Life: Kid chosen, Mother approved.
Ever have just one of those days, where you Zenly realize just the awe-inspiring unimportance of your existence?
Somehow, I find it strangely liberating today. The only thing I have left is an impression in the mind of my parents, a select few friends, and several girls who I imagine will remember me - and more often fondly then not, I hope. I know I do of them.
And somehow, today, that's okay. I despise myself usually. I despise the fact I'm so miniscule in the eyes of the universe, but ... just maybe ... all that matters is what you mean to someone else.
I don't like that I'm the one who goes off to war, in a way - I don't like that I know I'm the one risked as expendable. But I do admit -- I do like the result.
People all the time, wonder what people will really say at your funeral. If you'll be missed. Like somehow that's the greatest insult the world has ever given you -- that you can't see the real deal on people's faces. Their unhesitating honesty.
But I think I do. Because of this - because of war, because I'm there. All those things you never said to the person laying wax-faced underneath your softly wetted eyes? They say them. Because they know I could not be there the next day. And that's retarded -- because I'm in less danger from insurgents than you all are from car accidents. But the tension, the anxiety, people feel for those Over Here -- it's palpable, terrifying and ... makes us stop being idiots who don't tell the truth nearly enough. Because we're all so assuming the person must - just must know.
But it gives them the courage to admit their pain, their worry, their compassion. That when people know I'm going somewhere - though I can't say where - or know I'm here, they ... show they love me. That people pray I'll be okay. I don't even pray for myself.
That my brother cries, my big brother who I spent all my life wanting just to make happy - and now all I do is make him scared. But that fear is genuine. That love is present. And you know what?
People would miss me. There are people who genuinely love me and if I was not here they would cry, that I am intrinsic to some people's hearts.
If I had to die, I think it'd be okay. I think it'd be okay.
But knowing this, without the pain of a funeral, I think I'd really rather live.
I bet people think these things for all of you who don't have the frustrating pleasure of a palpatable threat of death to entice sincerity. Just look at people's faces when you fly in to see them.
I know I'm going to.
I love you, too.
Somehow, I find it strangely liberating today. The only thing I have left is an impression in the mind of my parents, a select few friends, and several girls who I imagine will remember me - and more often fondly then not, I hope. I know I do of them.
And somehow, today, that's okay. I despise myself usually. I despise the fact I'm so miniscule in the eyes of the universe, but ... just maybe ... all that matters is what you mean to someone else.
I don't like that I'm the one who goes off to war, in a way - I don't like that I know I'm the one risked as expendable. But I do admit -- I do like the result.
People all the time, wonder what people will really say at your funeral. If you'll be missed. Like somehow that's the greatest insult the world has ever given you -- that you can't see the real deal on people's faces. Their unhesitating honesty.
But I think I do. Because of this - because of war, because I'm there. All those things you never said to the person laying wax-faced underneath your softly wetted eyes? They say them. Because they know I could not be there the next day. And that's retarded -- because I'm in less danger from insurgents than you all are from car accidents. But the tension, the anxiety, people feel for those Over Here -- it's palpable, terrifying and ... makes us stop being idiots who don't tell the truth nearly enough. Because we're all so assuming the person must - just must know.
But it gives them the courage to admit their pain, their worry, their compassion. That when people know I'm going somewhere - though I can't say where - or know I'm here, they ... show they love me. That people pray I'll be okay. I don't even pray for myself.
That my brother cries, my big brother who I spent all my life wanting just to make happy - and now all I do is make him scared. But that fear is genuine. That love is present. And you know what?
People would miss me. There are people who genuinely love me and if I was not here they would cry, that I am intrinsic to some people's hearts.
If I had to die, I think it'd be okay. I think it'd be okay.
But knowing this, without the pain of a funeral, I think I'd really rather live.
I bet people think these things for all of you who don't have the frustrating pleasure of a palpatable threat of death to entice sincerity. Just look at people's faces when you fly in to see them.
I know I'm going to.
I love you, too.