Making a change???

It has been a long two months without writing anything here, or anywhere for that matter. Many things have happened and my attitude has changed dramatically since the last time I wrote here. Being in this environment makes one wonder about the future and if we will ever collect the fruit of our efforts.

About my efforts…

I have worked relentlessly to make a difference and for once in my life I can say that I do not think I am making a difference here. The people that we work for seem to agree with what we suggest, nod their heads and continue to do things the way that they see fit which 97% of the time is the wrong way to do business. I will spend the next few posts explaining some of the things that have drove me to think differently. Here is the first one:

• Accountability
  I do not think there is a word in the Iraqi language equivalent to accountability and if there is one--or maybe two--they have made their best to forget the significance of it. Property here comes and goes without ever being accounted for hence there is no accurate estimate of what we do or do not have in the regiment. For example…
  
  Let’s say that we had a few new Chevy pickup trucks within the regiment and they were dispersed equally to the different companies for the commander’s use. Then, let’s say that two of those trucks disappear from the area, what you think would be one of the first questions made to the people who signed for those trucks—the responsible party as we call them in our country.
  
  Under my command, one the first things asked would be: What is the serial number of the trucks unaccounted for? Well, apparently that would be a much too difficult question to answer around here because—as I heard from one of the commanders here—why keep serial numbers? If you have 5 donkeys, then you have 5 donkeys,…it does not matter which donkey you have…
  
  Fabulous! So, in the case presented above, there is no precise way to identify those vehicles because they just do not keep track of serial numbers. I guess it will be quite a circus to go out to town and look at every Chevy truck that drives by--friend or foe; that is the Iraqi way. So, you would think that would be a story that would deter them from not keeping all the information they would need in case of the disappearance of equipment, right? Oh no!!!
  
  I spent a whole hour with the commander I work with trying to explain why we should have 100% inventory of all property—equipment--in the company. At the end of the conversation he was still not convinced that it was necessary and I resolved to make him do it against his will. The problem is that because he does not see the purpose, he will not continue to do it on his own and the result will be the vanishing of—yet—more equipment that has been financed by the US government and consequently by yours and mine tax dollars….

Would that make you lose the enthusiasm of being here?

"What's Up?"

“[Thirty four] years and my life is still; trying to get up that great big hill of hope for a destination. I realized quickly when I knew I should, that the world was made up of this brotherhood of man for whatever that means. And so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed Just to get it all out what's in my head and I, I am feeling a little peculiar. And so I wake in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I get real high (on oxygen) and I scream from the top of my lungs, What's going on? And I try, oh my god do I try; I try all the time, in this institution. And I pray, oh my god do I pray; I pray every single day, for a revolution.”

How can I sum my current life any better? Thank goodness for “4 Non Blondes” and their song. It really depicts what I am feeling over here. Feeling like I am standing in a black hole where nothing moves, nothing happens while everybody that I care about moves on with their lives without me. My life here is stagnating; there are no real joys but to look forward to an email or a letter on mail day. I have stopped reading, stopped writing and I lie to myself all the time by saying that everything is alright. How can I be? I live in constant uncertainty, nothing is guaranteed and I cannot count on having all the things I wish I had.

I often think of my children and it disturbs me to feel as if they were a distant dream. I miss them so dearly and I miss being Vanessa, the mother. I miss having tender moments with my children; the moments that have kept my sanity over so many years. Here, nobody knows that side of me; they only know CPT Hill the smart ass, the loner and the weird. I lock myself in my room and dream of my life getting better, of getting out of this place with something that would have made it worth my broken heart, something more than money. Consequently, I am enraged with my current situation. The more I think about what I am getting out of this deployment, the more I discover that change here for these people is almost impossible, it cannot be done in a year and this feeling of loss and misdirection is all in vain.

What’s the alternative? How long am I going to live in constant fear of having to sacrifice my desires again? And who the heck said that we love what we doing over here? Who did they ask? I am happy to serve my country but I am sure not happy about the mission they have sent me to do. To make a long story short, if there could be a way to make you a hopeless person in a matter of a couple of months…this is it!

A Day to Celebrate...

Eight years ago, in front of the JFK memorial in Dallas, TX, a 26 year old woman—I—celebrated the 34th birthday of the man that would become the father of her children. I have spent a wonderful time with “the guy with the great tan and the pretty blue eyes,” and for his birthday I gave him the biggest birthday present that I have ever given to him; telling him that I was carrying his baby. There are only a few true significant moments in life and this one was one of them. I told him that I was going to take a picture of him in front of the memorial and while I held the camera I said, “Smile, I am pregnant!” and snap the shot of this face right after the news.

It has been eight years since that day but the magic of that moment will always remain. Ever since then, Trace has always put his role as a father is front of any other variables in our lives. He has given more and sacrificed more than any man I know for the sake of his children and for me. Today honey, I want to thank you for being a wonderful father to your three sons. I want to thank you for being there for and for having faith in my goals and my decisions.

There is not much I can write without being too personal when it comes to you, so I am going to leave it for your personal email but know that I am thinking about you here in Iraq and I hope you have a Happy Birthday with the boys. I love you.

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.