Ode to the Machine
I walked out of the trailer expressionless, after two days of trying to get out of Baghdad. I had placed everything in the footlocker and locked it closed. I knew how these things worked. I knew that I might not get back.
In the end, there was no fanfare, no long goodbyes. There was no last stop for coffee, no tears, no obligatory "thank you for your service." In the end, I checked into the process and boarded yet another plane. Thirty hours later, I was home in my own bed. Life is strange. Though months have passed, I still do not feel like I am really, really home. Much has changed. I have changed. My life has changed.
I jump at loud noises, and miss the sounds of Blackhawks flying a hundred feet over me at night. I have not yet established a new routine, so unsure I am of all that is now happening to me. There are excuses, but no real explanations. There is paperwork that mysteriously disappeared, and hushed conversations. Yet I know how these things work. For the Machine has a life of its own, a spirit of its own. I was only a small cog, and a disposable one at that, one that would never be missed. That was a given for us all. We were nothing. Our presence was meaningless.
When I left for Iraq, I was filled with fear. There was no excitement, no real feeling that this would be a fun adventure. We all knew it would be tough. But I never knew just how tough....how long the nights would be, how furiously the moments of terror would pulse through me, how the small kindnesses would be the thing that I remember most. It was a hot day when I landed, and I had never seen a country so ugly, so brown, so wasted. But when I left, I had grown used to the desert. I noted the small signs of life that were eeked out of the miserable heat, and knew that life, even so small, was relentless. As was I.
I never knew I could survive this, and had genuine fear that I would not. I was not an ex-soldier, I was a suburban housewife. Yes, I was tough, much tougher than most; but the Machine tested me beyond anything I could imagine. In the end, I reached into places I had no idea I still had, and found myself, my life, again.
For every moment I hated it, I also was thankful. And grateful that I could find my way. Certainly no one helped. And I remain thankful for those who laughed with me, needed me, respected me, and taught me.
There is not yet a day that I do not think about Baghdad. And oddly, there is not a day that I don't miss being there...the searing heat, the blinding dust, the oppressive smells and sights of the New American War. For amidst the confusion, I found clarity.
Forgive us for what we have done, Iraq.
In the end, there was no fanfare, no long goodbyes. There was no last stop for coffee, no tears, no obligatory "thank you for your service." In the end, I checked into the process and boarded yet another plane. Thirty hours later, I was home in my own bed. Life is strange. Though months have passed, I still do not feel like I am really, really home. Much has changed. I have changed. My life has changed.
I jump at loud noises, and miss the sounds of Blackhawks flying a hundred feet over me at night. I have not yet established a new routine, so unsure I am of all that is now happening to me. There are excuses, but no real explanations. There is paperwork that mysteriously disappeared, and hushed conversations. Yet I know how these things work. For the Machine has a life of its own, a spirit of its own. I was only a small cog, and a disposable one at that, one that would never be missed. That was a given for us all. We were nothing. Our presence was meaningless.
When I left for Iraq, I was filled with fear. There was no excitement, no real feeling that this would be a fun adventure. We all knew it would be tough. But I never knew just how tough....how long the nights would be, how furiously the moments of terror would pulse through me, how the small kindnesses would be the thing that I remember most. It was a hot day when I landed, and I had never seen a country so ugly, so brown, so wasted. But when I left, I had grown used to the desert. I noted the small signs of life that were eeked out of the miserable heat, and knew that life, even so small, was relentless. As was I.
I never knew I could survive this, and had genuine fear that I would not. I was not an ex-soldier, I was a suburban housewife. Yes, I was tough, much tougher than most; but the Machine tested me beyond anything I could imagine. In the end, I reached into places I had no idea I still had, and found myself, my life, again.
For every moment I hated it, I also was thankful. And grateful that I could find my way. Certainly no one helped. And I remain thankful for those who laughed with me, needed me, respected me, and taught me.
There is not yet a day that I do not think about Baghdad. And oddly, there is not a day that I don't miss being there...the searing heat, the blinding dust, the oppressive smells and sights of the New American War. For amidst the confusion, I found clarity.
Forgive us for what we have done, Iraq.
posted by akantha at 1:54 AM
3 Comments:
Beautiful. Heartfelt. We are all pawns in the same sick game, and the struggle is what life is all about. Thank you!
Hi - do you still exist?
This is Matt, one of your favorite customers ;)
Go dimmer module.
Matt? Of dimmer module fame? :)Glad you found me. Am finally going on to the long awaited post-Iraq blog. Should start this week. Hope those dimmers are surviving. Sigh.
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