I Don’t Remember My Name

So I finally made it to the desert. And they do have good dessert here. (chocolate ice cream!)

Traveling is great and all. I've had the chance to enjoy and not enjoy many flights around to places near and far. Many people don't have that opportunity. As I was flying around the globe I saw many of my fellow soldiers become engrossed in the process of flying. Some people don't get to enjoy watching cool physics concepts take them places quickly. I still enjoy it but a little more discreetly than I used to. I enjoy looking at the wing and measuring how much flex the wing has between the moments of on ground taxiing as it supports its own weight and mid flight as it supports the weight of the fuselage. I casually stare out the window waiting for that perfect cut of air to happen in front of the wing that sends air streamers across the surface of the wing allowing me to see how the wind currents work. Point being, traveling is great. However, rapidly and drastically changing your longitude is quite different than changing your latitude.

Going around the world against the sun's path was outright bizarre and eventually very difficult for the body. I have bad jet lag. Right now it's 01:26. The lights are out and people are sleeping. I'm sitting here on my stiff, green canvas cot typing away ant trying to arrange myself and equipment so that I am comfortable and I get some, if not good, internet reception. Many others are watching movies. The color shifting glow of flat LCD screens gives the cavernous tent a strange feel. It's also just enough light one needs to traverse the cluttered floor without mishap. The other night I needed to make an early morning stroll and there were no LCD glows. I ran into so much stuff and made quite a ruckus.

But the coolest and most bizarre was watching the sun rise and fall and rise again every six or seven hours. I was reading a cool book by chance, The Time Machine by Herbert Somebody, and it described in the book how the time traveler watched the sun speed up as he traveled through time. That's exactly how I felt. I grew two days older in a plane ride, but I only ate three times. It was just strange.

Amongst the troops we have a couple of murmurings. Of course I promote them as they are enjoyable when taken lightly. It rained on the day of our exit from the Americas. It hardly rained in Texas and when it did it was a sprinkle of mist that made the heat insufferably humid. But, on the day we were scheduled to leave we were bid farewell with raindrops long into the night. Ill omen some said.

As we stood in the rain during our formation on our departure date, there were crows gathered to observe our misery and dampness. Well, really no one knows if they were crows but they were black birds of considerable size and made large dissonant inharmonious obnoxious squawks. Ill omen some said.

Upon arriving in our host country we loaded up onto several buses. We were told to keep the lights off inside so we could keep ourselves more discrete. We wouldn't want to create a target for someone. As we traveled, silenced by our nervous fears of unknown things in the dark, we were accompanied by the moon. A blood red sliver fresh from the horizon glided silently along beside us welcoming us to our new abode. Ill omen some said.

Now, don't get too worried about things. Yes, this place is new to us and is inherently dangerous. The men are nervous and can make light of their fears in this manner. Making light of a situation we would rather not be in is one way of coping.

Traveling along in that bus not knowing what was outside besides the stories and news reports made me feel like when I was a child approaching the pink trailer without the twins because they were busy talking with the family. I never went inside, the fear was too great. I walked along the far side of the road never taking my eyes off of the door and windows. I had wanted to see what all the fuss was about, the satanic stories and murder horrors, but I was too afraid. I continued down the path and entered into the familiar (and probably just as safe (sarcasm)) archery range. I could not dare to go in, let alone get close. I was terrified. Terrified of what? Terrified of a rotten old pink trailer trash heap vandalized by high school juniors with no friends who made it their drug hangout where they could wear their black trench coats and mascara and talk about WOW and MySpace and upon leaving they trashed the place. (That is if it were now days. They probably just used meth back then) I was terrified of something absolutely ridiculous. Nevertheless, I was terrified. And, just as I was terrified of the pink trailer, I had that same childhood fear as I rode along in a soft dirty bus seat through the dark desert.

I suppressed my fear and rode along. I couldn't really turn back. I couldn't ask the bus driver to turn around and take me back to the plane. And I couldn't lie down on the floor so I'm not the one who gets shot. Both would be ridiculous. So I suppressed and learned from and examined and pondered and used my childlike fear that I felt. Going to war I think I had the right to be scared. I think all of the soldiers didn't say a word on the bus as we traveled through the black night followed by the blood red moon because they were all just as scared as I was.

It may sound cheesy but video games aren't the same anymore. They are vivid and bring back that same fear. War movies are the same way. It's exciting and terrible. Being in this place and exchanging bullets with people on a screen is that much more vivid. It evokes more emotion. More fear, more nervousness, more carefulness, more entertainment as bad as that sounds. Playing video games while at war ROCKS! Video game companies will never be able to produce that type of reaction. At least I hope they will never be able to.

I love you all. I pray for you. I receive much comfort from the thought of my wonderful family at home. I ask you take care of one another so that I will be able to see your smiling faces when I get home.