Remembering Who You Are
When I was overseas, time became a vacuum and life turned into groundhog’s day. The present — in all its beauty and heartache — felt eternal, and I spent much of my time thinking of home, my friends, and my family.
Now that I’m home, it nearly feels like I never left. Almost everything is as it was: the small pile of unfolded clean laundry I left on my bed three months ago, a handful of dishes left out to dry on my counter, and the almond milk I meant to throw out of my refrigerator before leaving. At the same time, however, everything is just a little bit different than it was, because I am just a little bit different than I was before.
I have a lot to say about my experience overseas, much of which should probably just be said in person. It wasn’t all good times, but it wasn’t all bad times. Despite thinking I knew everything I needed to know pre-deployment (as I do), I found there were many, many things for me to learn (and that there always will be).
There was an illusion of reality that I didn’t know existed until it was gone. I suppose many of us experience this to some degree, no matter how old and no matter what the illusion, but the heartbreak of its arguably overdue destruction is undeniable. I know that I still know nothing, but what I know compared to what I knew before is vastly important to the way I now see and understand the world. Optimistic and hopeful aren’t exactly in the list of adjectives I’d use to describe my new perspective, but I am that much more grateful for things many of us too often take for granted.
When I got home late Saturday night, I unceremoniously returned to the barracks, beyond relieved and grateful to be home. It was raining, and the splash of late night Colorado moisture on my skin was a welcome gift. Slowly but surely my friends emerged to greet me with smiles and hugs, and my homecoming quickly turned into a gathering of too much wine and war stories and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my first night home.
The next day, I saw more friendly faces and gave more hugs. I saw my parents, and nearly burst into tears when I hugged my mom. I didn’t know how truly far away from home I felt while overseas until all was said and done and I was home safe.
And I am so so so grateful not only to be home, but for my home itself.
The silver lining in everything that I’ve been through in the last few months is understanding how lucky I am to be from such a wonderful place, and have such wonderful, loving people in my life to welcome me back. Saying it’s sad that not everyone who goes overseas gets to come home is a heartbreaking understatement.
When I was deployed, I spent a lot of time lonely and alone. I’d never felt so far removed from my comfort zone, and the loneliness I felt at times was paralyzing. I tried desperately to cling to things I knew: the gym, my books, and long FaceTime calls with friends from home. Little pieces of familiarity kept me sane enough to move forward, but I was often barraged by many external factors that made it hard to remember who I was.
When everyone is looking at you but only seeing your face, it becomes difficult to know your own soul. When nobody cares to know who you are, choosing instead to make it up or ignore it completely, the light of your spirit feels small and faded against the darkness that surrounds it. In an environment where everything you know is stripped away from you, and the world and its people become bare and raw to your eyes, losing yourself in the chaos is terrifying.
At times when the pull of loneliness was especially strong, and it felt like the world was falling away from my fingertips piece by piece, I’d think of that scene in the Lion King when Mufasa’s spirit says to Simba, “Remember. Remember who you are.”
And even if I couldn’t — even if I couldn’t quite remember my home and all the things that make me who I am — I’d cling to those words like a life raft.
But it wasn’t all bad. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I met some wonderful people who became my family away from family, and made Afghanistan a kind of home away from home. With them, the loneliness would lift and the laughter we’d share became like a drug.
And in them, and in my friends and family at home, I remember who I am.
I am the love that I give my loved ones, and the love they give me in return.
I am the way I think about the world, the way I laugh at its madness and cry at its chaos.
I am my hopes and dreams, and the work I put into them.
I am not the loneliness I felt, nor am I any of the things anyone who doesn’t truly know me thinks I am.
I am worn and tired blue eyes, with a smile that loves to laugh, and a heart that loves to love.
My advice?
Don’t let the world and its people fool you in your pursuit of knowledge and truth, especially when it comes to who you are. Don’t let anyone try to tell you that you are something different than who you know yourself to be.
Remember your home, and remember who you are.
And be grateful. Be so grateful for everything you have that you make the stars themselves tremble against the force of your love.
