Blank Doll sits still.

Field camp is finally over. Shall I speak of the madness? The utter desolation from which there is no reprive? The sheer disengagement from civilisation and sanity? It is a broken chalice of memories that I cannot piece together, not before I gather all the shards of a shattered mind.

I was very fortunate nonetheless, to have found such great friends and superiors. Sgt Zasir and 2lt Dzul were practically my lifeline without whom I really would have died back in field camp. Dear Marcus, Zu Wei, Amas, Yong Shan and my other section mates. People from other sections like John and Leonard.

The heaven over my head seems made of molten brass, the earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.

I would rather speak of lighter things. Yesterday when I stepped out of the military, the first thing I did was to change into civilian clothes. Nevermind that I had to do it in Daddy's car, it was a cathartic process I was desperately in need of. I think Daddy felt the unprecedented fragility in me too because that was the first time I hugged him for a very long time. All my loved ones like burning embers in that long dark night when my cries echoed for naught.

We went to La Strada for a good lunch. Began with a mimosa which, along with the bellini, has become my favourite cocktail. The consumption of warm artisan bread with olive oil after combat rations is an experience like divine ecstasy. First course was a slice of toasted brioche with warm zucchinis and real anchovies- the combination of both making this simple dish almost sublime.

Then there was the minestrone. Unpretentious in its generosity and the provenance of the produce used, a remembrance of its peasant origins yet in its simplicity, the broth nearly brought tears to my eyes.

Since we all know that Sean has a particular weakness for foie gras, the next dish which was foie gras ravioli in a truffled cabonara sauce simply blew me away. How do I convey it across? That sudden burst of flavour, that richness after the long drought of atrocious comestibles.

No Italian meal is without pasta and we had linguine with prawns. The taste was rather pedestrian although I did like the texture of the pasta. I think my predilection for French food has made my palate a little too heavy.

The main course though not a work of genius was certainly good. A flattened morsel of veal coated in breading and spices cooked to near perfection and garnished with fleur de sel. Wonderful.

The dessert. What can I say? I am who I am. Coffee granita with a slice of chocolate tarte and creme fraiche. The chocolate tarte so dense and rich though it was slightly crumbly. The coffee granita a welcome cleanser for the palate.

Then Daddy took me to my French class and I had a much needed intellectual boost before returning home to my mummy and sister. There are sentiments which need no paper to record for they are seared onto the silent pages of the mind by their very strength. My beloved family, piecing the little shards of me back again.

C'est tout.