Brenton
itumeleng kganyago
Shea
Always Eighteen
AhmedGuilt and Me (Part 2, Chapter 1)
September 2nd 2007 04:14
I knew that one of the core goals of the training was to strengthen bonding, in a way it was more important than learning how to fire a gun or march for miles and miles. It was what brought us together, made us who we were and defined us. Like the stitching in ones clothing, an individual thread doesn’t mean much, but woven together and it’s a whole different, grander, thing.
In a way I hated it, getting to know people, it wasn’t my thing. My mother died when I was young and my dad would always say how it is best not to get attached to things. If you lose something you hold dear to yourself it will hurt you infinitely more than if you didn’t. At a time like this, they were going to send us off to a foreign country and expect us to kill other people, possibly die for our country. Did they really want us to be best mates?
I didn’t get to know many people, partly because I didn’t want to and partly because I harboured a deep resentment to them. There were some I did like, Michael for instance was a Christian, the kind who was brought up as one, the kind who read the bible everyday, slept with it under his pillow. If he held something dear to himself it was his faith, more than anything in his life. Not that I am a Christian myself, or have ever been to church of my own free will, I just know I can trust someone who is sure of his fundamental morality.
Jarrah was an Aboriginal, he was quiet and kept to himself, not too surprising given he was on the only black skinned person in the whole barracks. He probably ended up getting conscripted somehow, having his birthday on the wrong date. Did I ever feel sorry for him, in a way I got conscripted too, by being friends with Brendan. At least I had a friend, he had no one.
The only person that I somehow became ‘friends’ with but didn’t like was Jonathon. He was a clown and much to my distress took an instant liking to me. I don’t know why, he was annoying, smelly, didn’t care much for his appearance and was slightly over weight. He never kept his mouth shut, something that often got him in trouble. I kept thinking that the repeated punishments he was forced to endure for his big mouth would shut him up, and hoped that by ignoring him would get the point, that I didn’t like him, across. For some reason, none of it helped, he stuck to me like a fly to a fresh pile of dung and didn’t mind being disciplined over and over again for his immature behaviour.
***
I wasn’t far away from home, in fact I was just a short walk away. That didn’t mean I could leave the barracks and go home any time I felt like it. I considered up and bolting, getting the hell out of what I had gotten myself into. I couldn’t believe it, it took me a while to get to grips with. Something just clicked, one day I just woke up and realized where I was and what I was doing. My girlfriend, my father, my two younger brothers and adopted sister, I loved them all. I was going to leave to fight in a foreign country, but this wasn’t the kind of war that felt right.
My grand father would often tell me of the heroic Anzacs when I was young. How they fought for my freedom, took bullets for their mates and stayed strong for their loved ones. He would get me excited with stories about bravery in the face of impossible odds, make me feel proud of those who died for their country. I wasn’t one of them, but if I were going to Vietnam, would that make me like them?
Would I die for my country? Would I become a hero? Brendan, who always sat besides me as my grandfather would tell us stories thought so. Maybe that’s why he was so enthusiastic about the war and maybe I was too embarrassed to let him go fight for his country leaving me out in the cold, getting a university degree of all things. While he’s out there fighting for his country I’m at home buried in books, while he’s sleeping out in the mud I’m in my comfortable bed, while he’s away from those he loves I’m at home, and they’re right there with me.
Somehow, it wasn’t just pride, in a way I couldn’t let him go on his own to a foreign country. We’d been together since kids and never really separated. This one time he went to Alice Springs for a week and every single night he was away I had nightmares about him never coming back. We always took care of each other, watching out for each others backs, being separated would be like losing a part of ourselves, we both made up the one whole.
I remember once he was late for school and to save him getting a beating I risked myself, as soon as the teacher left the room I opened the window, and pulled him in through. We were dobbed in by the class and both took a beating for it. ‘I trust you won’t help your friend like that again, Ryan’ said the school head mistress, though we were both caught in the act of the same crime the following week.
In a way I hated it, getting to know people, it wasn’t my thing. My mother died when I was young and my dad would always say how it is best not to get attached to things. If you lose something you hold dear to yourself it will hurt you infinitely more than if you didn’t. At a time like this, they were going to send us off to a foreign country and expect us to kill other people, possibly die for our country. Did they really want us to be best mates?
I didn’t get to know many people, partly because I didn’t want to and partly because I harboured a deep resentment to them. There were some I did like, Michael for instance was a Christian, the kind who was brought up as one, the kind who read the bible everyday, slept with it under his pillow. If he held something dear to himself it was his faith, more than anything in his life. Not that I am a Christian myself, or have ever been to church of my own free will, I just know I can trust someone who is sure of his fundamental morality.
Jarrah was an Aboriginal, he was quiet and kept to himself, not too surprising given he was on the only black skinned person in the whole barracks. He probably ended up getting conscripted somehow, having his birthday on the wrong date. Did I ever feel sorry for him, in a way I got conscripted too, by being friends with Brendan. At least I had a friend, he had no one.
The only person that I somehow became ‘friends’ with but didn’t like was Jonathon. He was a clown and much to my distress took an instant liking to me. I don’t know why, he was annoying, smelly, didn’t care much for his appearance and was slightly over weight. He never kept his mouth shut, something that often got him in trouble. I kept thinking that the repeated punishments he was forced to endure for his big mouth would shut him up, and hoped that by ignoring him would get the point, that I didn’t like him, across. For some reason, none of it helped, he stuck to me like a fly to a fresh pile of dung and didn’t mind being disciplined over and over again for his immature behaviour.
***
I wasn’t far away from home, in fact I was just a short walk away. That didn’t mean I could leave the barracks and go home any time I felt like it. I considered up and bolting, getting the hell out of what I had gotten myself into. I couldn’t believe it, it took me a while to get to grips with. Something just clicked, one day I just woke up and realized where I was and what I was doing. My girlfriend, my father, my two younger brothers and adopted sister, I loved them all. I was going to leave to fight in a foreign country, but this wasn’t the kind of war that felt right.
My grand father would often tell me of the heroic Anzacs when I was young. How they fought for my freedom, took bullets for their mates and stayed strong for their loved ones. He would get me excited with stories about bravery in the face of impossible odds, make me feel proud of those who died for their country. I wasn’t one of them, but if I were going to Vietnam, would that make me like them?
Would I die for my country? Would I become a hero? Brendan, who always sat besides me as my grandfather would tell us stories thought so. Maybe that’s why he was so enthusiastic about the war and maybe I was too embarrassed to let him go fight for his country leaving me out in the cold, getting a university degree of all things. While he’s out there fighting for his country I’m at home buried in books, while he’s sleeping out in the mud I’m in my comfortable bed, while he’s away from those he loves I’m at home, and they’re right there with me.
Somehow, it wasn’t just pride, in a way I couldn’t let him go on his own to a foreign country. We’d been together since kids and never really separated. This one time he went to Alice Springs for a week and every single night he was away I had nightmares about him never coming back. We always took care of each other, watching out for each others backs, being separated would be like losing a part of ourselves, we both made up the one whole.
I remember once he was late for school and to save him getting a beating I risked myself, as soon as the teacher left the room I opened the window, and pulled him in through. We were dobbed in by the class and both took a beating for it. ‘I trust you won’t help your friend like that again, Ryan’ said the school head mistress, though we were both caught in the act of the same crime the following week.
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Comment by Brenton
Dr Spin
Tales From The Other Side
Downwrite
Blip Blog
Gadget Museum
I'd love to see you telling the story more, rather than simply reccounting the events.
Comment by Ahmed
techy.Bytes
Video Gamer Kids
Little Green Foosballs
PolyKicks
Qwerk
Cinema Three
@Brenton, well if were talking novel size think 'bed bugs'
Comment by Ahmed
techy.Bytes
Video Gamer Kids
Little Green Foosballs
PolyKicks
Qwerk
Cinema Three
I mean, the dudes supposed to be dead now isn't he?
Comment by Brenton
Dr Spin
Tales From The Other Side
Downwrite
Blip Blog
Gadget Museum
You can say, "I got so angry I hit him" Thats telling.
Or "Rage filled me, pushed me to my feet. I barely registered as a drew my arm back and let loose with a punch, connecting solidly with his cheek." Thats showing.
I remember once he was late for school and to save him getting a beating I risked myself, as soon as the teacher left the room I opened the window, and pulled him in through. We were dobbed in by the class and both took a beating for it.
This could make a great scene.
I just feel that for the size of this, it really doesn't do it justice to be told in these kind of 'told' recollections.
Comment by Ahmed
techy.Bytes
Video Gamer Kids
Little Green Foosballs
PolyKicks
Qwerk
Cinema Three
and yeah, I can't believe I misunderstood you the way I did X_X