August 22nd

A few days ago,
I watched this video of Eric's home for the next however many months.
It was so loud;
it wasn't the sounds of horns, or people screaming,
and I didn't hear sirens or babies crying...
in my world,
that stuff is loud.
The sound in Eric's world is that of constant open fire.
A giant volume, that is inescapable.
It was crazy to be able to see it in film. To see people moving around, and see my brother living his life in Afghanistan.
This man has traded his two bedroom
for a combat zone.
It blows my mind to think about the fact that we are all
citizens of planet earth,
and how different our lives are.
But, my own brother?? Who was born in the United States of America, and into a generation that has not seen war on home soil,
is suddenly in war.
I--
don't think I would stand a day. In fact, I am positive
I couldn't do it.
I don't like thinking about the things he has seen.
It's crazy to know what he has watched. And I admire his capacity to live under these circumstances,
day after day,
after day.
Minute, second, always.

And I used to bitch about this shit a lot:
until I got sick of being cynical.
But it would be a comfort to know that the lives of these men are being exposed by their media, but instead, we'll just be talking about who could possibly be the mother of Micheal Jackson's children.