Picture this: shrouded in darkness, you’re faced with an overgrown wasteland. You stalk across the foliage, desperately attempting to be as quiet as possible. Behind you, there is a sudden rustling of movement; when you turn, you’re faced with an enemy—a zombie? A member of a rival group? Or perhaps something that’s not quite human at all? You rummage in your backpack, hands gripping the very first thing you find. You face your enemy, weapon in hand, ready to take them on with… one of the Block 5 chickens?
That can’t be right.
Source: Qianxi's Phone
The story begins in a laboratory, under the bright fluorescent lights that make everything look ever-so-slightly uncanny. After nearly four hours of mindlessly staring at Excel sheets and running simulations over and over again, I find my mind wandering. I drift off into thoughts that can only be described as ones riddled with internet brain-rot, and return to the same idea I’ve had ever since I consumed the first in a long, long line of apocalypse-genre media—what if the apocalypse were to strike right this very second?
On the other end of the table, my two lab partners explain to our final group member, as the only one not living in Raffles Hall, the tribulations of having to walk past the Block 5 silkie chickens when they are a little more aggressive than normal. “Their beak is like a weapon,” I hear my labmate say, and then it strikes me, like a Jenga tower coming crashing down as the final block is removed: how convenient would it be if you could carry one of those little guys with you as your companion as you journey through an apocalyptic wasteland?
A ridiculous idea, sure, but one that got me thinking—what else could I use as life-saving tools if (or when) the apocalypse arrives? Perhaps a horde of territorial chickens is good for fending off enemy groups in a Mad Max-style wasteland. But if one’s rival is much larger than the average human, they may not be as useful. So, from one RHesident to another: here is the ultimate guide to surviving the apocalypse.
The first one should be quite obvious—it’s an example I’ve already mentioned once before, but a chicken (and even a pigeon, really) could be useful in more ways than one. Use it to repel villains of a wicked nature, or use its vestibulo-ocular reflex to your advantage as a camera stabiliser as you document your journey to surviving this new reality.
But there’s so much more around you that could be used in the face of such deadly scenarios. Consider your room, for example. Suppose after a long day of classes, you return to your room for a long-awaited nap on your bed when the apocalypse strikes; what’s the first thing you see? For me at least, it’s the curtains that hover menacingly just above my head. If you somehow manage to detach them from their fixtures, they could be a multipurpose tool. The rod could be an excellent long-distance armament to drive away the enemy without ever having to get near them (especially if it’s, say, a wild animal roaming once-urban streets, ready on all fours to pounce as soon as it gets close enough). Or, if you manage to get two of them, stilts to help you climb trees for a quick getaway from a fast but slightly slow enemy such as a brain-eating zombie. Shelter at night (or under the Singaporean sun) might not come by easily, especially if you’re not near an urban area when doomsday strikes; consider using the canvas curtains as tarps for a makeshift tent!
Any good dystopian novel teaches you that building a fire is the first step towards surviving your first night after electricity stops working after this cataclysmic event. But fire starters may not be available once that happens. Now’s the perfect time to invest in a course that teaches you how to make fire from dry sticks and some grass. With all the greenery Raffles Hall has to boast, and the oh-so-wonderful Singaporean heat that can dry out even the greenest pastures, you can always start saving up dry grass and sticks for practice (or even to prepare early, because it never hurts to be over-prepared, right?).
One thing that’s easy to ignore in such trying times is your mental health—surviving the apocalypse all alone is never easy. Bring along one of our cats as your companion as you journey across this vast unknown, or even one of the squirrels so frequently known for terrorising the residents—after all, what better way to bond than over the shared loss of all your favourite food? And always remember: if you could survive that horrible nightmare of a group project last semester, you can survive the apocalypse. After all, it couldn’t be any worse, right?
This final item to tick off all your metaphorical checklists should be an easy one, a task all of us have had under our belts since day one of university—cardio. Surviving the end of the world is playing a long game, one that requires endurance and the motivation to keep moving forward. Perhaps you frequent the gym. Perhaps you’re a fan of going on runs around campus as you watch the sunrise (or set!). Or, as might be the case for nearly all of us, you’ve gotten far too used to trekking the steep hills spread out all over the NUS campus. Walking to class every day might just be the workout to get you all set and ready to go for end times. Whether you frequent the hills of Engineering located just beside Raffles Hall or make the journey around FASS every day, there isn’t so much of a difference between running from an antagonistic pursuer and making it to class on time when you were so sure you’d be late, drenched in sweat from running under the Singaporean heat.
In the end, don’t worry about the apocalypse too much (certainly not as much as I do). Just remember that you’ve been preparing for this all along—albeit unknowingly—and building your arsenal day by day. If you really think about it, the apocalypse is just another day at university, right?
Written by: Arushi
Edited by: Clarissa, Vihaan, E Shen
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