During my six months I have smelt the ungodly aroma of feces through the air, nearly every night at the same time. I have watched storms come in and out of camp, followed by some of the most amazing sunsets and sunrises.
I have listened to the tears of grown men as they say their last goodbye to a fallen friend.
I have felt the dust mixed with sweat within every crease of my body.
And I have tasted fear sitting in a bunker as rockets whiz overhead, and landed with an all too familiar boom.
Six months away from home can do a lot for ones soul, six months in a war torn country and do a lot for one spirit as well, and watching men and women come in from the field after days of fighting, and watching as the caskets are being carried for their final trip home can do a lot for your heart.
Six months away from home, in a war torn country can make you appreciate life and all it has to offer, and it can make you appreciate those that fill your life, and surround you on a daily basis.
I have learned to slow down in life and take time to smell the roses.
I have learned to sit patiently and watch the wave’s crash upon the rocks on the beach.
I have learned to listen to the birds’ sing their daily praises.
I have learned to throw off my sandals and feel the sand beneath my feet and feel the gentle breeze race across my face.
I have learned what the taste of freedom really is, and the price we’ve paid to fly our flag up highly without prejudice or discrimination.
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