the neat hairline of the cadet before me, marching, and all I could think of was that at the end of the march we’d have uniform inspection and even after 20K my tie had to be in its proper position and did I need a haircut perhaps…’

‘What do you mean by numb?’

‘Well, yes, Ma’m, something like that, it was sometimes… as if my body was just my body, marching as ordered, dressed as ordered, and my body was just sort of carrying my brain, but it was not important what I was thinking or feeling, my body just carried on…’

‘If I were to say that this numbness means that you internalised obedience, at that time, what would you say?’

‘I suppose that was what it was, maybe, Ma’m, it was just… It was numb, but… I don’t know, it was also clear, natural, simple. I stopped thinking, I guess.’

‘Indeed. So looking back at what you’ve told me about your life now, with this family, trying to be a good house servant, a good Mess&Household servant, and do your schoolwork at the same time, everything about it indicates that you find it easy to obey orders, to do as you’re told.’

‘I don’t know really, Ma’m.’

‘I think you do. I think you’ve told me about that moment of clarity, marching in the jungle, to tell me that this is what is on you mind now – you struggle with your duties in the colonel’s household, and you are confused by your reluctance to really engage with those duties, and at the same time you remember that clarity, the moment everything made sense to you. So now something is holding you back, right? Could that be true?

I had to think about that, for a bit. Clearly the therapist knew exactly how to dig deeper into my feelings, pushing all the right buttons.

‘I don’t mind work, Ma’m and I don’t mind orders, Ma’m, but it’s just too much, and then the boy… I really don’t think I can go on doing this, Ma’m.’ 

‘I disagree, cadet-student. I can clearly see you are selling yourself short. You are a wonderful cadet, and a very promising one too, precisely because of this experience. The one thing that gets in your way, I think, is that you still have an idea of yourself as ‘better’ than all the rest.’

‘Ma’m?’

‘And I believe this is what your superiors have been telling you before. You are a foreign national, or you were one, and you’ve grown up in rather privileged circumstances, these diplomatic services. People probably liked you, and told you you were a special boy, perhaps?

‘Well, yes, it was just how we lived, Ma’m, I was expected to do well, dress decently, we had school uniforms of course…’

‘Right. And in cadets you discovered that discipline and order and obedience are really what you needed, what you wanted to experience. Am I right?’

‘Yes Ma’m.’

She was right. She nailed it. And then she went even deeper.

‘So now things are difficult for you. Without your own family, away from your old life, in this very disciplined household. And you suddenly feel you can’t obey anymore? Is it the work, or is it your pride?’

‘Well, no, or I don't know, I just can’t do it all, in that house, Ma’m. Even when I’m doing everything right I get corrected and punished, and the colonel keeps adding chores and duties, and it takes all the time I need for laundry and housework, and for schoolwork, and then the son comes home and just drops everything, takes off his uniform, which is not allowed, and goes on playing videogames, and…’

‘Yes, yes. I’m aware that you have a lot on your plate. I think a word to the colonel about that is in order, leave that to me, cadet-student’.

‘Really Ma’m, that would be great, Ma’m, but I still think that I…’

‘Yes, cadet-student, I know you want out, you want your Dad.’

‘Yes Ma’m’.

Again, tears in my throat.

‘But that’s not going to happen, cadet-student.’

‘Ma’m, please Ma’m’.

‘No, son. For me, and I think for the colonel, but certainly for the Army, it would be a terrible waste. I can see that by just looking at you: you’re uniform is spotless, the knot in your tie is perfect, the crease in your sleeves is sharp, you are the very image of a good cadet. They have all invested in you, made it possible for you to be who you really are, a wonderful cadet, who will become, perhaps, in the near future, a wonderful servant to someone high-up. Surely you understand that it would be wrong for us to change course now, cadet?’

‘But Ma’m…’

‘Do you understand, cadet-student?’

‘… Yes Ma’m.’

‘But that’s not the main reason. You are going to stay, and serve, because the hard truth, cadet, is that that is what you really are.’

‘Ma’m?’

‘You are going to face up to that truth, cadet, and you’ll embrace it, and you’ll let your superiors take you to where you really need to be.’

‘But…’

‘Face the truth, dear boy: you are not special. You are nothing, yet. Don’t be afraid of that. Just follow what’s really inside you. Tell me yourself, cadet student. Let me hear it from you. Tell me what you are.'

By now I was close to tears, and shaking. I felt the answer come up inside me, undeniably, I was going to say it, and then I said it.

'Ma'm, I want to be a good cadet, Ma'm.'

'And?'

'And I want to serve my superiors, Ma'm'

Swallowing more tears.

‘Because…?’

‘Because I’m nothing, Ma’m. Just stupid Ma’m.’

‘Say that again?’

‘I’m a proud stupid boy, Ma’m. I just need someone to teach me, make me obey and serve, Ma’m’

In tears, now. She let me sob a bit.

‘So this resistance of yours, against what the Army and the colonel are asking from you, what’s that?’

‘It’s stupid and wrong, Ma’m. I’m so sorry, Ma’m’

'Again, please say so yourself, cadet student. Let me hear it from you.'

[By now I really was crying.]

'I'm... I want to be a good cadet, Ma'm. I want to serve my superiors, Ma'm.'

'Because...?'

'Because I want to be obedient, Ma'm.'

'Again?'

'Please Ma'm, I want to be an obedient boy, Ma'm.’

She finally let me be. I sat and sobbed.

‘Well, that was quite the confession, cadet. I’m pleased that you were ready to let it all come out.’

‘Yes Ma’m’.

‘Now, dry your eyes, blow your nose. I have feeling you’ll feel relieved after this, cadet. Now, as I said, everything we talked about is private, of course, but I will have a word with the colonel about your concerns regarding his son – it may be wise to leave the actual parenting to him, I think. And then you must settle down and do the work as ordered, cadet-student. No more tantrums'.

'Yes Ma'm.'

‘So, I hope that clears things up for you, cadet?’

‘Yes Ma’m’

‘Anything else?’

‘No Ma’m’

‘What’s your first task when you get home?’

‘Home, Ma’m? I guess serving the family at dinner, Ma’m’

‘Good. But I also recommend that you ask permission to speak to the colonel, and tell him what you told me, apologise for your request. I’m sure he’ll see reason. Just remember that march, looking at the cadet in front of you. Nothing else. You are a cadet, you serve. Nothing else matters. I know that you will be happy that way.’

I was just too exhausted and stupefied to say anything else. I got up and came to attention, so she could dismiss me.

‘Dismissed’

Army personnel is nothing if not methodical, and I knew, when I knocked on the door for my assessment exactly two weeks later, that the colonel would sit me down and have me write another letter to Dad.

This time, his aide de camp handed me a note with, as he put it, ‘a few suggestions’, but he made it clear that I was to include them verbatim. 

I had no choice. I did as I was ordered.

‘Dear Sir,

Another two weeks have gone by, thanks for the call, last week; don’t worry, I know that you didn’t have much time, I know you’re in and out of airplanes, so that’s fine. I was just glad to hear your voice and very happy to hear that Mom’s doing a bit better.

I do wonder if you’ve given any thought to the proposal of my commanding officer and legal guardian, the colonel, about me taking some time out of school, to focus on my service in this house and my cadet activities. I think it’s very kind of the colonel to suggest this, as it would obviously mean having me around the house more, with more supervision on his part. Already he has done a lot for me, for my development as a cadet, there are so many aspects of life as a Mess & Household cadet that I need to learn still. 

I know the decision about school lies with the colonel and with you, Sir, but I want you to know that I’m still very much committed to my life as a cadet, everything about it makes me happy, and I am sure the colonel will do everything to help me develop, Sir. I am also sure he will make the right decision for my future, the next few years; he’s mentioned a few interesting options, such as a long ‘internship’ at the Elite Camp, or perhaps placement in another officer’s household elsewhere in the country, Sir, or even as a M&H servant in one of the country’s embassies, Sir, I may be a 'diplomat' after all, Sir.

So I hope you’ll be in touch with the colonel soon and let him know what you think; I am bound by my oath to obey the decision of the colonel, my guardian, and so I really hope you’ll agree on what’s best.

Hope to hear from you soon, 

Love,

Cadet-student B

I stood and handed it to the aide. ‘Well done, cadet-student, I’m sure we can soon proceed with that leap year.’

‘Yes Sir.’

It took a while before I had enough courage (and he seemed in a good mood) to breach it. This was on a regular Thursday evening, after dinner, when I stood to attention in his office. He went through some paperwork, let me wait (as usual) before he would then dismiss me with a few ‘notes’, as he called them. 

‘Anything else, cadet-student?’

‘Permission to speak, Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you Sir. Cadet-student needs to confess that he finds it difficult to keep up with the house assignments and the school work, Sir. It’s just too much, Sir, and…’

‘And…?’

‘Please Sir, Cadet-student asks you to consider relieving cadet-student from some of his duties and assignments, Sir.’

‘Relieving you? Of what?’

‘Please Sir, some of my duties, Sir. There seems to be not enough time in the day to complete them all, Sir’

‘This wasn’t a problem for you when you first entered the household, cadet-student.’

‘No Sir’

‘What has changed, then?’

‘I don’t know, Sir, perhaps I was too eager to take on too many responsibilities, Sir.’

‘Really? I remember your application letter, you were very keen to join the cadet program, live on the base, be a full-time Army Cadet, as I recall…’

‘Not full-time, Sir, but…’

‘Don’t contradict me, cadet-student’

‘Yes Sir. I apologise, Sir.’

He was quiet for a while. 

‘Cadet, to be frank, it’s been a disappointment to me and my family to see you fail in your duties. I’m disappointed that I’ve been forced to correct you more often than I thought necessary.

You only have to blame yourself for your sloppy work, and therefor for your punishments, and the lack of time. A quick six strokes with the cane would take up a lot less time than writing 400 lines or copying out the Cadet Manual or spending the afternoon with sergeant Yu, but I won’t bring that option up again, cadet.’

‘Yes Sir’

‘Would you like to reconsider?’

‘No Sir’

‘Very well. Your schedule, your tasks, your duties will remain the same until you finally understand why you are here.’

‘Sir?’

‘I mentioned this before, cadet-student.’

He took a second, before he told me – always calm, with no hint of irritation.

‘You are a proud boy, cadet. You have a notion of being a free person, making your own choices, your own plans. Perhaps it’s your European roots. You were pleased with yourself, as a perfect schoolboy and cadet - you were showing off, you were proud. You know this was the assessment after your periods at the Elite Camp – they told you then about your lack of real engagement. Even those months of corrections didn’t really get through to you.’

‘Sir?’

‘And then you asked your father to sign you over to the Army, to me, and now it is my job to now make something out of you. To make you understand what it is to truly obey, to truly serve. 

‘Sir’

‘You come in here, now, asking for fewer duties. A real cadet-student would be ashamed, deeply ashamed for failing to serve a superior officer and his family. A real cadet-student would kneel and ask to be corrected. Not you: you want ‘relief of your duties.’

‘But Sir...’

‘Well, you won’t get it, cadet-student. I will not honour your request; your duties and assignments remain as they are, and they will increase. I will ask my aide to keep a sharp eye out for any more failures. I will contact your mentor at school to inform him that scrutiny should be intensified, now that your grades are falling. You will act like a cadet-student and meet these challenges without complaint, cadet-student.’

‘Yes Sir’.

He paused for a bit – I was expecting a few kind words of encouragement, but I got the opposite.

‘Let me indicate what your options are. You will obey and do the work you have been given, quietly and diligently, and that may very well lead to a suitable career as a Mess & Household servant, over the next five or six years. Or: you can put in a request to be discharged from your cadet-student status. You’ll then become a junior enlisted soldier, until you turn 16 in a few months, when you will be enrolled formally in the Army. In both cases, I will remain as your legal guardian and your commanding officer. If you request to be discharged, I will make sure that you spend the last months before your 16th birthday in the QQ disciplinary facility in the jungle, on enhanced punishment detail.

After your enrollment, I will then see to it that you are posted with the absolute worst infantry training company I can find, somewhere deep in Borneo. I promise you that you will then think differently about not having enough time for your homework or the laundry of your superior officer. Am I making myself clear, cadet-student?'

I was too blown away by it all to answer.

‘Anything else?’

‘No Sir. Thank you Sir.’

‘Very well. Now, as it is my duty to make sure that my staff are not liable to suffer from mental problems, you will pay a visit to the psychologist on the base, to give you some clarity.’

‘Thank you Sir.’

‘Dismissed’.

On and on, and on, all day long, seven days a week, weeks became months.

There were moments when I thought I could handle things, that I was getting the hang of it; I began to understand what the colonel wanted and needed and at what times. I had established something like a friendly-helpful relationship with XY, the boy. I didn't feel all that bad about having to eat alone and in silence - Mrs Chows food was actually quite nice.

But then the colonel would add something to the list.

He could say, at a moment’s notice, that I had to accompany him to a meeting and carry his bag for him.

This was usually when the meeting was high-up, formal, and he felt it was unbecoming for someone of his rank and status to carry a briefcase, so I did that. I'd walk three paces behind him, head up.

At the office, or somewhere on the base, he would take out a folder or a few sheets of paper and I would be told to stand and wait.

And I would: an hour, three hours, a whole afternoon – and then he’d emerge, give me the folder, order me off home, and he’d join the others for ‘tea’.

I was used to just standing and waiting, but this was a very public display of my status as a servant. I’d stand there with the bag, nobody would speak to me. Nobody would ask if I needed a drink of water, or something. I was the colonel's aide, and under his orders.

And at the house he would sometimes remark that the floorboards of the veranda hadn’t been cleaned well enough, or the tile floors in the hallway needed an extra polish – and he’d land that on me.

Obviously, I was not to use anything mechanical or even remotely handy, like a broom; I had to be on my knees, scrubbing and waxing and polishing. And I did as he ordered.

There was nothing I could do about it, of course; I understood full well that the colonel was increasing the pressure, expecting me to catch up every time. And I also understood why this had to be done 'on my knees'. It was a humble task, it had to be done well, it was the kind of thing I was meant to do.

I tried, I really tried, but I was still alone, and struggling, and I felt I was nearing the end of my tether.

There were simply not enough hours in the day for both the service in house and on the base and my work at school.  

My failure to be 100% perfect in the house led to more and more punishments, which took hours to complete, and made it almost impossible to also do my homework assignments, and so I began to fall seriously below the set mark at school, which in turn led to more homework, repeat assignments, and so on.

On and on, and on, and as all this was getting more and more difficult for me, I put on my school uniform every morning, after breakfast service, and hurried to school. 

I was feeling increasingly lonely, or even isolated, in the colonel’s house, I realised even more how important it was to have just normal chats with boys of my own age, about trivial things, homework, sports, even girls (although that was still very much an abstract theme, for most of us).

But as I mentioned before, I was formally ‘encouraged’ to keep to myself at all times, not initiate conversations, devote all my time to my studies, every second of it.

Many of my mates just left me to my own devices. 

There was, however, my mentor, my school counsellor, who was a really nice teacher. I had talked to him before, more than once; I remembered the last time, when I had been very confident or even cocky about my involvement with cadets. I had told him rather proudly about the daily inspections, the corrections, my busy schedule, and I remember telling him said I was ‘grateful’ for all of that, including the many ‘corrections’, and that I really wanted to be in uniform all the time. I even said that ‘obedience came before everything else’. The mentor was baffled by it all, but as my school results were excellent, he had no reason to intervene. I guess he considered it to be a fad, or a hobby which I was taking a bit too seriously, but he could see no harm in applying myself as a cadet. After all, the cadet program was mandatory, in school.

My mentor called me in again, for ‘just a chat’. Things were different now. For starters (small detail) I was now wearing shirts with an old fashioned stiff collar. It was something the colonel had ordered me to wear.

Some of the older boys liked to wear them too, I think it referred back to the time when boys wore detached eton collars, 'the good old days'. They were very uncomfortable, but they looked smart.

By now I was a bit obsessed with the idea that I was wrong to resist my life of discipline. I shouldn’t doubt it. It went through my mind how I had been on my knees for the Admiral, pressing my forehead on the floor, and how that had felt completely natural. I also thought a lot about why I had asked Dad to let me move to a different house, on the base, and live as a cadet. I hadn’t explicitly told him that it was because I wanted more structure and clarity in my life, because that would have been unfair to him, but that was the real reason behind it – or so I thought, when the mentor asked me in.

I now realise that he sat me down he may already have been informed that the Army wanted to take me out of school for a ‘leap year’. He had also seen that my grades were slipping – reason enough for a talk.

‘Well, son, what’s going on? You were doing so well, we were all in awe of you! Anything bothering you?’

‘Thank you Sir, I think it’s just that I have too many other things going on now, Sir.’

‘You mean in that new family, with colonel Y?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Well, Sir, nothing out of the ordinary, Sir, it’s really much like at home with my father, Sir, I have chores like everybody else. I do laundry, I serve dinner, things like that, Sir.’

‘Isn’t that a bit much, for chores?’

‘Not really, Sir, just helping out when I can, I mean I am a guest in their house, Sir, and the colonel is a superior officer of course, Sir. His orders are… well, orders.’

‘So are you happy, there?’

‘Yes Sir, I guess so, Sir. I mean I miss Dad, and I have to adjust to things, it’s on the base, so I’m really sort of in the military now, Sir, but it’s what’s good for me, Sir.’

‘Why do you say that, son?’

‘Well… ‘

[There I was suddenly not all that self-assured. It was difficult to let it come out, but it did]

‘… I think it’s good for me, Sir, because it… fits, Sir. Being a cadet has taught me what kind of boy I really am, Sir.’

‘And that is…?’

‘Well, that some people are born to lead and some are not, they are there to help and serve, Sir, and I am that kind of person, Sir.’

‘Help and serve, and… obey orders?’

‘Yes Sir. Of course, Sir.’

‘Really, son? Isn’t it a bit early for all this, becoming a soldier? You’re only fourteen, right?’

‘Fifteen Sir. Perhaps you’re right Sir, but…’

‘So what’s the big attraction? Is it the Army rules, the discipline?’

‘I don’t really know how to explain, Sir. I went to Elite Camp, you know, and that was tough, but good too, and they had this thing where as a cadet you were supposed to volunteer for this ceremonial thing, something relate to the war, I think. Cadets would stand guard in the officers’ quarters after dinner, for a few hours, Sir. That was tough because we had really long days there, so you’d be very tired, we all wanted to go to bed – but I volunteered every night, Sir, and I did that.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Yes but Sir, I would just stand there, and stand correctly, fighting off sleep, but here’s the thing: I never had the feeling that it was strange, Sir. I felt natural, Sir, like I just had to do that, and not worry about it, just do it and do it well, Sir. Do you understand, Sir?’

‘I think I do, son.’

‘Do you think it’s wrong, Sir?’

‘I think it’s… unusual, for a boy your age, to not think about football or the beach or games or hanging out, but I guess it’s not unusual for a boy in your situation to seek a certain level of structure, of guidance; and I can’t fault you for wanting to be a good cadet, of course…’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘But I’m a bit worried, though, if you don’t mind. Not just the grades, although it’s a pity that they’re slipping a bit. It’s that I’ve noticed you’re keeping to yourself, you’re not engaging with your mates, you’re letting your friendships slip. Everybody needs friends, son?’

‘Yes Sir, of course, Sir. I’m sorry about that too, Sir, but the colonel thinks it best that I really focus on becoming a good cadet, Sir. And when I’m in school I realise he’s right, Sir, too many distractions are just not good for me now, Sir.’

'But surely you need to get out once in a while, I don't know, go to the movies, get a coffee, hang out, isn't that what you boys did before?'

'Well yes, Sir.'

'But..?'

[sigh]

'But I know that’s not right for me now Sir, really, Sir, I can't really be a good cadet if I get distracted by movies and things, Sir. It would be difficult anyway, Sir, since I'm not allowed to socialise with boys who are not in uniform. And really Sir, I am happy to be in the colonel's house and help out there, Sir.'

‘Very well, son. But what about that 8.5 average? Anything I can do to help?’

‘Not really Sir, I don’t think so, Sir, I mean I really enjoy these chats, Sir, but I know what my duties are now, Sir. And I'll work on those grades, Sir.’

‘Right. Very well. Oh, and I see you're wearing these old school high collars! Very smart. How are they?’

‘They’re fine, Sir, a bit stiff Sir, but colonel’s orders, Sir, so fine, Sir.’

‘Right. Off you go, then.’

‘Thank you Sir’