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Published On: Apr 26, 2006 10:02 PM
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Published On: Apr 26, 2006 10:02 PM
What Am I Supposed To Feel?
Today I saw myself as a part of history, and I
don't think I liked it very much.
It's not like I ran across my face in a junior high school history book, or found my name filed away in the encyclopaedia. To the best of my knowledge, there is no wikipedia article that references me (I'm right, and yes, I just went and checked).
It's very simple, really. I went out to eat at a little Services-run place here on base, and the televisions were tuned to the UK/Connecticut game. This is on AFN, the American Forces Network, which doesn't actually run commercials. They run what I have dubbed, for reasons now forgotten, "smercials," public service announcement things and military interest bits. Today I happened to glance up during a long-running smercial feature known as the "Timeline," which lists historical facts that happened on this day in history. To my surprise, what popped up on the screen was:
2003: Saddam Strikes Back; No Casualties.
And it's weird, because I was one of those non-casualties. I'd seen reports on CNN.com and MSNBC.com titled "Three years later, blah blah blah," (Insert political rhetoric of the day in place of 'blah blah blah'), but it hadn't really sunk in. And suddenly, for just a moment, I was remembering that morning that the president announced we were attacking Iraq (it was 5 AM in Kuwait, although I believe it was still the night before in the US). Nothing seemed really different until after I went to bed at eight AM, having been on the midnight shift, and was awakened promptly at 10 by a whistling sound followed by what sounded like an explosion, FOLLOWED by the wailing of the sirens that are supposed to warn you when all that's about to happen, not that it already has.
My memory goes funny, there, and it's like I'm remembering all of those early bomb attacks, before it became normal; all the fumbling for gas masks and running for the bunkers, tripping over tent stakes and pulling the straps on the gas mask too tight until they pressed on my sinuses so bad that I wheezed and coughed as if therre were actual gas the entire time. Or the one night, when I had returned to day shift, where the alarms went off, and no one in our tent seemed to be able to get out. It was like a slapstick comedy -- one person would hit the switch for the fluorescent lights, but since they had to warm up, before they could come on someone else had hit the switch, turning them back off; the zipper on my sleeping bag was stuck and I fell off of my bed onto the floor and was concerned that I was going to have to put my gas mask on and inchworm in my sleeping bag to the bunker... Finally we all got out of there, and to be fair all this probably occurred in less than 30 seconds. Time was seriously compressed.
All these memories came flooding back, of a time when I wasn't quite so used to loud explosions. I remember one night a mall in downtown Kuwait got hit by a sidewinder. All of us lying in bed heard it whistle over, and we heard it hit. The Big Giant Voice (which tells you important announcements like "All clear," came on and said "Go back to sleep," which probably cracked up everyone in camp. I know it cracked up my tent. I remember one time there was a SCUD attack during lunchtime, and our office tent was right across from the chow hall. By the time I got to the bunkers, they were full, and I ended up sitting outside on a Jersey barrier. I heard things exploding somewhere up over my head, and I thought "wow! I'm being so calm about this." That sense of pride lasted until the person beside me on the barrier coughed into his gas mask. I swear I jumped three feet.
And all these memories came pouring back in an instant, terrifying but strangely humorous, wholly alien but also totally familiar. I realized then that I had no appropriate mental reaction in my repertoire for what I was feeling. If my life were a soap opera, I realized, I would lose my appetite and run out, hand over my mouth to either stop food or sobs (I've never been sure which). That didn't fit; I was still hungry. I wanted the rest of my cheeseburger and Macho nachos. But should I? Hadn't a major little time in my life just flashed in front of my eyes? What was I supposed to feel?
I still have no idea. I didn't really feel anything, I guess, except confused. It's been three years, and I'm not going to get political; I really don't want to get political about what we're doing in Iraq, because for the most part I avoid politics here in my blog, and I don't think it's important to the story.
I also think that;s about it. I didn't know what I should be feeling, which echoes, perhaps the confusion I felt starting on March 20th, 2003.
Postscript: After I posted this article, I realized that I'd told some of these very same experiences before, in "I don't think I like war very much," only my oulook on them was completely different. As Michael Nesmith once sang, "It's amazing how time can so softly change your ways."
It's not like I ran across my face in a junior high school history book, or found my name filed away in the encyclopaedia. To the best of my knowledge, there is no wikipedia article that references me (I'm right, and yes, I just went and checked).
It's very simple, really. I went out to eat at a little Services-run place here on base, and the televisions were tuned to the UK/Connecticut game. This is on AFN, the American Forces Network, which doesn't actually run commercials. They run what I have dubbed, for reasons now forgotten, "smercials," public service announcement things and military interest bits. Today I happened to glance up during a long-running smercial feature known as the "Timeline," which lists historical facts that happened on this day in history. To my surprise, what popped up on the screen was:
2003: Saddam Strikes Back; No Casualties.
And it's weird, because I was one of those non-casualties. I'd seen reports on CNN.com and MSNBC.com titled "Three years later, blah blah blah," (Insert political rhetoric of the day in place of 'blah blah blah'), but it hadn't really sunk in. And suddenly, for just a moment, I was remembering that morning that the president announced we were attacking Iraq (it was 5 AM in Kuwait, although I believe it was still the night before in the US). Nothing seemed really different until after I went to bed at eight AM, having been on the midnight shift, and was awakened promptly at 10 by a whistling sound followed by what sounded like an explosion, FOLLOWED by the wailing of the sirens that are supposed to warn you when all that's about to happen, not that it already has.
My memory goes funny, there, and it's like I'm remembering all of those early bomb attacks, before it became normal; all the fumbling for gas masks and running for the bunkers, tripping over tent stakes and pulling the straps on the gas mask too tight until they pressed on my sinuses so bad that I wheezed and coughed as if therre were actual gas the entire time. Or the one night, when I had returned to day shift, where the alarms went off, and no one in our tent seemed to be able to get out. It was like a slapstick comedy -- one person would hit the switch for the fluorescent lights, but since they had to warm up, before they could come on someone else had hit the switch, turning them back off; the zipper on my sleeping bag was stuck and I fell off of my bed onto the floor and was concerned that I was going to have to put my gas mask on and inchworm in my sleeping bag to the bunker... Finally we all got out of there, and to be fair all this probably occurred in less than 30 seconds. Time was seriously compressed.
All these memories came flooding back, of a time when I wasn't quite so used to loud explosions. I remember one night a mall in downtown Kuwait got hit by a sidewinder. All of us lying in bed heard it whistle over, and we heard it hit. The Big Giant Voice (which tells you important announcements like "All clear," came on and said "Go back to sleep," which probably cracked up everyone in camp. I know it cracked up my tent. I remember one time there was a SCUD attack during lunchtime, and our office tent was right across from the chow hall. By the time I got to the bunkers, they were full, and I ended up sitting outside on a Jersey barrier. I heard things exploding somewhere up over my head, and I thought "wow! I'm being so calm about this." That sense of pride lasted until the person beside me on the barrier coughed into his gas mask. I swear I jumped three feet.
And all these memories came pouring back in an instant, terrifying but strangely humorous, wholly alien but also totally familiar. I realized then that I had no appropriate mental reaction in my repertoire for what I was feeling. If my life were a soap opera, I realized, I would lose my appetite and run out, hand over my mouth to either stop food or sobs (I've never been sure which). That didn't fit; I was still hungry. I wanted the rest of my cheeseburger and Macho nachos. But should I? Hadn't a major little time in my life just flashed in front of my eyes? What was I supposed to feel?
I still have no idea. I didn't really feel anything, I guess, except confused. It's been three years, and I'm not going to get political; I really don't want to get political about what we're doing in Iraq, because for the most part I avoid politics here in my blog, and I don't think it's important to the story.
I also think that;s about it. I didn't know what I should be feeling, which echoes, perhaps the confusion I felt starting on March 20th, 2003.
Postscript: After I posted this article, I realized that I'd told some of these very same experiences before, in "I don't think I like war very much," only my oulook on them was completely different. As Michael Nesmith once sang, "It's amazing how time can so softly change your ways."
Posted: Mon - March 20, 2006 at 08:52 PM