I could count with the fingers of just one hand the number of times in a year that I get sick. Today is one of them. As I do all other days I got up at 0540 h, took a minute shower and jumped into my uniform and went to breakfast. But today, unlike other days we had to get suited up for squadron photos up Mt. Ainslie (emphasis on Mt), that means elevation, that means strong winds, that means a good view, that means ass-freezing cold. It was, oh about 1 degree? Felt more like -10 to me. My eyes were watering as I would look stupid closing my eyes for a photo shoot. So, I opened and half smiled while feeling my eyeballs freeze in their sockets. I could barely move my fingers, my face felt like cardboard. My feet... don't even get me started with my feet. They felt dipped in iced water. All in all it wasn't the best photo shoot. By then I felt the beginnings of a cold... aching head, cloggy nose. Thank God for the warm buses that brought us back to the academy. But it doesn't end there. We had to do our physical fitness test (not the highlight of my day) which I passed, miraculously. I was running, sucking in gulps of iced air, feeling the pain but not the good warm burn that normally goes with it. I literally could not feel my legs... and that's not because of the run... I just found that I wasn't sweating at all. I felt like I was wading through icy water. But with a little help from my friends and the Big Guy I did reach that finish line... grudgingly. When I stopped running I just could not breathe, feeling my lungs just staying contracted, feeling all that trapped heat just surging up to my head. I thought this couldn't be good. And it wasn't. Got back to the blocks and sneezed probably 10 times in a span of what? 5 seconds? Hey, that's a record if anything. I'm having a massive headache and a runny nose. The best part is that the day isn't over yet. :(
shadows
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Nichts ist unmöglich - Nothing is impossible
After class today I got rigged up - reluctantly - to hear the yearly talk to be addressed to the entire academy. I waited in my seat silently psyching myself up to not fall asleep or else I'll get a boot up my ass from every officer standing behind me. A few minutes later a guy in a wheelchair rolled in. His name was Kurt Fearnly. The guy had under-developed legs, being born without a lower spine. At the same time, this guy had won 4 paralympic golds, run probably a thousand marathons, crawled the gruelling 96km Kokoda trail, and has been awarded Young Australian of the Year (you'll have to look him up because I've missed out quite a lot).
I must admit that I'm a bit of a cynic and that I'm my own obsession so I find it hard to find anyone else amazing. But tonight, listening to this guy speak about his experiences and the events that brought him to achieve what he has today, and watching video footages of his races made me change my perspective a little. Never have I been truly inspired. Fearnly's courage, determination, and perseverance were uncanny. He literally crawled through bush and mud and rough ground, down slopes and up hills all because in his mind he just could not not do it. He crawled the 96Km track in 11 days, and everyday seemed harder than the last but each day he got up knowing that it will be over and in the night he would heal so that he could continue the next day.
He said in his speech that being unable to walk has made the choice of pursuing these challenges easier to make, and I suppose that's true. When you're stuck in a high ropes course where the only way down would be to fall and die or plod on towards the finish, it's not fun to choose the latter, but it's the only choice you can make if you want to survive. In this sense a physical diasability should serve to enhance courage. Limitations are not just barriers, they can be motivation to just do or die trying. Another thing he said tonight that I personally identify with was that if he was going to give up his life for something it might as well be something really tough, a challenge really worth the effort. I thought I'd tried my best in college, but now that I think about it I robably didn't, or else I would have achieved so much more; but nonetheless by the end of my senior year I had a whole world of opportunities waiting for me. Did I want to be a doctor? A teacher? a researcher? or... well... a soldier? All these options, all equally good they seemed to me then, and even now I think about the what ifs. Still, we try and face life with minimal regrets. I gave my life up for the military, and so far it has been quite an interesting journey. It has been hard most of the time, but it is not without its perks. I'm able to go to places I'd never even seen myself in, and do things I probably would never have gotten the opportunity to do. I see now that the tougher the climb, the better the view from the top. And every day that we sweat in training just prepares us for something worthwhile in the end.
I must admit that I'm a bit of a cynic and that I'm my own obsession so I find it hard to find anyone else amazing. But tonight, listening to this guy speak about his experiences and the events that brought him to achieve what he has today, and watching video footages of his races made me change my perspective a little. Never have I been truly inspired. Fearnly's courage, determination, and perseverance were uncanny. He literally crawled through bush and mud and rough ground, down slopes and up hills all because in his mind he just could not not do it. He crawled the 96Km track in 11 days, and everyday seemed harder than the last but each day he got up knowing that it will be over and in the night he would heal so that he could continue the next day.
He said in his speech that being unable to walk has made the choice of pursuing these challenges easier to make, and I suppose that's true. When you're stuck in a high ropes course where the only way down would be to fall and die or plod on towards the finish, it's not fun to choose the latter, but it's the only choice you can make if you want to survive. In this sense a physical diasability should serve to enhance courage. Limitations are not just barriers, they can be motivation to just do or die trying. Another thing he said tonight that I personally identify with was that if he was going to give up his life for something it might as well be something really tough, a challenge really worth the effort. I thought I'd tried my best in college, but now that I think about it I robably didn't, or else I would have achieved so much more; but nonetheless by the end of my senior year I had a whole world of opportunities waiting for me. Did I want to be a doctor? A teacher? a researcher? or... well... a soldier? All these options, all equally good they seemed to me then, and even now I think about the what ifs. Still, we try and face life with minimal regrets. I gave my life up for the military, and so far it has been quite an interesting journey. It has been hard most of the time, but it is not without its perks. I'm able to go to places I'd never even seen myself in, and do things I probably would never have gotten the opportunity to do. I see now that the tougher the climb, the better the view from the top. And every day that we sweat in training just prepares us for something worthwhile in the end.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Profession of Arms
Another day, another dime; lately I've been feeling the strains of having to work just to barely pass, and the sheer panic when you mull over the day and wonder whether you really are cut out for this shit. Am I just getting too old or are those the pangs of doubt and disillusionment gnawing at my knees, my shins... my sore heels? As I'm running the track for the nth time this week I wonder why I ever leased my life to the state.
In one of the military classes we had a week ago the lecturer stressed upon us the difference between the profession of arms and all other civilian jobs. They say that we uphold the same principles of professionalism, good service, integrity, and responsibility; but why does the military keep such high standards? All professions are expected to clock up early to work, but only in the military can you be charged for being a second late. Doctors are expected to be available when on-call; soldiers are on-call until retirement. Anyone can show up to work in a slightly wrinkled suit, but a misplaced crease on a military uniform can get you extra duties. It just doesn't seem fair, and it isn't. But we do this... the military does this because of the burden of trust placed upon us. While lawyers and policemen can put criminals behind bars; we can virtually blow the crap out of whole masses of insurgents. We are basically given the right to take a life - a job that merits the trust of the people in us as soldiers, as officers, to be firmly ground on what is right and what is just, what is merciful, and oftentimes, what is cruel. And just like continuously trickling droplets of water onto cement dig into and shape it, little habits that enforce discipline will ultimately mold one into a person of steadfast character.
Then again there is to this a more fundamental difference. This is the awareness of our potential losses, and what we have put at stake. What is optional service to all other individuals is demanded of us, that is, our very lives. No, I'm not just talking about dying for God and country on the battlefield. I mean this: Johnny left home at 16 with barely a stubble on his chin, a smattering of maths... and language, well, he wasn't too good at it. Didn't want to work at the local gas station, and guns have always been cool. Joins the army, gets his ass beat for a year, kicks other kids' asses for three. In that time he finds a girlfriend, plus four - the ladies like men in uniform. Little Johnny is a man, out of military school now and is raring to "blow shit up" in Iraq. Two months in the field is nothing like the years of harsh training; it is much harsher. Anticipating a landmine to go boom at every step is nothing like anticipating every blow from an upperclassman; it messes up his spirit. 5 weeks on the job and he gets a call from home. His dad's just died, bad fall. No, he decides to stay. The gunblasts numb his pain; the fear stays his worries. 8 weeks in, girlfriend number one calls to say she saw the discount abortionist, she couldn't possibly raise the kid alone. The night raids become more frequent, his knife slashes the enemy necks a lot deeper. Six months, he pops a few extra rounds into those suicidal fucks just for good measure. Time to go home, Johnny. The world's moved on without him he sees when he gets home. But his world's stopped at every bullet that whizzed by him. He drinks to jumpstart his life, drinks just a little too much. Battery's dead. He remembers the pow pow of the guns and bombs and realizes that he's utterly stuck. The world goes on while his own has stopped.
Giving up our lives doesn't quite stop at that moment of death. That is far too trivial, and we are far too insignificant. Giving up our lives has encompassed giving up little freedoms that had made us part of the normal populace. Self-sacrifice includes giving up memories that could have been made of a sweeter life and a family. But all this we gladly dedicate to mothers and fathers, brothers, sweethearts, friends, comrades, widows, country. I think about this, and I know I'm in the right place.
In one of the military classes we had a week ago the lecturer stressed upon us the difference between the profession of arms and all other civilian jobs. They say that we uphold the same principles of professionalism, good service, integrity, and responsibility; but why does the military keep such high standards? All professions are expected to clock up early to work, but only in the military can you be charged for being a second late. Doctors are expected to be available when on-call; soldiers are on-call until retirement. Anyone can show up to work in a slightly wrinkled suit, but a misplaced crease on a military uniform can get you extra duties. It just doesn't seem fair, and it isn't. But we do this... the military does this because of the burden of trust placed upon us. While lawyers and policemen can put criminals behind bars; we can virtually blow the crap out of whole masses of insurgents. We are basically given the right to take a life - a job that merits the trust of the people in us as soldiers, as officers, to be firmly ground on what is right and what is just, what is merciful, and oftentimes, what is cruel. And just like continuously trickling droplets of water onto cement dig into and shape it, little habits that enforce discipline will ultimately mold one into a person of steadfast character.
Then again there is to this a more fundamental difference. This is the awareness of our potential losses, and what we have put at stake. What is optional service to all other individuals is demanded of us, that is, our very lives. No, I'm not just talking about dying for God and country on the battlefield. I mean this: Johnny left home at 16 with barely a stubble on his chin, a smattering of maths... and language, well, he wasn't too good at it. Didn't want to work at the local gas station, and guns have always been cool. Joins the army, gets his ass beat for a year, kicks other kids' asses for three. In that time he finds a girlfriend, plus four - the ladies like men in uniform. Little Johnny is a man, out of military school now and is raring to "blow shit up" in Iraq. Two months in the field is nothing like the years of harsh training; it is much harsher. Anticipating a landmine to go boom at every step is nothing like anticipating every blow from an upperclassman; it messes up his spirit. 5 weeks on the job and he gets a call from home. His dad's just died, bad fall. No, he decides to stay. The gunblasts numb his pain; the fear stays his worries. 8 weeks in, girlfriend number one calls to say she saw the discount abortionist, she couldn't possibly raise the kid alone. The night raids become more frequent, his knife slashes the enemy necks a lot deeper. Six months, he pops a few extra rounds into those suicidal fucks just for good measure. Time to go home, Johnny. The world's moved on without him he sees when he gets home. But his world's stopped at every bullet that whizzed by him. He drinks to jumpstart his life, drinks just a little too much. Battery's dead. He remembers the pow pow of the guns and bombs and realizes that he's utterly stuck. The world goes on while his own has stopped.
Giving up our lives doesn't quite stop at that moment of death. That is far too trivial, and we are far too insignificant. Giving up our lives has encompassed giving up little freedoms that had made us part of the normal populace. Self-sacrifice includes giving up memories that could have been made of a sweeter life and a family. But all this we gladly dedicate to mothers and fathers, brothers, sweethearts, friends, comrades, widows, country. I think about this, and I know I'm in the right place.
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