Traumatized Memories

How do I begin to describe my life as a soldier?
How would you understand the pain I have gone through?
How would my feelings and hurt be placed on paper,
like they were nothing but words thought up?
How long will I spend to write a history, known only to myself?  

I glance out the window of my bedroom
my reflection is shown on the clear panes.
I am young, only around fourteen.
I have been planning on a moment,
this exact moment, for many past thoughts.
I was going to tell my parents, my dear loving parents,
that I wanted to join The United States Army.
 I wandered from my neon green painted room,
down the soft carpeted stairs, into the living room.
I sat my parents down, sitting across from them.
They peered at me, puzzled at this sudden move.
I look at them for several seconds, my planned words slipping away.
 “Mother. Father.” I start with, wiping my hands on my cargo shorts.
They looked at each other, and then back at me with a soft, “Yes?”
 I gulped, to swallow a lump of fear that had suddenly arisen in my throat.
"In three short years, I am going to enlist. I am going to join the Army."

Should I have instead done something else?
 Should I have followed: 
my passion for animals, for cooking, or for education?
Had I not gone through this, would I still be the same?

I look in the mirror, as I brush off the uniform I wear.
 I was a senior in high school, at the age of eighteen.
I was in my fourth year of JROTC, and I was happy,
I was prepared to dive head first into the waters of training.
 From my first drills as a freshman to my last drills as a senior,
These drills remain in my mind:
The Facing Movements;
Face right- turn right-
Left Face -turn left-
About Face -turn 180 degrees-
Stand to attention!
 I snap into the position needed, as I stand ready for inspection,
 I take my march in stride and happiness, as
I march in our annual Veteran Day’s parade.
I am glad to see the smiles of the old vet’s,
 that make up most of the crowds.
 I knew who  I was and nothing could take this sense away.
This was August and the rest of the school year flashed by.
The actions drilled into me for four years.
It is driven deep down, and can  be seen in everything I do.

Do these values and regulations still rule my life?
Do I still remember these things, the training days?
Will I ever forget them? I doubt not.

It’s May of my senior year.
 I can not actually believe that I have made it so far,
and achieved so much as I traveled along this four year journey.
On a Wednesday, after years of hoping,
I was driven by my parents, to go and start my recruitment.
My brown eyes glistened with happiness,
 I was in my JROTC uniform,  as we have to wear it on Wednesday’s.
We drove for nearly an hour, till we reached the capital,
and the top rated recruitment center in the whole state.
 I stepped out of the car, placing on my hat, while looking around.
My parents got out of car, in jeans and t-shirts.
 I couldn’t imagine how this looked to others.
With them following, I took the first steps to my future.
I lead them into a small brick building, removing my hat as I did so.
“Can I help you?” came a voice, floating from a desk beside the door.
“I was going to start my recruitment process,” came my solid, firm answer.
 The uniformed man nodded.
“Have a seat in the middle, someone will help ya’ soon.”
I was to nervous to sit, so I stood, at attention, out of habit,
while my parents sat in the hard backed chairs.

Was this the perfect time to join?
 Should I have waited till I was older?
 Should I have not have joined?

It was June, I was graduating and I had two weeks.
 Once those two weeks were over,
I was sent off to basic training.  A nine-week period of training.
Surrounded by cadets from many different states.
Male and female. Young and older.
Drill Sergeant's breath down your neck to order you in a task.
Order after order, everything yelled at you.
Every piece of you uniform had to be in perfect shape,
every article of bedding had to be placed on the bed with perfection.
 Nine weeks of physical tests, of mental endurance,
 led me to the day of my basic training graduation.
My parents stood in the bleachers,
while I stood in my platoon, wearing my dress greens.
My dog-tags hang from my neck, sparkling in the sun.
As the ceremony ends, the cadets  are free to go.
I walk, not run, over to my parents who waited with smiles.

Did I waste those nine weeks for a good cause?
Where these skills necessary for the future years of my life?
Do I deserve the title as a veteran, when I didn’t want to serve-
in a war that was stupid and pointless?

It was six months after I graduated from Basic, that they deployed me.
Not to Kuwait or Saudi Arabia, or even Iraq, Iran, or Afghanistan,
but to Japan, to help the clean the mess from the tsunami.
A year long deployment to help clean up coastal towns.
I saw young children filthy and thin, gaunt with hunger.
The parents of these children-
only the mother some of the time, sometimes no one.
The fathers of these children off on duty to fix the country,
the mothers, sisters, and brothers drowned.
I feel sorry for them, as I walk among the streets,
my heart cries out to them, but I can do nothing to change it.
Cleaning up towns and the coasts is hard business.
Clean one area, and then another one, but always back in the same areas. 
as the filth of the sea is pushed back onto the beaches.
 The days went past slowly, but fast.
The year that I was stationed there,
I don’t even know where the time went.
Soon I was back on American soil,
but my heart remains in the Japanese town.
It aches with  tears and bangs as I think of the children.

 Would have returning to the island,
have been a better thing to do?
What if the children were suffering?
What if part of me died inside?

It is just me, myself, and I  in the land of memories.
 I live and breath by these traumatized Memories.