I’m currently away for my annual reservist training, in a far-flung corner of this island. The annual pilgrimage to the chicken cutlet stall… I mean army refresher training is something we have to do every year.
So I was packing my Army duffel bag on Sunday night. The list of things to bring is big but we managed to leave out certain items.
I was packing my bag in the living room of my living room. I’d already changed into my nighttime diaper – a Tena Slip Plus – wearing a baggy pair of pants over it. They did a decent job of covering the shape thankfully, cos my mum and grandma were nearby, watching TV.
I felt the contrast while packing. Here I was, on one hand a grown man packing for my reservist training to defend the country and on the other, I had just put on a diaper because I wanted to poop, using the excuse that I was going to wear that diaper for the night.
Being away from home for a week means no diapers for me. While it isn’t a problem for me, it made me realize how it’s just a psychological thing. I didn’t think about diapers during my overseas CIP, and I’m pretty sure I won’t think much about it during my reservist.
It’s only when I’m alone in my room that I get that urge, that urge to ‘get protected’, to be enclosed in my safe space. My attendance for this reservist supposedly ensures my country’s safe space. I guess this is but another sacrifice I have to make.