Being unemployed and college doesn't start until February, I have a lot of time on my hands just sitting around doing nothing. I can do whatever I want (provided whats left of my bank account can sustain me) until I find a part-time job and go back to school full-time. Meanwhile, I have way too much time on my hands to think. I have all the time just to sit around and think about my current status in life, what direction in life I should head towards, and more imporantly, my past. Most notably, my time spent in Iraq. Iraq has always been a subject that has always bothered me whenever I think or talk about it-- so the most logical thing to do is to call up one of my war buddies.
I haven't spoke to this guy in almost a year, and the last I heard from him, he's out of the Corps and has been hitting the bottle religiously, but he's slowly recovering and doing much better with his life now. If you know me, you know I drink alot-- this guy drinks more than I do, which is very unhealthy. Lets just say his life since the Corps isn't the best of lives.
Before his decline from fame, we served in the same unit and fought alongside each other around the Battle of Fallujah in 2004. So we talked. We talked about our lives, Scarlett Johanssen's boobs, video games, one night stands, which brand of whiskey is better, and of course-- recounting our memories of when we faced danger and lived to tell the tale. Kind of like the good old days, deja vu almost.... without exploding mortars and smelling like we haven't showered in days.
We recall alot of fond memories, from hilarious mishaps to having that bullet almost slicing your neck artery open. One thing thats good when talking to other Marines is that you have a little too much in common based on experience. Every Marine would always have a story that may begin with "well this one time in boot camp...." or "well this one time when I got drunk....". When talking to someone that's actually been there with you to winess something, you'll talk about it and laugh so hard because sometimes inside-jokes are funnier than any stand-up comic.
Then there are some of the "touchier" subjects that we would try to avoid, which every servicemember who has seen combat would avoid talking about. Because some subjects are so explicit that most combatants will live out their lives without telling your average civilian, and will keep that secret to themselves to their grave. For example, if I saw a child shot and killed in front of my eyes, I would probably be a bit disturbed, and would never tell anyone for the rest of my life. But if someone was there to witness it and I talk to him, the only thing we can say would be somewhere along the lines of, "dude.... that was so fucked up." Maybe you'll add a bit of a side commentary, like ".... yeah remember how he kind of backflipped when that bullet hit him in the face and all? Kid must have been an acrobat." "Yeah, poor kid."
Then comes an awkward silence, and both of you try not to giggle while one of you finally says, "dude shut the fuck up man that ain't funny." Then the other one will just sigh and shake his head, "yeah, I know. So about Scarlett Johanssen's titties...." Deep down inside though, its one of the things that plays back in a loop in your head and that's what you want to forget.
Now, I'm not saying I saw a child get shot and killed in front of my eyes is for real, nor am I saying it not-- you come up with your own wartime nightmare. All I'm saying is, shit like that happens all the time, and when you're at the wrong place at the wrong time, being a simple witness is sometimes a blessing in disguise.
I took some time to browse through some of my older Xanga entries from years and years ago. The biggest change in writing style, material, and tone was no doubt my deployment year. I saw myself change from a bumbling, giggly prankster to a cynical, introverted lush. Yet, I've became more aware of what's going on around me, from whats happening around the world, to the changes I notice in other people. I had a much more competitive drive than before to succeed in whatever I do, because I learned the hard way that I'm not all that invincible anymore.
I don't regret taking up arms to fight in a war that hardly anyone agrees with. I don't regret seeing and doing the things I did out there. Most of all, I don't regret the chance to meet other Marines whom I may have nothing in common with, but would later become life's greatest friends whom I could talk about almost anything with-- from disturbing moments in war to disturbing moments after getting pepper-sprayed by cops after a night-out-in-town-gone-bad. Most of all, I will never forget that the only reason I'm still alive is because we watched each others' backs while we were in the middle of a combat zone. Its not about politics, or the American way of life; we simply fight because its all for the men and women beside us in combat we fight with. Its the brother/sisterhood that kept us alive all this time.
I'm probably going to drink more thanks to Mr. Buddy that I just spoke on the phone with. Too much thinking and putting those thoughts to words, and getting feedback makes me think even more, and then I'll drink some more, and the viscious cycle never ends. Having a job or schoolwork was what kept my mind off these things.
But talking to my buddy helped me stay sane just a bit longer. Him, just like my friends whom have served in the Marine Corps, is definately God's way of letting me know that I'm not the only person in the world that's crazy.
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