So I haven't written anything in a while. I'm not trying to make excuses; I've been lazy about it. So here's a few updates on SPC Ryan.
We moved to a new FOB. I can't give details for obvious reasons, but we've been a lot busier here. We're on patrol about 75% of the time, doing some pretty significant work in the country. Lots of firsts for the country happening, and lots of changes as a result.
I'm dating one of my long time best friends (Sam, check out her blog!), and though I'm halfway around the world right now, soon I'll be home and closer to her. Things are gonna be rough for a while, but I know we can work through it. She's pretty amazing, so being away for a while is a small price to pay.
I've got a lot to write about. Most of it will be fictionalized, but based on real events recently experienced by my platoon. I don't know when I'll find the time to write it up, and I know I've promised blog posts before that weren't ever delivered. So, I'm not going to promise anything. I will try to write, partly for you, partly to vent about what happened.
On a positive note, we only have a few more months to go! I'll be home soon, and I can't wait even a little bit.
That's all I've got for now. Stay tuned for more within a week or so, hopefully.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Coming back
I never believed them.
They said it would be done before I realized it, that R&R would go like the blink of an eye. I told myself I'd take it slow and enjoy it.
They said coming back to Afghanistan a second time is much harder than the first time. I said I've already done it once, how bad can it be?
They said things would change in the platoon once I got back. I said I'll adjust, not THAT much can change, can it?
Well, here I am, a month later. Going home for two weeks seems like it was just a dream, a tease just long enough to show me what I'm missing. I had one of the greatest weeks of my life with my best friend, and though the second week was fairly stressful, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Then I came back. I don't really know why it hurts so much worse this time around, but leaving home for a second time was horrible. I can't even put the feeling into words. I miss everyone so much more than before. It didn't even hit me until I was on the plane, 30,000 feet in the air on the way to Germany, but when it did hit me, it hit hard. I'm glad the plane was fairly empty; it would have been difficult to explain to the other soldiers on board why I had tears running down my cheeks.
Several days later, I met up with a friend in the platoon. He let me know that several members of my platoon had been hit with a grenade rigged up to a booby-trap. My Platoon Sergeant was seriously wounded, and a friend of mine was hit, but not as severely. Both were medevaced out, and my Platoon Sergeant is now in the states, probably not coming back. He also told me we were moving down to a new FOB, where there will be limited communication, very little electricity, and no hot chow. That's quite a bit to adjust to.
But such is life in Afghanistan. All you can really do is go with the flow, carry out the mission, and do your best to come back safe and sane. And that's what I plan to do.
They said it would be done before I realized it, that R&R would go like the blink of an eye. I told myself I'd take it slow and enjoy it.
They said coming back to Afghanistan a second time is much harder than the first time. I said I've already done it once, how bad can it be?
They said things would change in the platoon once I got back. I said I'll adjust, not THAT much can change, can it?
Well, here I am, a month later. Going home for two weeks seems like it was just a dream, a tease just long enough to show me what I'm missing. I had one of the greatest weeks of my life with my best friend, and though the second week was fairly stressful, I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Then I came back. I don't really know why it hurts so much worse this time around, but leaving home for a second time was horrible. I can't even put the feeling into words. I miss everyone so much more than before. It didn't even hit me until I was on the plane, 30,000 feet in the air on the way to Germany, but when it did hit me, it hit hard. I'm glad the plane was fairly empty; it would have been difficult to explain to the other soldiers on board why I had tears running down my cheeks.
Several days later, I met up with a friend in the platoon. He let me know that several members of my platoon had been hit with a grenade rigged up to a booby-trap. My Platoon Sergeant was seriously wounded, and a friend of mine was hit, but not as severely. Both were medevaced out, and my Platoon Sergeant is now in the states, probably not coming back. He also told me we were moving down to a new FOB, where there will be limited communication, very little electricity, and no hot chow. That's quite a bit to adjust to.
But such is life in Afghanistan. All you can really do is go with the flow, carry out the mission, and do your best to come back safe and sane. And that's what I plan to do.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Going home!
It seems like this time has flown by, and dragged itself out all at once, but it's time for mid-tour leave! I am writing this from Bagram Airfield, still in Afghanistan, but on my way home. I just want to let everyone know there won't be another post from me for at least a couple weeks (As if I was good about updating otherwise), because I will be way too busy enjoying myself and relaxing.
I can't wait to get home to see my family, and the highlight of the vacation will be my best friend flying out to visit! Those of you that I talk to regularly are probably tired of hearing me say it, but I can't wait to get home. I can not wait.
See you all again in a few weeks!
I can't wait to get home to see my family, and the highlight of the vacation will be my best friend flying out to visit! Those of you that I talk to regularly are probably tired of hearing me say it, but I can't wait to get home. I can not wait.
See you all again in a few weeks!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The true heroes
Hey. Not a long post today.
I want to take the time to say this, though.
The real heroes aren't the soldiers out there every day, doing their jobs. That's all it is, just doing our job. The real heroes of this country are the soldiers who give their lives in the service of their country, the ones who aren't around anymore to tell their stories.
May they rest in peace, and their families and loved ones find solace.
June 12, 2010 will be a day I remember forever.
I want to take the time to say this, though.
The real heroes aren't the soldiers out there every day, doing their jobs. That's all it is, just doing our job. The real heroes of this country are the soldiers who give their lives in the service of their country, the ones who aren't around anymore to tell their stories.
May they rest in peace, and their families and loved ones find solace.
June 12, 2010 will be a day I remember forever.
Friday, June 11, 2010
To lose a friend
You know those violent shocks to reality I talked about in my last post? I guess you never know how violent they can be, until you experience them.
The only word I can think of to use for the road to the checkpoint (If you can call it a road) is "insane." Imagine driving an 18 wheeler down one of the narrow pedestrian paths of the Grand Canyon, that's what it felt like. We were responding to the Afghan National Police's request for help, in a remote area that could be called shady at best, and flat-out suspicious at worst. I don't know what they were doing and I don't care to know, but they caught the attention of some armed insurgents. As a result, we were rolling in, ready to help out our allies, ready for a fight.
By the time we arrived, I'll admit we weren't in the most cooperative of moods. The drive had taken it out of us already, and the general attitude was simply "fuck this," myself included. What I saw when we arrived was very sobering.
The commander of the precinct caught in the firefight, Commander Heidar, was carrying one of his men up a hill to their truck. The man's body was limp, draped over Heidar's shoulder. The commander held an AK-47 in his unoccupied hand, walking very solemnly, but with a purpose.
At that moment, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, the kind that makes you feel completely helpless and tiny. These men, our closest allies in the area, just lost one of their friends in combat. I have never experienced any major losses in my life, but this hit me pretty hard.
Long story short, we finished business in the area, feeling like we'd been beaten pretty badly. The Taliban had given us a black eye, and all we could do was take it. There was no revenge, we had done all we could and they had once again slipped into the night.
Several days later, our Lieutenant got a call from Heidar. He just wanted to talk - No business, no intel, just... talk.
We stopped at his headquarters, and our LT sat down and talked with him, simply as friends. I do not know what was said other than what I've been told, but Commander Heidar came away from it with a much better outlook, thankful that we are there for him. As he says, no one has ever honestly cared about his men as much as we are, American or otherwise. He is grateful to have us as his friends and as his allies in arms, and I for one am glad he's on our side.
The only word I can think of to use for the road to the checkpoint (If you can call it a road) is "insane." Imagine driving an 18 wheeler down one of the narrow pedestrian paths of the Grand Canyon, that's what it felt like. We were responding to the Afghan National Police's request for help, in a remote area that could be called shady at best, and flat-out suspicious at worst. I don't know what they were doing and I don't care to know, but they caught the attention of some armed insurgents. As a result, we were rolling in, ready to help out our allies, ready for a fight.
By the time we arrived, I'll admit we weren't in the most cooperative of moods. The drive had taken it out of us already, and the general attitude was simply "fuck this," myself included. What I saw when we arrived was very sobering.
The commander of the precinct caught in the firefight, Commander Heidar, was carrying one of his men up a hill to their truck. The man's body was limp, draped over Heidar's shoulder. The commander held an AK-47 in his unoccupied hand, walking very solemnly, but with a purpose.
At that moment, I felt a sinking feeling in my gut, the kind that makes you feel completely helpless and tiny. These men, our closest allies in the area, just lost one of their friends in combat. I have never experienced any major losses in my life, but this hit me pretty hard.
Long story short, we finished business in the area, feeling like we'd been beaten pretty badly. The Taliban had given us a black eye, and all we could do was take it. There was no revenge, we had done all we could and they had once again slipped into the night.
Several days later, our Lieutenant got a call from Heidar. He just wanted to talk - No business, no intel, just... talk.
We stopped at his headquarters, and our LT sat down and talked with him, simply as friends. I do not know what was said other than what I've been told, but Commander Heidar came away from it with a much better outlook, thankful that we are there for him. As he says, no one has ever honestly cared about his men as much as we are, American or otherwise. He is grateful to have us as his friends and as his allies in arms, and I for one am glad he's on our side.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
[dramatization]
It all feels just like training. Like we never left the states. Everything feels... fake. The only real, noticeable change is that we can't just go home when the day's done. The insurgents that are supposedly out there running around tend to keep to themselves, so we're left chasing after ghosts. It causes us to get complacent at times, giving us a false sense of security - why bother keeping our guard up if nothing ever happens?
Occasionally, however, we get a violent shock to reality. Everything becomes real, very quickly, when you see a group of kids on the side of the road, that may or may not have eaten in the last few days, begging for food. The threats show themselves a little more, when we find the aftermath of an IED blast in the street, and especially when they hit the base with mortar and rocket fire.
But then they're gone again. Not to be seen for who knows how long. We all revert back to actors, in a dramatization of war.
Don't get me wrong, we have a purpose here, and good things are being done. We've handed out food to people whose houses were recently wiped out due to landslides; bought telephone poles so the local government could better manage the power cables strewn across the streets of the local towns; and not long from now we'll be training the local Afghan Army and Police forces in Combat Lifesaving, to help them become a more effective fighting force.
But as an Infantryman, it feels like we're not doing what we came for, what we trained for. I should be kicking down doors, and filling bad guys with lead, to the tune of 7.62mm. But as it stands, with an invisible enemy that decides when, where, and even if they will hit us, we aren't able to do much of anything before they start shooting at us first.
I grew up fascinated with World War II, reading as much as I could find on the subject and learning a lot about history as I did. As a kid, I imagined being in a war like that, a conventional war. This "new war" is nothing like that, but it's the nature of the beast here in Afghanistan. The Russians have seen it's face, and now we get our turn. The best we can do is to play out our roles, and hope this drama we call war turns out well.
Occasionally, however, we get a violent shock to reality. Everything becomes real, very quickly, when you see a group of kids on the side of the road, that may or may not have eaten in the last few days, begging for food. The threats show themselves a little more, when we find the aftermath of an IED blast in the street, and especially when they hit the base with mortar and rocket fire.
But then they're gone again. Not to be seen for who knows how long. We all revert back to actors, in a dramatization of war.
Don't get me wrong, we have a purpose here, and good things are being done. We've handed out food to people whose houses were recently wiped out due to landslides; bought telephone poles so the local government could better manage the power cables strewn across the streets of the local towns; and not long from now we'll be training the local Afghan Army and Police forces in Combat Lifesaving, to help them become a more effective fighting force.
But as an Infantryman, it feels like we're not doing what we came for, what we trained for. I should be kicking down doors, and filling bad guys with lead, to the tune of 7.62mm. But as it stands, with an invisible enemy that decides when, where, and even if they will hit us, we aren't able to do much of anything before they start shooting at us first.
I grew up fascinated with World War II, reading as much as I could find on the subject and learning a lot about history as I did. As a kid, I imagined being in a war like that, a conventional war. This "new war" is nothing like that, but it's the nature of the beast here in Afghanistan. The Russians have seen it's face, and now we get our turn. The best we can do is to play out our roles, and hope this drama we call war turns out well.
Friday, May 28, 2010
A few notes for the day
I've decided I need to post on here more often; I've found this to be very therapeutic, especially when I don't have anyone to really talk to. So here's the notes for the day, for those who are keeping score.
- I miss home. This is a given though, that's gonna happen on deployment.
- We're leaving on a mission in a few days, and I kind of have a bad feeling about this one. Everyone has gotten hit but us, I feel like it's our turn.
- I wish I had more reading material. I've already read most everything I brought/was sent, and I've got friends sending me more, but until then I'm bored out of my mind.
- Change of Command, what the fuck? We're losing a squad leader, and soon we'll lose our platoon leader, CO, and First Sergeant. Doesn't seem to make sense to me, on deployment.
- How is it that the chow hall can serve lobster and steak tonight, but we weren't able to eat any real food for lunch? Just MREs?
- I still miss home.
- One of my best friends has been MIA the last couple days - mostly due to the time differences between here and home, I think - but I'm worried about her.
- The Afghan Army is really, really struggling here. We're trying to help, but... seriously? They're almost to the point of being hopeless.
- My buddy threw a rock at my knee. It fucking hurts. Thanks jackass.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Kids these days
"She's 18 now, right?"
"Yeah, I think so."
The wind blows through my hair, the sun shining on my face. Not quite the vacation getaway I had envisioned, but... take what you can get, I guess.
"Bump!"
The turret I'm standing in rocks, throwing me against the side and re-re-bruising my hip. I grip the M4 in my hands tighter and yell down to my driver, "Jesus! Take it easier on those!" He just laughs.
"I'm telling you, we will get Miley Cirus to come to Afghanistan," my Lieutenant claims. I see two kids on the side of the road, one waving, the other holding something up.
"She's going to meet me and fall in love."
As we near the kids, I take a closer look.
"We're gonna fuck, and she's gonna get pregnant. She'll have to stay."
It's a pistol. The kid is holding a gun. And he's pointing it directly at me. Instantly I tense up, and grip the M4 tighter.
"Whatever, sir. Keep dreaming."
Fuck. Suddenly my mind is running a mile a minute.
It's probably a toy... But it looks so real. What if I shoot and he was just playing with his new water gun? He looks happy, not hostile, and he's just a kid for fuck's sake, not even 8 years old.
I call down, asking what I should do. The Lt. tells me to get low and keep a close eye on him, so I do. Doubts are still running through my head.
Even if he doesn't shoot at me, what if he kills one of the gunners in a truck behind me, one of my friends?
The chatter in my truck has gone completely silent, tense, waiting to see what happens. We drive past the kid, my knuckles white on the grip of my rifle. I feel a bit relieved, but I'm listening closely for a gunshot behind me. I lose sight of the kid, and the seconds seem to take hours, waiting for a shot that I hope will never come.
There is no shot, there is no yelling, no signs of violence. Our convoy rolls past, without any incident. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"So, sir, when is Miley coming?"
"Yeah, I think so."
The wind blows through my hair, the sun shining on my face. Not quite the vacation getaway I had envisioned, but... take what you can get, I guess.
"Bump!"
The turret I'm standing in rocks, throwing me against the side and re-re-bruising my hip. I grip the M4 in my hands tighter and yell down to my driver, "Jesus! Take it easier on those!" He just laughs.
"I'm telling you, we will get Miley Cirus to come to Afghanistan," my Lieutenant claims. I see two kids on the side of the road, one waving, the other holding something up.
"She's going to meet me and fall in love."
As we near the kids, I take a closer look.
"We're gonna fuck, and she's gonna get pregnant. She'll have to stay."
It's a pistol. The kid is holding a gun. And he's pointing it directly at me. Instantly I tense up, and grip the M4 tighter.
"Whatever, sir. Keep dreaming."
Fuck. Suddenly my mind is running a mile a minute.
It's probably a toy... But it looks so real. What if I shoot and he was just playing with his new water gun? He looks happy, not hostile, and he's just a kid for fuck's sake, not even 8 years old.
I call down, asking what I should do. The Lt. tells me to get low and keep a close eye on him, so I do. Doubts are still running through my head.
Even if he doesn't shoot at me, what if he kills one of the gunners in a truck behind me, one of my friends?
The chatter in my truck has gone completely silent, tense, waiting to see what happens. We drive past the kid, my knuckles white on the grip of my rifle. I feel a bit relieved, but I'm listening closely for a gunshot behind me. I lose sight of the kid, and the seconds seem to take hours, waiting for a shot that I hope will never come.
There is no shot, there is no yelling, no signs of violence. Our convoy rolls past, without any incident. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"So, sir, when is Miley coming?"
An introduction
Well, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Ryan. The first thing you need to know about me is, my name is not Ryan.
I am a soldier in the US Army, deployed in an infantry brigade to Afghanistan. Names will be changed, and details altered for OPSEC and personal privacy.
I will write as often as I feel necessary, and as often as I am able to. Do not expect me to stick to a schedule.
This will be my place to vent; the journal that will preserve my own sanity. I am writing for myself, and no one else. Some entries will be offensive, and my language is not clean. Consider yourselves warned.
I am a soldier in the US Army, deployed in an infantry brigade to Afghanistan. Names will be changed, and details altered for OPSEC and personal privacy.
I will write as often as I feel necessary, and as often as I am able to. Do not expect me to stick to a schedule.
This will be my place to vent; the journal that will preserve my own sanity. I am writing for myself, and no one else. Some entries will be offensive, and my language is not clean. Consider yourselves warned.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Dear Journal
March 11, 1992
deer journal
today i wrote a letter to my mom it says i love you mommy and we played on the swings. i stayed at my best friends house and we played games until really late. i cant wait to go home though because my mom is making cookies
March 11, 1996
Dear Journal,
My teacher made us write letters to soldiers, I said thank you for serving and be safe. My friend Brian came over and we stayed up late playing video games. My dad has been out of town, he's coming back in a few days. I missed him.
March 11, 2001
Dear Journal,
My Social Studies class is tough. I don't know if I'll be able to pass it, the homework is hard. Our teacher had us writing letters to our congressmen today, we got to choose topics that mattered to us. I wrote about the homeless, asking him to help find jobs so they can have a real life, and get off the streets. After school, I went over to my buddy's house, we hung out all night. He's a good guy. My grandma's coming to visit in a week or so, she's bringing up a puppy!
March 11, 2004
Dear Journal,
Graduation is coming up. We opened letters to ourselves, written in 2000 when a lot of us were freshmen, starting out in High School. I can't even remember writing some of this stuff, it's ridiculous. Amazing how much you grow up in 4 years. My friends are planning a party soon - Kind of a pre-graduation party, I guess. It should be good. I've got a lot of family coming up for graduation; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents... the whole gang. I can't wait to see them, some of them I haven't seen in quite a while.
March 11, 2010
Dear Journal,
Today, I wrote letters. The worst kind of letters I could imagine writing. My pen seems to move itself: "I wish I didn't have to send this..." No, that won't do. I crumple the paper and start again. "Please don't forget me..." My eyes are beginning to well up... That won't work either. My hands are shaking as I try to think through a clouded mind. How can I say what I feel? It hurts so bad writing these letters. "I hope to God you never have to read this." I wrote, with all the heart I could muster up. The tears are steadily flowing now, and I want nothing more than to hold my loved ones in my arms, one more time. And so I write. I tell them everything I wish I could have before, but never had the courage to. I tell them things I hope they never have to hear.
When I was done, I gathered myself for a moment and went over to my squad-mate's room. When he answered the door, he immediately noticed something was wrong. "You okay, Ryan?" I responded, yeah. No more questions were asked... I didn't want to talk about it. We played some PlayStation, and I knew that he had felt the feelings I was going through before as well. This was easily the most emotional pain I've ever felt, but I was in good company. In short order, we were both happy again.
I can't wait to go home, to see my family and friends again. There is a long road ahead of me, filled with danger and heartache. But I keep thinking of my loved ones, and I feel rejuvenated. I can make it through. I put on my calm face again, and punched my buddy in the arm. "Let's go get something to eat, man."
Writing these has really opened my eyes. If there's anyone that actually reads this out there, please tell the people important in your life just how much they mean to you. Don't let them go another day without knowing for sure that you love them.
Another soldier says he's not afraid to die... I am scared... I'm so scared.
deer journal
today i wrote a letter to my mom it says i love you mommy and we played on the swings. i stayed at my best friends house and we played games until really late. i cant wait to go home though because my mom is making cookies
March 11, 1996
Dear Journal,
My teacher made us write letters to soldiers, I said thank you for serving and be safe. My friend Brian came over and we stayed up late playing video games. My dad has been out of town, he's coming back in a few days. I missed him.
March 11, 2001
Dear Journal,
My Social Studies class is tough. I don't know if I'll be able to pass it, the homework is hard. Our teacher had us writing letters to our congressmen today, we got to choose topics that mattered to us. I wrote about the homeless, asking him to help find jobs so they can have a real life, and get off the streets. After school, I went over to my buddy's house, we hung out all night. He's a good guy. My grandma's coming to visit in a week or so, she's bringing up a puppy!
March 11, 2004
Dear Journal,
Graduation is coming up. We opened letters to ourselves, written in 2000 when a lot of us were freshmen, starting out in High School. I can't even remember writing some of this stuff, it's ridiculous. Amazing how much you grow up in 4 years. My friends are planning a party soon - Kind of a pre-graduation party, I guess. It should be good. I've got a lot of family coming up for graduation; aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents... the whole gang. I can't wait to see them, some of them I haven't seen in quite a while.
March 11, 2010
Dear Journal,
Today, I wrote letters. The worst kind of letters I could imagine writing. My pen seems to move itself: "I wish I didn't have to send this..." No, that won't do. I crumple the paper and start again. "Please don't forget me..." My eyes are beginning to well up... That won't work either. My hands are shaking as I try to think through a clouded mind. How can I say what I feel? It hurts so bad writing these letters. "I hope to God you never have to read this." I wrote, with all the heart I could muster up. The tears are steadily flowing now, and I want nothing more than to hold my loved ones in my arms, one more time. And so I write. I tell them everything I wish I could have before, but never had the courage to. I tell them things I hope they never have to hear.
When I was done, I gathered myself for a moment and went over to my squad-mate's room. When he answered the door, he immediately noticed something was wrong. "You okay, Ryan?" I responded, yeah. No more questions were asked... I didn't want to talk about it. We played some PlayStation, and I knew that he had felt the feelings I was going through before as well. This was easily the most emotional pain I've ever felt, but I was in good company. In short order, we were both happy again.
I can't wait to go home, to see my family and friends again. There is a long road ahead of me, filled with danger and heartache. But I keep thinking of my loved ones, and I feel rejuvenated. I can make it through. I put on my calm face again, and punched my buddy in the arm. "Let's go get something to eat, man."
Writing these has really opened my eyes. If there's anyone that actually reads this out there, please tell the people important in your life just how much they mean to you. Don't let them go another day without knowing for sure that you love them.
Another soldier says he's not afraid to die... I am scared... I'm so scared.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Why?
Mile 4. Only 2 more to go.
His lungs are screaming for him to stop; his legs feel like they are going to explode. But he keeps running. Every so often a simple question comes to his mind: Why?
The question gives him some escape from the task at hand, and the soldiers around him disappear as his thoughts bring him inside himself. Why does he do it? What keeps his feet moving, his heart pumping? He thinks of his family back home, how much he misses them. He remembers his friends, who helped shape him into who he is today.
He could be doing so much more with his life, why is he here? He could be in college, taking in all life has to offer him. He could be working a job he loves, in the most beautiful city he knows. Abandoned were his lifestyle, his home, even his two tiny cats he loved so much. And for what?
He thought of his family again, and the proud look in their eyes when he left home. He was doing this for them.
He thought of his friends; who, though not all agreeing with his decision, showed respect for his chosen path. He was doing this for them, too.
He remembers the pride he felt, the first time he was able to call himself a soldier of the United States Army. He knows this is making him a better person.
He looked around himself, seeing dozens of soldiers, all of them having variations on the same train of thought. They all had families they missed, friends they would give anything to spend time with. They knew just as well as he did, soon they would all rely on each other to stay alive. With this, he rediscovers purpose, motivation.
He keeps running.
His lungs are screaming for him to stop; his legs feel like they are going to explode. But he keeps running. Every so often a simple question comes to his mind: Why?
The question gives him some escape from the task at hand, and the soldiers around him disappear as his thoughts bring him inside himself. Why does he do it? What keeps his feet moving, his heart pumping? He thinks of his family back home, how much he misses them. He remembers his friends, who helped shape him into who he is today.
He could be doing so much more with his life, why is he here? He could be in college, taking in all life has to offer him. He could be working a job he loves, in the most beautiful city he knows. Abandoned were his lifestyle, his home, even his two tiny cats he loved so much. And for what?
He thought of his family again, and the proud look in their eyes when he left home. He was doing this for them.
He thought of his friends; who, though not all agreeing with his decision, showed respect for his chosen path. He was doing this for them, too.
He remembers the pride he felt, the first time he was able to call himself a soldier of the United States Army. He knows this is making him a better person.
He looked around himself, seeing dozens of soldiers, all of them having variations on the same train of thought. They all had families they missed, friends they would give anything to spend time with. They knew just as well as he did, soon they would all rely on each other to stay alive. With this, he rediscovers purpose, motivation.
He keeps running.
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