(no subject)
*if your reading this and not me then understand that i am ranting because its therapeutic. spilling this out makes me feel better and i am treating this like a private journal, only an electronic one*
I never EVER thought Saddam would be caught. I was so shocked when Christiana and her mom told me that I started crying. "Are you sad?" they asked, shocked. "No, just emotional." They must have thought I was so wierd.
I drove home, listening to BBC news. When I got inside I turned to CNN and when I saw his haggard face on t.v with the caption "Saddam captured!" I helplessly burst into tears. There was no one home, and the cats crawled into my lap, purring. It was seeing his face that did it for me. I never thought he was human. I never cognitively realized he had lungs, a heartbeat or could grow a beard. He was always to me the personification of evil. Russians would call it Stalin, Western Europeans, Americans and Jews call it Hitler, and for me it was always Saddam.
The first I heard of the man was when I could hear bombing going on when I was at the bus stop waiting to go to school. Dad would tell me that "they are just talking to each other." Who? "Saddam and the Iranians." And my parents were (justifiably) calm so I never cared.
I remember being told that we weren't going back to Kuwait, i took it pretty well because I couldn't fathom it, not until I translated it into "you will never see the morning glories and forget-me-nots you planted in the window boxes before you left, your cat is now dead, there are strangers living in our apartment, another little girl is sleeping in your bed, playing with your toys, kuwaities are crying, life as you know it will never be the same again." That was day Melly bought Cassie and I mint green night gowns covered in lace with matching robes and that was the night we slept in sleeping bags in the cottage with Joe and Chris and dad was still in kuwait with the phone lines down and I woke mom up to let her know I wet the bed and feeling so shamed and terrified. I threw up at night and mom held my hair back rubbing my back and I cried so hard I broke blood vessels near my eyes I was nine and couldn't think of anything to say but "fuck saddam hussein" which was the only time I was allowed to swear.
Not long after I accidently found some arabic pamphlets Dad brought back (I have no idea why) with illustrations of Saddam smiling, wearing aviators, holding a baby with a rainbow behind him, and a man looking miserable in a wooden chair with wires attached to his head, and another with nail studded leather cuffs buckled over his forhead and wrists who was crying. Saddam was all about propaganda and showing off torture methods.
I always knew we were vulnerable, that Dad could get into a car accident, that I could be kidnapped or Joe could fall out a window or that someone could break into our house. But I never imagined my country being vulnerable until the invasion. It was a loss of innocence for me like America's after Sept. 11.
I never EVER thought Saddam would be caught. I was so shocked when Christiana and her mom told me that I started crying. "Are you sad?" they asked, shocked. "No, just emotional." They must have thought I was so wierd.
I drove home, listening to BBC news. When I got inside I turned to CNN and when I saw his haggard face on t.v with the caption "Saddam captured!" I helplessly burst into tears. There was no one home, and the cats crawled into my lap, purring. It was seeing his face that did it for me. I never thought he was human. I never cognitively realized he had lungs, a heartbeat or could grow a beard. He was always to me the personification of evil. Russians would call it Stalin, Western Europeans, Americans and Jews call it Hitler, and for me it was always Saddam.
The first I heard of the man was when I could hear bombing going on when I was at the bus stop waiting to go to school. Dad would tell me that "they are just talking to each other." Who? "Saddam and the Iranians." And my parents were (justifiably) calm so I never cared.
I remember being told that we weren't going back to Kuwait, i took it pretty well because I couldn't fathom it, not until I translated it into "you will never see the morning glories and forget-me-nots you planted in the window boxes before you left, your cat is now dead, there are strangers living in our apartment, another little girl is sleeping in your bed, playing with your toys, kuwaities are crying, life as you know it will never be the same again." That was day Melly bought Cassie and I mint green night gowns covered in lace with matching robes and that was the night we slept in sleeping bags in the cottage with Joe and Chris and dad was still in kuwait with the phone lines down and I woke mom up to let her know I wet the bed and feeling so shamed and terrified. I threw up at night and mom held my hair back rubbing my back and I cried so hard I broke blood vessels near my eyes I was nine and couldn't think of anything to say but "fuck saddam hussein" which was the only time I was allowed to swear.
Not long after I accidently found some arabic pamphlets Dad brought back (I have no idea why) with illustrations of Saddam smiling, wearing aviators, holding a baby with a rainbow behind him, and a man looking miserable in a wooden chair with wires attached to his head, and another with nail studded leather cuffs buckled over his forhead and wrists who was crying. Saddam was all about propaganda and showing off torture methods.
I always knew we were vulnerable, that Dad could get into a car accident, that I could be kidnapped or Joe could fall out a window or that someone could break into our house. But I never imagined my country being vulnerable until the invasion. It was a loss of innocence for me like America's after Sept. 11.