Dripping slowly towards oblivion, we ride. Seemingly obnoxious memories flow through my fingers faster than i can put them on paper. trees of knowledge sprout up like wingless angels coming back to life. Entirely different and new things arrange themselves in orderless chaos, making it appear that everything and nothing is known.
To many times we give up on the ease that is the existence of emotion.
Who knew that I could scream so silently?
30 days. 30 days. 30 days. 30 days. 30 days.
too long, yet not long enough.
She will always be there, like a splinter, driving me insane.
Algebra.
Commotion.
The bed rocks. I feel like I'm drowning.
The star pattern on her back I will never see. The blue ice i will never drink again. Cuts that look like boiling water, so the man doesn't worry about your tendencies. Who knew you would make a u-turn? Are you SURE this is the road you want to go on?
Better be light and fluffy frosting.
Belonging to a country yet not.
YOUR MOVE, HOLY MAN.
...... What the fuck was that all about?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
College Application Essay
Please let me know what you think.
Discuss some issue of personal, local, national, or international concern and its importance to you.
I was in eighth grade when the Twin Towers fell. I was young, and therefore unable to properly digest and analyze the life-changing occasion that I had experienced. The only real memory I have of that day was when I came home from school, and joined my family around the living-room television. Tuned to ABC, I saw Peter Jennings say a sentence that forever will stay with me: “The Defense Department is working to find the SOBs that did this.”
When I was sitting on that couch, watching the replays over and over, I didn’t really understand what Peter meant. And I don’t think I really did until recently, when I went ‘outside the wire’ for the first time, here in Afghanistan. I saw, with my own eyes, what the media outlets and the military never could show me. Sure, I’ve seen the poor villagers on the news. I knew that Afghanistan was impoverished. But to have young children pulling on your arm, and with the widest eyes, beg for water because the Taliban sealed their village’s well for cooperating with America, I began to understand what Peter meant.
I joined the Army specifically to go to Afghanistan. I wanted adventure. I wanted experience. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to know what was really going on. When I got here, I discovered that all I really wanted to do was help.
I am a combat photojournalist for the Vermont Army National Guard. My primary job is to go on missions with various units doing various roles and tell their story. One day, I might be on a Blackhawk helicopter, delivering .50 caliber machine guns to a base in the middle of the mountains. The next day, I might be with an Agricultural Development Team, teaching Afghans how to grow soybeans instead of poppies. You know what they say: “If you love your job, you never spend a day of your life working.”
It’s true, I love my job, but I doubt myself. Is what I’m doing giving positive change to the situation in these villages? Will my pictures touch the heart of someone enough to give relief to these children who only want water and shoes? I guess I’m not seeing the big picture. Big Army is a huge machine, and it takes a long time for this machine to start moving. I’m sure wells will be dug, and other humanitarian aid will be given. Maybe Afghanistan will become a stable country.
I truly believe in the work we are trying to do here. The unpopularity of this war is hindering our progress. There’s constant talk of leaving this country in the hands of the Afghans. “Bring the boys home,” they say. I totally understand where these people are coming from. What mother wants her son to risk his life to stabilize a country a world away?
For someone who sees these kids from a world away, let me say this; if we are not going to help these people, who will? I’m not one for revenge. Yes, what happened on September 11 is a horrific and heinous act. But is it man’s job to exact justice? Or is it man’s job to lend a hand and actually give these villagers hope? I consider our occupation in Afghanistan a humanitarian mission, and I think it should be looked at and treated as such. Darfur received so much coverage and exposure for the crimes against humanity being committed there. The same type of thing is happening in Afghanistan. We are already here. We need to fix these problems, even if they are not our problems. They are problems of children, and that fact should have no political agenda.
Discuss some issue of personal, local, national, or international concern and its importance to you.
I was in eighth grade when the Twin Towers fell. I was young, and therefore unable to properly digest and analyze the life-changing occasion that I had experienced. The only real memory I have of that day was when I came home from school, and joined my family around the living-room television. Tuned to ABC, I saw Peter Jennings say a sentence that forever will stay with me: “The Defense Department is working to find the SOBs that did this.”
When I was sitting on that couch, watching the replays over and over, I didn’t really understand what Peter meant. And I don’t think I really did until recently, when I went ‘outside the wire’ for the first time, here in Afghanistan. I saw, with my own eyes, what the media outlets and the military never could show me. Sure, I’ve seen the poor villagers on the news. I knew that Afghanistan was impoverished. But to have young children pulling on your arm, and with the widest eyes, beg for water because the Taliban sealed their village’s well for cooperating with America, I began to understand what Peter meant.
I joined the Army specifically to go to Afghanistan. I wanted adventure. I wanted experience. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to know what was really going on. When I got here, I discovered that all I really wanted to do was help.
I am a combat photojournalist for the Vermont Army National Guard. My primary job is to go on missions with various units doing various roles and tell their story. One day, I might be on a Blackhawk helicopter, delivering .50 caliber machine guns to a base in the middle of the mountains. The next day, I might be with an Agricultural Development Team, teaching Afghans how to grow soybeans instead of poppies. You know what they say: “If you love your job, you never spend a day of your life working.”
It’s true, I love my job, but I doubt myself. Is what I’m doing giving positive change to the situation in these villages? Will my pictures touch the heart of someone enough to give relief to these children who only want water and shoes? I guess I’m not seeing the big picture. Big Army is a huge machine, and it takes a long time for this machine to start moving. I’m sure wells will be dug, and other humanitarian aid will be given. Maybe Afghanistan will become a stable country.
I truly believe in the work we are trying to do here. The unpopularity of this war is hindering our progress. There’s constant talk of leaving this country in the hands of the Afghans. “Bring the boys home,” they say. I totally understand where these people are coming from. What mother wants her son to risk his life to stabilize a country a world away?
For someone who sees these kids from a world away, let me say this; if we are not going to help these people, who will? I’m not one for revenge. Yes, what happened on September 11 is a horrific and heinous act. But is it man’s job to exact justice? Or is it man’s job to lend a hand and actually give these villagers hope? I consider our occupation in Afghanistan a humanitarian mission, and I think it should be looked at and treated as such. Darfur received so much coverage and exposure for the crimes against humanity being committed there. The same type of thing is happening in Afghanistan. We are already here. We need to fix these problems, even if they are not our problems. They are problems of children, and that fact should have no political agenda.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Give Us Free
One of the most significant things I did during my time at home while I was on leave was get my first tattoo. Now, many have asked what the tattoo is, and then when told about it, what it signifies. I figured I'd write a little about my choice, and what it means to me.
If you went to high school during the past 10 years, I'm sure you've seen the movie Amistad during one of your history classes. No? Well, let me explain the story to you. Well, let me let Wikipedia help me explain it to you:
On July 2, 1839, Sengbe Pieh (later known in the United States as Joseph Cinqué) led 56 fellow Africans (52 adults and 4 children), the captives being transported aboard La Amistad from Havana, in a revolt against their captors. In the main hold below decks, the captives found a rusty file. The captives freed themselves, and they quickly ascended the stairs to deck. Armed with machete-like cane knives, they were successful in gaining control of the ship and demanded to be returned home. The ship's navigator, Don Pedro Montez, deceived them about which direction their course was on and sailed the ship north along the North American coast to the eastern tip of Long Island, New York. The United States Revenue Cutter Service discovered the schooner and took it and its occupants into custody. They took the Africans to Connecticut to be sold as slaves. A widely publicized court case ensued in New Haven, Connecticut, about the ship and the legal status of the African captives, which became a cause célèbre among abolitionists in the United States. At the time, the transport of slaves from Africa to the Americas was illegal, so the ship owners fraudulently described the Africans as having been born in Cuba. The court had to decide if the Africans were to be considered salvage and the property of naval officers who had taken custody of the ship, whether they were the property of the Cuban buyers or of Spain as Queen Isabella II of Spain claimed, or if the circumstances of their capture and transportation meant they were free. On appeal, The Amistad case reached the US Supreme Court, which in 1841 ruled in that the Africans had been illegally transported and held as slaves, and ordered them freed. The Amistad survivors returned to Africa in 1842.
History lesson over. The reason I remember this event in history is because Steven Spielberg directed a film that depicts it. During the court proceedings, tension in the courtroom rises, ultimately prompting Cinqué (the leader of the slaves) to leap from his seat and cry "Give us free" over and over, a heartfelt plea using the English he has learned.
He just wanted to go home.
Now, I'm not a huge fan of the whole Amistad thing. I just think that it is interesting to consider America the Land of The Free, when our freedom was built on the shoulders of slaves. 'Give Us Free' is my way of saying I recognize this fact, and I will always remember the sacrifices that people all around the world give just so they can have a taste of something we as Americans take for granted. In Afghanistan, I see so many people live happy with so little. So much hardship and pain grips this country.
'Give Us Free' also speaks to the mental chains that weigh our spirits and our souls down. The truth is, we are not free. We are slaves to design and commercialism. We don't understand the language of the people running our lives enough to let them know that we've had enough. So, those that can speak up and yell as loud as they can and act and defend themselves with what they have.
Am I making sense? Cinqué didn't have to say 'Give Us Free' in real life to have what is over my heart mean any less. I just want to show the fact that I desire freedom for everyone, especially those who don't know how to ask for it.
If you went to high school during the past 10 years, I'm sure you've seen the movie Amistad during one of your history classes. No? Well, let me explain the story to you. Well, let me let Wikipedia help me explain it to you:
On July 2, 1839, Sengbe Pieh (later known in the United States as Joseph Cinqué) led 56 fellow Africans (52 adults and 4 children), the captives being transported aboard La Amistad from Havana, in a revolt against their captors. In the main hold below decks, the captives found a rusty file. The captives freed themselves, and they quickly ascended the stairs to deck. Armed with machete-like cane knives, they were successful in gaining control of the ship and demanded to be returned home. The ship's navigator, Don Pedro Montez, deceived them about which direction their course was on and sailed the ship north along the North American coast to the eastern tip of Long Island, New York. The United States Revenue Cutter Service discovered the schooner and took it and its occupants into custody. They took the Africans to Connecticut to be sold as slaves. A widely publicized court case ensued in New Haven, Connecticut, about the ship and the legal status of the African captives, which became a cause célèbre among abolitionists in the United States. At the time, the transport of slaves from Africa to the Americas was illegal, so the ship owners fraudulently described the Africans as having been born in Cuba. The court had to decide if the Africans were to be considered salvage and the property of naval officers who had taken custody of the ship, whether they were the property of the Cuban buyers or of Spain as Queen Isabella II of Spain claimed, or if the circumstances of their capture and transportation meant they were free. On appeal, The Amistad case reached the US Supreme Court, which in 1841 ruled in that the Africans had been illegally transported and held as slaves, and ordered them freed. The Amistad survivors returned to Africa in 1842.
History lesson over. The reason I remember this event in history is because Steven Spielberg directed a film that depicts it. During the court proceedings, tension in the courtroom rises, ultimately prompting Cinqué (the leader of the slaves) to leap from his seat and cry "Give us free" over and over, a heartfelt plea using the English he has learned.
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| From Drop Box |
He just wanted to go home.
Now, I'm not a huge fan of the whole Amistad thing. I just think that it is interesting to consider America the Land of The Free, when our freedom was built on the shoulders of slaves. 'Give Us Free' is my way of saying I recognize this fact, and I will always remember the sacrifices that people all around the world give just so they can have a taste of something we as Americans take for granted. In Afghanistan, I see so many people live happy with so little. So much hardship and pain grips this country.
'Give Us Free' also speaks to the mental chains that weigh our spirits and our souls down. The truth is, we are not free. We are slaves to design and commercialism. We don't understand the language of the people running our lives enough to let them know that we've had enough. So, those that can speak up and yell as loud as they can and act and defend themselves with what they have.
Am I making sense? Cinqué didn't have to say 'Give Us Free' in real life to have what is over my heart mean any less. I just want to show the fact that I desire freedom for everyone, especially those who don't know how to ask for it.
Get those jazz hands snapping!
Here’s a story:
In late October of last year, before this whole deployment thing, I was on an adventure to the town of Castine, Maine to meet up with an old friend, Heidi. I was traveling in my 1974 VW Westy on Route 2 for most of the way. At around 8pm, I encountered the last town in New Hampshire, a small town called (I believe) Gorham. It was there that the first part of this epic tale began. It was a simple act of purchasing a Red Bull from the store. I was confident of my gas situation (My gas gage is broke on my bus), so I continued into Maine until I encountered the town of North Paris, Maine. I went into the gas station and asked to fill my tank before I paid, due to the fact that I was paying in cash, and my gauge was broke. The guy said ‘sure, as long as you pay’, and I went on my merry way, pumping the premium fuel into the bus. It was after the pump shut off and the meter red around $50.00 that I patted my pockets and felt nothing but my leg.
My wallet was gone.
After quickly checking the rest of my pockets and the bus, I deduced that I had left my wallet on the counter at the gas station in Bethel – 45 minutes and a state away. I convinced the gas station guy to let me drive back to the station to get the wallet, after giving him my license plate number (Oregon Plates, btw. I live in Vermont. This is less than legal) and my word that I would return, and I turned the bus around and drove the 45 minutes back to Gorham. It was in Bethel, Maine, what I believe to be the last town in Maine before New Hampshire that I was pulled over for the first time in my life. 50 in a 30, construction zone, at around midnight, on a Sunday. Illegal plates, no wallet, meaning no license, no registration, no inspection, no insurance. In short, I was screwed.
After telling Mr. Policeman that I had none of the things that he was asking for, he asked my basic information. (Now, this is key) I said Roy, R-O-Y, then Mercon, while lifting up my Army uniform and showing him my name tape while I spelt M-E-R-C-O-N for him.
“Oh, you’re in the service, you say?”
“Yes, Officer, I am.”
“Well, I was gonna tow you, but now I’m gonna just give you a $280 fine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He went to his car to look me up, to see if I was who I said I was. Meanwhile, I was on the phone, letting my parents and Heidi know I got pulled over, and to standby. Oh, did I mention it was pouring rain at this time? After about 5 minutes, he came back to my window, and told me that, according to the Great State of Maine, Roy Mercon did not exist. Now, I was born here, so I know that that couldn’t be right. After getting some more info from me, including my social and all that, he went back to his car, and again, he came back.
“Well, Mr. Mercon, according to my computer, you don’t exist. Please be careful when driving through town, and mind the speed limit. Have a nice day.”
He let me go. With a verbal warning. That is luck, right there.
So, future renewed, I drove the final 10 miles to the gas station in New Hampshire. Different gas station lady. No wallet and no way to look at the cameras until Monday. Screwed. Again. Or was I?
I went through my bus completely. Under back seats, behind curtains, under the sink, everywhere. It was nowhere to be found. While I was doing this, another cop pulls into the gas station.
“What are you up to, son?”
I explained the situation, in three part harmony, and the guy just shook his head.
“That sucks, son. Tell you what; I’m gonna drop off my partner here at the station, and then I’ll come back and see If we can’t figure this whole thing out. I’ll be back in about 5.”
Sure enough, 5 minutes later, the cruiser pulled into the gas station.
“Now, where is this wallet of yours?”
He pulls out his MAG Light, and without asking to enter or anything, climbed into the back of the bus, flashlight sweeping. After a few, he steps out.
Sure enough, he found nothing. “You’re wallet’s not in here, son.”
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet.
“Will $50 get you on your way?”
Hands me a fitty, Grant looking up at me, with just the hint of a smile.
“Here’s my card. Pay me back when you can. Good luck.” And he drives away, leaving me dumbstruck. 2 cops in as many hours. Both with unbelievable occurrences.
So, I decided to drive back to North Paris. I figured I could at least keep my promise and pay that guy back for the gas he gave me. When I pulled out of that gas station, it hit me. Between my two stops, I had pulled over on the side of the road to relieve myself. Maybe it was there that my wallet was. I drove cautiously through Maine, not about to push my luck any further than I already had, until I reached what I thought was the fated construction zone where I pulled over. I then put the bus into first and hugged the white line, high beams illuminating the rain hitting the brand-new pavement. I was hoping against hope to see a black leather wallet on the side of the road in the pouring rain in the middle of the night. I had no other choice.
It was the speed bump in the road that did it, I think. The bus, without warning, died. No lights, no radio, no engine. Just darkness, no wallet, the middle of the road in the middle of the night.
With tears welling in my eyes, I went to the back of the bus to check the engine. I’m not a car guy, but it was quite obvious what had happened. The battery terminal popped off in such a way that I had to reach and find my inner MacGyver figure out some creative ways to fix it. After about 20 minutes, the lights popped back on, as loyal as ever. I got back in the bus, and crossed my fingers as I turned the key. The engine started. Then I looked in front of the car. What was that square-shaped black bump in the road? Could it be?
As I picked up my wallet, all $250 still inside, I thought to myself, “There’s no way anyone’s gonna believe what happened tonight.”
But no shit, world, this totally happened.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
We are nowhere, and it's now.
This morning, I saw an Air Force dude sitting at a table, with a laptop and a Dora the Explorer book. He was reading his little daughter a bedtime story. I'm so glad i don't have kids right now. I don't think I could do that.
Now that I've completed my rest and recuperation leave, I think I can give a proper assessment of what went down. Makes sense, right? Now that it's over, I can talk about it.
I was really apprehensive the night before I got on the plane to go home. Would home be as I'd left it? Would leave be as enjoyable and full of adventure as I'd hope it'd be? Would people get sick of me after a bit? What would be different about me, and would people notice?
Well, I gotta say, I was quite impressed with the way it all went down. Sure the flights (Bagram-Kuwait-Germany-Atlanta-JFK-Vermont, a total of 21 hours of flight) were crazy long, but each stage was one less I had to deal with. I was coming home! Taco Bell, Boston, Sheila, 4th of July, Ben, Kennedy, family, sleeping in... what's not to love and look forward to?
About a week into the whole thing, I tried to think back to the 5 months I've spent so far away from home. It felt like years ago. Details were fuzzy, and the only real memories I had were from the stories of my adventures I've told countless times. It was good, though. It allowed me to focus on the here and now.
I don't feel that anyone I was around understood what I've gone through. Sure, I'm not infantry, and I'm not in gunfights everyday. But trust me, Afghanistan leaves a lasting impression on you, whatever you are doing, whereever you are. No one I was with saw the things I've seen, or felt the things I've felt. No one had trouble sleeping because fighter jets weren't screaming overhead at all hours of the night. No one understood that I had to check my car for IEDs before getting in it. No one got it. And it was totally okay that no one did. I would never want them to. It was hard, though, not being able to relate to anyone about what I've been through. I couldn't tell stories and things, because, let's face it, I still have 5 months to go, and I don't want to scare my loved ones.
The best part was the way that everything felt like normal. It was like I'd never left, in some aspects. I got to do about everything I set out to do with the small amount of time I had.
The hardest part? Saying goodbye to Kennedy. This little 3-year-old has such a hold on my heart, it actually hurt closing the door. Saying goodbye to Ben and Sheila was very hard to do, but I felt prepared for those things, because I've done them before. I haven't seen Kennedy in so long, and she grew so big. I can't stand being so far away from her. I've always wanted to be a huge part of her life, and I feel like she doesn't remember me from way back when. And I keep having to leave her. That is hard.
I'm back at Bagram now, and it's like nothing's changed, which is good. I'm gonna try to get into a better routine this time around. I'm waking up earlier, and plan on having a few hours of the day that is just mine. I'll use this time to workout if I wish, I can call home, I can have a leisurely breakfast, and I can get my head on straight for the day's work. I like the early morning a lot, I just hate the prospect of loosing a few hours of sleep. Because I absolutely love to sleep.
So, what else is there to say? Did I leave you wanting more? comment if you think there's something big I missed. I just started writing, and I'm not sure if i got it all down. Help me out here. The cool part about the internet is that there is an infinite amount of paper. I can write all day.
Monday, May 31, 2010
The Wall came too late.
I'm really not happy right now.
My father just called me on Skype, with tears in his eyes. He just got back from a Memorial Day ceremony, where I'm sure memories of Viernam and the people he left behind there came flooding back to him. This man, as I'm sure most people that were in Vietnam, went through so much shit, and when they came home, the country that they loved so much that they prepared themselves to die EVERY DAY for hated them. Spit in the face, right off the plane. Baby Killer. No work. No love. All because the people of that time didn't understand what the TV was showing them. They lumped the Soldiers with the war.
People get it now. Hindsight is always clearer.
Fast-forward to today. Parades, free college, food on the house, pats on the back. In June, this war on whatever the fuck will break Vietnam's record of being the longest war in American history.
To me, the war in Afghanistan doesn't even touch the hell that must've been Vietnam. Here I am, sitting pretty in an office, or playing with little kids in an orphanage, and getting treated like a hero, where my dad sits on the side of the road watching the parade he never got pass him by. That is bullshit to me. I think that the only real reason I'm getting thanked over and over is because the country as a whole feels like shit for treating those vets the way they did all those years ago.
Well, as one of those Soldiers you consider a hero, let me tell you something. Don't thank me. Don't even think about taking your guilt out on me. Instead, do what you know you should've done so long ago, America, and you walk up to that vet in the park, (you know who I'm talking about. The one in the wheelchair) and you kneel down, and you look him in the eye, and you say thank you, sir. And you fucking say it with some conviction. You say it so all the spit he wiped from his face doesn't matter so much to him anymore.
Don't thank me. I'm not even on that level yet.
P.S. I'm talking personally. I'm not representing the Army as a whole. And the Ultimate sacrifice is total, no matter what war you are in. Don't get my message twisted.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Back from Bamyan, Back to Bagram
So, I've been back from Bamyan for two days now. I gotta say, that my limited time in Afghanistan has given me an interesting perspective on the eastern part of Afghanistan and how the military does its thing in different sections of the country.
Bamyan is, so far, the best province in all of Afghanistan. In terms of counter-insurgency, the New Zealanders (who control the province militarily) have the Hearts and Minds game in the bag.
So, the trip happened the 20th. I buckled into the smallest plane ever made ever. It seated 8 people, and the pilot handed out earplugs. Then he told us of all the safety features, like the exits, the fire extinguishers, the GPS locator beacon and sat phone. That's in case 'we land somewhere other than we are supposed to.' Great.
So, with a flight that showed me that fishtailing in the sky was possible, we landed in Bamyan, on a dirt runway. This was cool, because I could actually see the landing from a pilot's perspective. The plane was really that small.
Getting off the plane gave me yet another image of Afghan beauty. The pictures will be the only real way to tell you what I mean when i say that I was in the most beautiful place imaginable. Panjshir was nice, but Bamyan sweeps Panjshir under the rug.
Picture time!!
So, like I said, I knew something was different with the Kiwis than the Americans right from the get-go. Now, let me say this: Bamyan is much more peaceful than Parwan, (which is where Bagram is, which is where I'm stationed most of the time) and considering the attack that just happened to Bagram about 2 weeks ago, it is totally understandable that the people there are paranoid. So, the laid-back-yet-ready-to-go additude of the Kiwis might be a product of Bamyan. I think it might be the other way around.
I had an amazing time at an orphanage while I was in Bamyan. Now, I have to say here that I love kids. I think that they are awesome. Usually, when I'm around kids, I have my body armor on, with my weapon at the ready. With the Kiwis, it was much more relaxed. I could play with the kids. Now, don't get me wrong and think that the people of New Zealand were not ready and able to defend themselves and the kids of something happened. If you think that, get real. We still are in Afghanistan. But the level of paranoia and alertness was proportional to the situation at hand.
I hope the pictures I took show the amount of awesomeness the kids were. I even let them play with my devil sticks.
I'm sure I'll write more about the Kiwi adventure another day, but as it stands now, it's 22:00, and I've got a 4-mile run tomorrow morning. So, I'm gonna go.
Peace to the three people that read this.
Bamyan is, so far, the best province in all of Afghanistan. In terms of counter-insurgency, the New Zealanders (who control the province militarily) have the Hearts and Minds game in the bag.
So, the trip happened the 20th. I buckled into the smallest plane ever made ever. It seated 8 people, and the pilot handed out earplugs. Then he told us of all the safety features, like the exits, the fire extinguishers, the GPS locator beacon and sat phone. That's in case 'we land somewhere other than we are supposed to.' Great.
So, with a flight that showed me that fishtailing in the sky was possible, we landed in Bamyan, on a dirt runway. This was cool, because I could actually see the landing from a pilot's perspective. The plane was really that small.
Getting off the plane gave me yet another image of Afghan beauty. The pictures will be the only real way to tell you what I mean when i say that I was in the most beautiful place imaginable. Panjshir was nice, but Bamyan sweeps Panjshir under the rug.
Picture time!!
So, like I said, I knew something was different with the Kiwis than the Americans right from the get-go. Now, let me say this: Bamyan is much more peaceful than Parwan, (which is where Bagram is, which is where I'm stationed most of the time) and considering the attack that just happened to Bagram about 2 weeks ago, it is totally understandable that the people there are paranoid. So, the laid-back-yet-ready-to-go additude of the Kiwis might be a product of Bamyan. I think it might be the other way around.
I had an amazing time at an orphanage while I was in Bamyan. Now, I have to say here that I love kids. I think that they are awesome. Usually, when I'm around kids, I have my body armor on, with my weapon at the ready. With the Kiwis, it was much more relaxed. I could play with the kids. Now, don't get me wrong and think that the people of New Zealand were not ready and able to defend themselves and the kids of something happened. If you think that, get real. We still are in Afghanistan. But the level of paranoia and alertness was proportional to the situation at hand.
I hope the pictures I took show the amount of awesomeness the kids were. I even let them play with my devil sticks.
I'm sure I'll write more about the Kiwi adventure another day, but as it stands now, it's 22:00, and I've got a 4-mile run tomorrow morning. So, I'm gonna go.
Peace to the three people that read this.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Bamyan Ramble
It takes me by surprise much more than I thought it would, I guess. When I step out, ready to face the day, I glance up and see the mountains that surround me, and sometimes, randomly, it seems, I start laughing. I can't believe I'm here. What started out as a way to shut my dad up turned out to be the adventure of my life. I've been many places, and done may things, but nothing compares to those mountains. I mean, Cheeto has a semi-automatic assault rifle strapped to his back. Who saw this coming?
The only real thing that sucks about this, and it seems to keep coming up, is the severe bouts of homesickness. Having no one to share this adventure with is disheartening sometimes. I mean, sure, I have Army people around me all the time, but they don't really understand what I'm all about, and I'm cool with that. It's to be expected. I'm not someone that belongs in the Army. It's not me at all. But, here I am. So, all I have is the Internet, and sometimes, someone worth talking to is on.
But going solo is a classic trait of mine, I think. I don't like following orders. I like finding out things the hard way. That attitude gives me a lack of friends. But the ones I do have I feel will stick by me for the end of time. I mean, i may not be the most popular kid ever, but I have the most kick-ass fiance. I mean, who can say he has a girl that really GETS him? Its hard to come by, and I thank whatever circumstances led to this situation every chance I get.
I really think that this assignment I'm on will get me my 4. It would be awesome to some home on leave, and sit on that Fourth of July float a specialist. It would be nice to show the people I work with/for that I really DO know what I'm doing.
Plan on pictures of my adventure to Bamyan either Saturday night or Sunday (Afghan time = 4:30+ GMT). I took some really good ones this time.
I'm also thinking about renting a Nikon D300 while I'm on leave. It's what I'm using for work, and I gotta say, there's nothing I've used that comes close.
The only real thing that sucks about this, and it seems to keep coming up, is the severe bouts of homesickness. Having no one to share this adventure with is disheartening sometimes. I mean, sure, I have Army people around me all the time, but they don't really understand what I'm all about, and I'm cool with that. It's to be expected. I'm not someone that belongs in the Army. It's not me at all. But, here I am. So, all I have is the Internet, and sometimes, someone worth talking to is on.
But going solo is a classic trait of mine, I think. I don't like following orders. I like finding out things the hard way. That attitude gives me a lack of friends. But the ones I do have I feel will stick by me for the end of time. I mean, i may not be the most popular kid ever, but I have the most kick-ass fiance. I mean, who can say he has a girl that really GETS him? Its hard to come by, and I thank whatever circumstances led to this situation every chance I get.
I really think that this assignment I'm on will get me my 4. It would be awesome to some home on leave, and sit on that Fourth of July float a specialist. It would be nice to show the people I work with/for that I really DO know what I'm doing.
Plan on pictures of my adventure to Bamyan either Saturday night or Sunday (Afghan time = 4:30+ GMT). I took some really good ones this time.
I'm also thinking about renting a Nikon D300 while I'm on leave. It's what I'm using for work, and I gotta say, there's nothing I've used that comes close.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Village People
So, my laptop's power cord shit the bed. Again. So, I don't know when I'll be able to post again. The government doesn't think that Blogger is an adequate use of military resources, so I can't let the inter-web know what's going on until I get a stable power situation going on. But, I digress.
A couple of cool things happened the last time we talked. the first, and most visual, is that I went on another mission yesterday. It was with the Parwan Provincial Reconstruction Team. We went to this village to preform what is called a village assessment. Bear with the description, because I haven't finished making my article on the situation, so the facts and spellings may be inaccurate.
A village assessment is where they check on the needs and wants of a village. everything from the structural integrity of the buildings to the health and welfare of the place is checked out. So, when we got there, we met with the elders of the village (Those guys are the ones with the turbans, for lack of a better word). Now, we already kinda knew that they weren't happy with us. Let me step back a bit.
The Taliban is 90% Pashtun. This is a tribe of Afghan people. Where I'm at in Afghanistan, there is primarily two types of people; Pahstun and Tajik. Well, on either side of this Pashtun village are Tajik villages, and these two tribes don't really get along with each other. They don't even speak the same language most of the time. Anyway, they were kind of like, 'what the hell?' because the government of Afghanistan (with our help) built a medical clinic in one village, and a school in the other. Why not them? Well, that's what we were there this day to fix. We needed to know what they needed, so we can help everyone. 'We are the world.'
Turns out, they need a lot of stuff. A school (300+ kids are in the village), a clinic (and doctors) because the nearest medical is three days away, and a retaining wall for the floodwaters. A lot of stuff to do.
We met and talked with the villagers for a few hours, with me taking pictures and such. I quickly got distracted, because the people who were there at the talks but not directly involved saw my camera, and wanted pictures of them. that turned into a huge thing, because it seems when people normally take pictures of these people, they never show them the picture. They were so excited to see themselves on the screen. Well, it was cool and all, but I did have a job to do, so it was really hard listening to the talks and taking all these pictures. So, I decided to get information about the talks later, and see what was going on outside. It turned out, school (they have a school, but its in a really poorly constructed building. It rains through the roof on the books and the kids and stuff) just got let out, and there was a mob of kids. I love kids, so I chilled and took pictures of the kids for a bit. And that was pretty much it.
Did the interview for Ultiverse. I think that's what its called. When it's up, I'll post a link.
OH! got my Valentine's Care Package from my fiancée, FINALLY! Its awesome, I must say. Always nice to feel loved. especially on a Monday.
So, I have a day off, so, If my battery works on my computer, I'll post some pictures. whatcha all want to see?
A couple of cool things happened the last time we talked. the first, and most visual, is that I went on another mission yesterday. It was with the Parwan Provincial Reconstruction Team. We went to this village to preform what is called a village assessment. Bear with the description, because I haven't finished making my article on the situation, so the facts and spellings may be inaccurate.
A village assessment is where they check on the needs and wants of a village. everything from the structural integrity of the buildings to the health and welfare of the place is checked out. So, when we got there, we met with the elders of the village (Those guys are the ones with the turbans, for lack of a better word). Now, we already kinda knew that they weren't happy with us. Let me step back a bit.
The Taliban is 90% Pashtun. This is a tribe of Afghan people. Where I'm at in Afghanistan, there is primarily two types of people; Pahstun and Tajik. Well, on either side of this Pashtun village are Tajik villages, and these two tribes don't really get along with each other. They don't even speak the same language most of the time. Anyway, they were kind of like, 'what the hell?' because the government of Afghanistan (with our help) built a medical clinic in one village, and a school in the other. Why not them? Well, that's what we were there this day to fix. We needed to know what they needed, so we can help everyone. 'We are the world.'
Turns out, they need a lot of stuff. A school (300+ kids are in the village), a clinic (and doctors) because the nearest medical is three days away, and a retaining wall for the floodwaters. A lot of stuff to do.
We met and talked with the villagers for a few hours, with me taking pictures and such. I quickly got distracted, because the people who were there at the talks but not directly involved saw my camera, and wanted pictures of them. that turned into a huge thing, because it seems when people normally take pictures of these people, they never show them the picture. They were so excited to see themselves on the screen. Well, it was cool and all, but I did have a job to do, so it was really hard listening to the talks and taking all these pictures. So, I decided to get information about the talks later, and see what was going on outside. It turned out, school (they have a school, but its in a really poorly constructed building. It rains through the roof on the books and the kids and stuff) just got let out, and there was a mob of kids. I love kids, so I chilled and took pictures of the kids for a bit. And that was pretty much it.
Did the interview for Ultiverse. I think that's what its called. When it's up, I'll post a link.
OH! got my Valentine's Care Package from my fiancée, FINALLY! Its awesome, I must say. Always nice to feel loved. especially on a Monday.
So, I have a day off, so, If my battery works on my computer, I'll post some pictures. whatcha all want to see?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Roy goes to school.
So, now that I'm back from my epic mission, I can tell you all about it!
I went with the Kentucky Agribusiness Development Team (KY ADT) to a school in the Parwan Province. As the pictures will show, the kids had a good time. Its really humbling to see all the smiles on these little guys, considering how little they have. I mean, look at the slide. The mold. The floor. The chalkboard. It really is sad here sometimes, but that's because we take things for granted.
So, check them out, and let me know what you think.
I got back in touch with my old high school math teacher and Ultimate coach, Josh Seamon. I'm going to be in a podcast that he runs. I kinda feel like a celibrity these days.
Also, I'm starting playing a game called EVE Online. Anyone ever heard of it? I'll let you know how it is after I've played it a while.
So, I'm tired, and I don't have much to say.
Maybe tomorrow?
I went with the Kentucky Agribusiness Development Team (KY ADT) to a school in the Parwan Province. As the pictures will show, the kids had a good time. Its really humbling to see all the smiles on these little guys, considering how little they have. I mean, look at the slide. The mold. The floor. The chalkboard. It really is sad here sometimes, but that's because we take things for granted.
So, check them out, and let me know what you think.
I got back in touch with my old high school math teacher and Ultimate coach, Josh Seamon. I'm going to be in a podcast that he runs. I kinda feel like a celibrity these days.
Also, I'm starting playing a game called EVE Online. Anyone ever heard of it? I'll let you know how it is after I've played it a while.
So, I'm tired, and I don't have much to say.
Maybe tomorrow?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Feasts and Fortunes
I have a mission tomorrow. I can't really tell yall what I'll be up to, because of the whole fact that I'm in a war zone and such. But let me just say this: It is gonna be boring as Hades. Is that how you spell Hades? Anyway, that's what's going on tomorrow.
I watched American History X last night. Is it wrong for me to almost 100% agree with what Edward Norton says in one of his monologues in the movie? This is the one I'm talking about:
"Alright, listen up: We need to open our eyes. There's over 2,000,000 illegal immigrants bedding down in this state, tonight. This state spent 3,000,000,000 dollars last year on services for those people who had no right to be here in the first place. 3 billion dollars. 400 million dollars just to lock up a bunch of illegal immigrant criminals who only got into this country because the fuckin' INS decided it's not worth the effort to screen for convicted felons.
Who gives a shit? Our government doesn't give a shit. Our border policy is a joke. So is anybody surprised that south of the border. they're laughing at us? Laughing at our laws? Every night, thousands of these parasites stream across the border like some fuckin' pinata exploded. Don't laugh. there's nothing funny going on here. this is about your life and mine. Its about decent, hardworking Americans falling through the cracks and getting the shaft because their government cares more about the constitutional rights of a bunch of people who aren't even citizens of this country!
On the Statue of Liberty it says: Give me your tired, your hungry, your poor. Well, its Americans who are tired and hungry and poor. I say until you take care of that, close the fuckin book."
Well, maybe not 100%. The pinata thing was a little excessive.
What do you think?
I watched American History X last night. Is it wrong for me to almost 100% agree with what Edward Norton says in one of his monologues in the movie? This is the one I'm talking about:
"Alright, listen up: We need to open our eyes. There's over 2,000,000 illegal immigrants bedding down in this state, tonight. This state spent 3,000,000,000 dollars last year on services for those people who had no right to be here in the first place. 3 billion dollars. 400 million dollars just to lock up a bunch of illegal immigrant criminals who only got into this country because the fuckin' INS decided it's not worth the effort to screen for convicted felons.
Who gives a shit? Our government doesn't give a shit. Our border policy is a joke. So is anybody surprised that south of the border. they're laughing at us? Laughing at our laws? Every night, thousands of these parasites stream across the border like some fuckin' pinata exploded. Don't laugh. there's nothing funny going on here. this is about your life and mine. Its about decent, hardworking Americans falling through the cracks and getting the shaft because their government cares more about the constitutional rights of a bunch of people who aren't even citizens of this country!
On the Statue of Liberty it says: Give me your tired, your hungry, your poor. Well, its Americans who are tired and hungry and poor. I say until you take care of that, close the fuckin book."
Well, maybe not 100%. The pinata thing was a little excessive.
What do you think?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Stuck in Panjhir Part Uno
So there I was, no shit, Bagram, Afghanistan.....
It all began about 11:30 in the morning. I went to the supply room, where I was told that I would be 'babysitting' a few .50 cal machine guns and ammo to FOB Lion in Panjhir. I was really excited about this, because, after all, the only real way to get to FOB Lion was by helicopter, and, even though it would be for 15 minutes, I was excited to go on my first ever ride on one. We got to the flight line at 12:00, like we were supposed to. We waited around for 15 minutes. 30 minutes. An hour. 2 hours. Finally, after 2 hours, we heard the familiar sound of the dreaded Blackhawk. WHUMPA-WHUMPA-WHUMPA.
There were two of them, looking as mean as they ever did in the War movies. The pilots waved me and my .50 Cal carrying crew to the 'bird'. I noted at this time, late, I assume, that the others were not wearing body armor and a helmet like I was. Was there something that these two knew that I didn't? Was I overdressed for the occasion? Apparently not, because as soon as the .50 cal and ammo were loaded into the helicopter, the two waved me goodbye, and headed away from the helicopter. Well, I wasn't about to miss an opportunity to ride a 'bird' for the first time, so in I went.
Strapping myself into the Blackhawk, I noticed something odd about this experience right away. It was EXACTLY like I thought it would be. This was odd, because this NEVER happened. As soon as I got buckled in, the thing lifted off like something this big and heavy was totally meant to fly. Which I guess it was. Anyway, the home I've come to know for the last month looked totally different from the air. Then things got completely foreign. Houses, or what I thought had to be houses, dotted the landscape like a grid. Everything in this valley looked like it was part of a scatter plot or something. Brown housed made of mud being the point that represented one part, and the square fields where god-knows what grew representing something
else.
I noticed, after taking hundreds of what seemed to be the same picture over and over again, that the mountains that I've always wished to climb but where so far away were coming ever closer. Then came the area there the grass and trees suddenly stopped and the ground got steeper. And steeper. And then came the moments where the trees went out of view from my window and the mountains were all around me. It was like I was IN a lord of the rings movie. Seriously. And the weirdest part was in the most oddest of places, places where it would be impossible to get to, there were houses. People LIVED in these mountains. The pictures I took are the only things that can do any amount of justice to these things. Well, after we crossed the mountain pass, we started our slow decent down, never being more than what seemed like 100 feet above these things. The ground came closer, and little dots that I knew were cars and people were slowly getting more and more definition. A river that went between the mountains, following the same path that we were traveling, opened up, and a huge patch of dry river bed loomed out in front of us. We touched down, with nigh a bump. The doors were opened by pilots, and the machine guns were pulled out by soldiers and they were beginning to carry them to some humvees parked about 50 yards away. This was odd for two reasons. One, I was told that I would be giving these weapons to a sergeant major who was driving a truck, and two, I was under the impression that humvees weren't used in Afghanistan. The threat of IEDS and such made the use of the MRAPS standard throughout the country. Before I got the time to contemplate this situation, one of the pilots that opened the doors pointed at me and yelled something to me, but the noise of the Blackhawk’s blades overhead drowned any and all hope of ever hearing what he said. He seemed to understand this, and he pointed at me, then himself, and then the humvees that my machine guns were being loaded into. I shook my head, and then he pointed at me, and then the humvees. I took this to be a direction to go to the humvees, so I grabbed my gear, and headed in the direction of the trucks.
Without warning, the engine of the Blackhawk changed pitch, and I was almost thrown to the ground by wind. Dirt and dust and rocks splattered everything, and I did all I could to protect my face and my dear camera. I knew what the dirt in my eyes meant. It could only mean one thing. My ride was leaving me. Unable to do anything but watch, I did the only thing a person in my situation could do. I took pictures of the departing Blackhawks. The Soldiers, who turned out to be mostly members of the Air force, looked at me, and said, Welcome to Panjhir!'
I stared at them, dumbstruck. They had no idea what had happened. Neither did I.
It all began about 11:30 in the morning. I went to the supply room, where I was told that I would be 'babysitting' a few .50 cal machine guns and ammo to FOB Lion in Panjhir. I was really excited about this, because, after all, the only real way to get to FOB Lion was by helicopter, and, even though it would be for 15 minutes, I was excited to go on my first ever ride on one. We got to the flight line at 12:00, like we were supposed to. We waited around for 15 minutes. 30 minutes. An hour. 2 hours. Finally, after 2 hours, we heard the familiar sound of the dreaded Blackhawk. WHUMPA-WHUMPA-WHUMPA.
There were two of them, looking as mean as they ever did in the War movies. The pilots waved me and my .50 Cal carrying crew to the 'bird'. I noted at this time, late, I assume, that the others were not wearing body armor and a helmet like I was. Was there something that these two knew that I didn't? Was I overdressed for the occasion? Apparently not, because as soon as the .50 cal and ammo were loaded into the helicopter, the two waved me goodbye, and headed away from the helicopter. Well, I wasn't about to miss an opportunity to ride a 'bird' for the first time, so in I went.
Strapping myself into the Blackhawk, I noticed something odd about this experience right away. It was EXACTLY like I thought it would be. This was odd, because this NEVER happened. As soon as I got buckled in, the thing lifted off like something this big and heavy was totally meant to fly. Which I guess it was. Anyway, the home I've come to know for the last month looked totally different from the air. Then things got completely foreign. Houses, or what I thought had to be houses, dotted the landscape like a grid. Everything in this valley looked like it was part of a scatter plot or something. Brown housed made of mud being the point that represented one part, and the square fields where god-knows what grew representing something
else.
I noticed, after taking hundreds of what seemed to be the same picture over and over again, that the mountains that I've always wished to climb but where so far away were coming ever closer. Then came the area there the grass and trees suddenly stopped and the ground got steeper. And steeper. And then came the moments where the trees went out of view from my window and the mountains were all around me. It was like I was IN a lord of the rings movie. Seriously. And the weirdest part was in the most oddest of places, places where it would be impossible to get to, there were houses. People LIVED in these mountains. The pictures I took are the only things that can do any amount of justice to these things. Well, after we crossed the mountain pass, we started our slow decent down, never being more than what seemed like 100 feet above these things. The ground came closer, and little dots that I knew were cars and people were slowly getting more and more definition. A river that went between the mountains, following the same path that we were traveling, opened up, and a huge patch of dry river bed loomed out in front of us. We touched down, with nigh a bump. The doors were opened by pilots, and the machine guns were pulled out by soldiers and they were beginning to carry them to some humvees parked about 50 yards away. This was odd for two reasons. One, I was told that I would be giving these weapons to a sergeant major who was driving a truck, and two, I was under the impression that humvees weren't used in Afghanistan. The threat of IEDS and such made the use of the MRAPS standard throughout the country. Before I got the time to contemplate this situation, one of the pilots that opened the doors pointed at me and yelled something to me, but the noise of the Blackhawk’s blades overhead drowned any and all hope of ever hearing what he said. He seemed to understand this, and he pointed at me, then himself, and then the humvees that my machine guns were being loaded into. I shook my head, and then he pointed at me, and then the humvees. I took this to be a direction to go to the humvees, so I grabbed my gear, and headed in the direction of the trucks.
Without warning, the engine of the Blackhawk changed pitch, and I was almost thrown to the ground by wind. Dirt and dust and rocks splattered everything, and I did all I could to protect my face and my dear camera. I knew what the dirt in my eyes meant. It could only mean one thing. My ride was leaving me. Unable to do anything but watch, I did the only thing a person in my situation could do. I took pictures of the departing Blackhawks. The Soldiers, who turned out to be mostly members of the Air force, looked at me, and said, Welcome to Panjhir!'
I stared at them, dumbstruck. They had no idea what had happened. Neither did I.
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