Entering NS: Where Does That Leave Me?

Growing up, I had always assumed that I would, for the most part, follow the same path as those around me. Not that I expected to become the same as them, but I believed we would share the same milestones: graduation, college, and everything that came after.

For a long time, that belief held true. Each year carried a sense of kinship as we moved together through elementary school, then middle school, and now high school. In a way, it brought comfort. Even though many of us lived vastly different lives, shaped by our own individual experiences, I knew there was always at least one thread connecting me to my peers, whether it was the first day of school, the stress of exams, or something as simple as senior skip day.

So when faced with the first true divergence in the road ahead, the feeling of dread is one I cannot seem to escape.

As graduation shifts from some distant future into an approaching reality, another truth begins to settle in: National Service. As a Singaporean permanent resident, I am required to serve what is, in essence, two full calendar years.

Which means that while my peers move forward into the next stage of their lives, leaving for college and stepping into new beginnings after graduation, I will remain behind in what often feels like a holding cell for the next two years.

It is for that reason that whenever I overhear my friends talking about their college decisions, I find myself with nothing to add, because I have not even begun my own applications. When they talk about leaving the country and the excitement of starting somewhere new, all I am reminded of is that I will be staying. When they make plans to meet abroad, I already know I will not be there.

These moments have become increasingly familiar as the days until graduation slowly tick down, and so has the feeling that comes with them. Each reminder of the growing distance between myself and everyone else feels like slowly drowning in deep water, close enough to see the surface and the people moving above it, yet unable to reach them, left only to watch as I drift further and further away.

With that comes the fear of being forgotten, that distance will slowly chip away at the connections I have built, that I will miss out on experiences that will shape the people around me in ways I cannot share, and that I will lose two years of my life. More than anything, it is the fear of being left behind by everyone else and thrust into an environment unfamiliar to the one I have come to know.

That fear becomes even harder to ignore when I think about what those two years will actually mean.

By the time I begin my first year of college, I will be approaching twenty, having just come out of a period of service that will place me in a completely different environment, both culturally and socially. For once, I will not be surrounded by the peers I have grown up with or the international community I have become used to, but by people I do not know, many of whom may not share the same background or experiences as me.

Meanwhile, many of the people I grew up alongside will already be nearing the end of their degrees, while I will only just be starting.

For the first time, the sense of shared growth I had always taken for granted feels uncertain.

Even though National Service had always been an inevitability in my life, it had always felt distant enough for me to push to the back of my mind. It was something I knew would happen eventually, but not something I had to fully confront.

And as difficult as it is to admit, the nearing of my enlistment does not only bring dread. It also brings resentment.

There are moments when being singled out, when seeing myself and a few others forced to serve while the rest of our peers move forward without interruption, makes National Service feel less like a duty and more like a punishment. Something unfair. Something imposed. Something to resent.

Why am I the one who has to stay behind while others move on?

Why am I the one who has to pause my life?

Why can I not be like everyone else?

These thoughts have become harder and harder to ignore. They return most often in ordinary moments, especially when I am surrounded by the people I consider my closest. In those moments, the loneliness feels even more real. I am not physically alone, but I am constantly reminded that our lives are beginning to move in different directions, and that no matter how close we are now, I cannot follow them into the next stage of their lives.

It would be comforting to say that I have already made peace with this. That I had some sudden realization that helped me overcome the fear. That I have fully accepted the finite nature of my time with my peers and with school.

It would be easier to write that I now understand my path, even if it diverges from theirs, is still a path forward, and that I feel entirely content with what comes next.

But that would not be true.

The unfortunate reality is that these feelings are still very real. I still grapple with them each day, in conversations, in passing remarks, and in the small reminders that everyone else seems to be preparing for a future I cannot yet enter.

I do not have a clean conclusion to offer. I do not have some lesson that makes the fear easier to carry. I am still afraid of being forgotten. I am still afraid that distance will change the people I care about before I have the chance to catch up. I am still afraid that when I finally begin moving again, I will be returning to a world that has already learned how to continue without me.

For now, that is where I am left. Not at peace, not fully accepting, and not ready to call this a path forward. Just standing at the edge of one life while everyone else steps into the next, knowing that when they leave, I will still be here.