A Day of Remembrance…

Almost fifteen years ago, I met a young man so unusual, so kind and so understanding that people could not helpbut to like him. He had reddish hair, very fair skin and eyes so bright they sometimes seem to be fluorescent spots in his face. He loved Jimmy Hendrix, Pink Floyd and “The Dead.” He worn cut off jeans, a t-shirt and Birkenstocks even in the coldest day of the winter. He walked into every new age and hippie store he found along the way and philosophized about the nature of man, destiny and his own life. Underneath his quietness, he constantly fought to survive, he fought to let go of events that left deep wounds in his soul.

He was the kind of person that you cannot stay be mad with, the kind of person that are here for a short time but leave something extraordinary behind. I saw his happiest day and I saw some of his saddest days. I shared a lot of life with him and I learned a lot about life from him. He was one of the few that accepted my mistakes, my shortcomings and never gave up on me.

He was so confident in my strength and ability to make it that he entrusted me with his greatest possession. He was so selfless, he saw in Trace the qualities of a man that could protect and love the only thing of absolute significance to him in this world, his own son. His extraordinary gifts to us was his ability to forgive and forget, to be humble even when it hurts your heart and to do what you think if best for those you love.

At the end, in May 8, 2002—at the age of 27—he lost his fight against life but his memory will always remain and his legacy lives on with us. Today, he would have been 33 years old. The more I think about it, the more I know that he also would have been disgusted with the war and all the devious things happening in our country right now. This short blog post is for you, John C. Fitch because we have never met another person like you. Thank you for given me the greatest thing you could have given to anybody, thank you for our Kabral. Our home never forgets you…

On and On About "My Island"...

It has been a very insightful week for me. I feel that my senses and my thoughts are more profound than before; life has a different meaning to me now. Changes—although somewhat daunting for some—are refreshing to me. I enjoy identifying weaknesses and things that limit my development. I always look at ways of reinventing myself, my life and discarding everything that is toxic and obstructive. With that being said, this deployment is helping define who I am, what I want and—most importantly—that I do not have to be intimidated about expressing my opinion; whoever is going to like or love me will do without me trying to accommodate my life into theirs.

All this soul searching has led me to think of my upbringing and the lessons I have learned over the past 34 years of life here on “my” world. Simultaneously, I think of “My Dear Island” and the way in which they are struggling to support a country that grants them citizenship, financial benefits while their vote holds no weight in Washington DC. Trace sent me an article that sums up the hazy duality of the Island’s perspective towards the war. As in the US—where the issue of the war has made many moderates side with the Democrats—in Puerto Rico, the war is making many of its public side with the Puerto Rican Independence Party (PIP). The tiresome lack of progress, refusal to establish timelines and the increased amount of dead soldiers fighting for a war that continues to blur the reasoning of a people who have shown patriotism and loyalty to the US in previous conflicts is taking its toll in Puerto Rico.

The Pentagon has released the names of 37 Puerto Rican hostile deaths –three of which were females—in both Afghanistan and Iraq; these do not include the number of non-hostile deaths. I tried insatiably to find the numbers myself but my efforts were fruitless. I only discovered that there were 652 non-hostile deaths reported to the US including the number of Puerto Ricans as well—as they did when reporting the number of female fatalities. I learned that there have been 178 wounded Puerto Ricans—as reported by the Pentagon—although the numbers are being challenged due to the common practice of including the numbers with those of the US. Some also argue about the relevance of first generation Puerto Ricans living in the US or ones that have simply moved here, resolved to join the military and then lost their lives. The argument infers the reported number of deaths for Puerto Ricans should be higher.

While researching information for this post, I ran into an interesting article about the first Army nurse to die since Vietnam. What made it interesting is that CPT Maria I. Ortiz was Puerto Rican; she was born in New Jersey but her parents moved back to Puerto Rico where in 1991 she enlisted the US Army Reserve—I guess she grants validity to the argument previously discussed. Her story was very familiar—going active duty in 1993, being commissioned in 1999—which ingnited a spark of curiosity about exactly how publicized was the first death of an Army nurse since Vietnam. I found one article in the Washington Post and the rest were blog spaces and less read news sources like: Intel Dump, Patriot Guard Riders, Journal-News, MEDCOM Now, State of New Jersey website, Nurse POV, Outside the Beltway, Heroes Memorial, A commanders blog from Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Mail Call! Supporting the Troops, A Soldier’s Perspective, and Military.com. There was no mention of her in the New York Times, or other major news providers.

During my quest to find out if anybody noticed what I have, I found an article that relieved some of the disenchantment I was experiencing at the time. The article tells the story of a—near nine month old—baby girl who was found in a mound of trash named Fatima and who is under the care of CPT Ortiz co-workers. Of course, a military newspaper, distributed to military personnel— and contractors—that are serving in Iraq and Afghanistan wrote it. Despite the fact that the real world—still— do not seem to hear or care about these events, I am—still—adamant to reveal the little stories to as many people as I can.

At the end, “my people” are protesting the war—disapproval rate of around 75%--as the mainland concurrently protest it. Still, there are many, MANY, that volunteer to serve in a war they may not approve of but they recognize the need to fulfill their duties. They give everything they can give and their efforts provoke waves of un-selfish acts inspired by the very person that worked to make a difference in a world of constant disappointment. While we hear about how many Puerto Ricans are opting out of US military life, we seldom hear about the ones that gave it all and paid the ultimate price for a country where they DO NOT have a vote for the type of government that will rule them or a say on the wars they will fight.

It is just another day...

Living, eating, and breathing everything that is foreign to me has made me question if I am aware of what is familiar anymore. The days under this inextinguishable heat are long, boring, and depressing to say the least. The nights are lonely, quiet, and incredibly long. I spend most nights sitting in my bed, think about sleeping but not sleeping at all. I watch the clock run as the night becomes day and I am still sitting in my bed. The little things,… the little things are getting to me at night. I roll and roll in bed, I talk to myself, I read books, and I think of all the things that I want to happen; still no serenity. It is grueling to have this much time in my hands.

I usually find pleasure in the little things and make the best out any situation; not now…not today, I am unable to cope right now. I need a safe place for my heart and my mind; I need some kind of comfort. I look forward for mail call; it makes me feel loved, remembered and worthy. I know it sounds so weird to say that a simple piece of mail makes me feel worthy but it does. While I sit here, I cannot help but to think that I am out of the picture while the life I used to be part of continues without me. When I get an email, a letter, a package…my heart rejoice and I am reminded my life continues without me but it will be there for me when I get back.

Fire in the sky...

Last Saturday, July 28th 2007, I was sitting around watching TV, having my usual sleeping problems and then I heard a big boom. A few of us ran outside, climbed to the roof to see what was going on, and there we saw the sky lighten up in the horizon at the nearby American FOB. Apparently, the FOB had a mortar attack close to their Ammunition Holding Area. I sat down on the roof of our building while I had an eerie feeling taken over me and making my skin crawl with hopelessness.

The FOB is so close that—from the roof—we could even see the lights of the emergency vehicles that were going to the area. The fire in the sky was bright; it almost looked as if the sun was going to rise from the FOB itself. I have never seen anything like it thus my amazement was uncanny and the realization that I am in Iraq, in the war zone, vulnerable to the enemy, sank into my cerebral matter with the speed of light.

After watching the light display and wishing that there were no casualties—since it was 2 am—I went back to the TV. The stations were broadcasting an emergency message at the bottom of the screen telling people to take cover; WOW!!! Take cover!!! I had only seen those messages ran for hurricanes and tornados. Now, I read them to know if I have to take cover from a mortar attack.

Do not get me wrong, the base we are in is fairly safe, but this is war…nothing is safe. That is the lesson I took away from that night; never let your guard down because as comfortable as you are, you are still in the middle of the war.

Trace asked me if I am going to be ok when I come back home from the war, my response is still the same; I do not know. I do not know what other things I am going to witness while I am here. I do not know how close I am going to be to the next attack. I do not know if I have to help respond to an attack. I do not know if I have to see people hurt, scream in agonizing pain or even die. I do not know if I will not get to see any of that, therefore I do not know how I am going to be when I get back.

Groundhog Day...

It has been a long time since I written here in this blog. A lot has happen but nothing has happened. I have gotten into my routine, which seems to consist on getting up, going to see my counterpart, give the usual greetings, drink chi and find something that needs attention. There is always something that needs to be done or addressed but it is difficult to actually find the underlying cause of things and make a difference.

We are having trouble with the power and spent a few days with it gone for most of the day. It was utterly annoying. The heat was creeping into our rooms and there was no escaping it. I just decided to sleep most of the time during the day but then I developed a weird kind of insomnia that I am still trying to shake off.

Trace and the kids went on vacation to California and had a great time. I wish I would have been there but the Army seems to need me more at this time. It is amazing the little things that I have learned to appreciate while being here, i.e. I would give anything to be there and change all the crappy diapers Vance had because at least I would be there.

Life here is like Groundhog Day every day, it seems like I am living the same day repeatedly. I have been deployed for two months now and it feels like I have been here forever. Once the workday is over there is absolutely nothing to do but to listen to music, play cards or watch movies. I cannot go and run by myself so that’s out of the question and any of you that has ran with me before know that it is not fun to run with me.

I have been reading a book name “Lucky” from Alice Seabold. It is a good book and it has me hooked. Besides that…nothing going on here. The news back home are still the same, I watch the news in disbelief; how can they forget about us like that? There is so much going on here, so many stories, so many successes and failures but I still see that the coverage is minimal. It is too sad but then again, out of sight, out of mind, right. Isn’t that the effect they were aiming for? "We" fight the war there so they can forget about it here--meaning the mainland. Well, as Borat would say: “Great success!!!” I think they have achieved it.

I hope that this post find everyone of you in good health and that you are enjoying the summer. Remember to write and to keep me in your thoughts. I miss being home…