1st Lt Prifogle’s Blog

It’s easy to forget.  Forget why you are here.  Forget what you left behind.  Forget what left you behind.  It’s easy to forget that you are here.  Here – Iraq.  Habits, both good and bad, become routines and routines become a way of life.  Things that not too long ago felt like movements and sights from a movie are now daily routines that are involuntary movements – waking up and reaching for my pistol, brushing my teeth with a bottle of water, clearing my weapon before going into the chow hall, screaming “kill!” after every repetition in conditioning drills during MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts Program), saying ‘kill’ when passing by another Marine or as a response to ‘good morning ma’am,’ living in my office because there is nowhere else to go except the gym or running.  It’s normal to see the same people everyday and before they say one word know their mood and the kind of day they are having just from their expressions and body language.  It’s normal to anxiously wait for 1400 everyday to check on the mail hoping that somewhere someone is thinking about you and wrote you a letter to tell you why.  It’s normal to work out 3 or four times a day just to get away from it all and physically exhaust yourself so you don’t think about where you are or why you’re here.  Exhaust yourself to the point where all you can do is eat, work and sleep.  Thinking is no longer an option. 

        It’s easy to forget you are in Iraq.  In case you have never been on a military base (I had not until I checked into Officer Candidate School, OCS) let me explain a few things.  It is a self contained city.  It’s like a medieval kingdom completely surrounded by a wall or moat.  Al Asad isn’t much different – if you walk out of the supply compound you are less than a block away from the main strip of base.  The strip consists of the Coffee Bean, it’s not Starbucks but has the MOAC or Mother of All Coffee.  Subway is in the same building as well as the base theater, which shows nightly movies.  Next to that building is an area of trailers with shops set up inside.  Inside the shops you can get Turkish jewelry, a new car or motorcycle for when you return, rugs, anything you can design to be embroidered on anything you can buy or bring in, and hookahs.  There is a Pizza hut and Burger King for take out and a large picnic area to dine in.  Next to that is the PX, a store with a little of everything except common sense items (for example I can buy eye make up remover but not eye makeup even though there’s no need to wear makeup).  They stock snack food, flags, cards, magazines, electronics, etc.  Next is the gym.  The gym looks like a giant converted warehouse.  There is an upper level that has the cardio machines and the main deck is the weight equipment.   

There’s also a fire station, the flightline, an Iraqi Shopping Center where you can buy “Jewelery”.  There are hair salons, the MP (Military Police) compound, tent cities that serve as temporary barracks and can cities that are permanent barracks.  The Iraqi Army has its own guarded camp and there are can cities where local contractors and vendors live.  There are camps within base for different units –  Camp Ripper, Camp Firebird, etc.  Really just about anything including a swimming pool and soccer stadium (urban legend is that this is the soccer stadium where Saddam’s son executed the soccer team that lost the world cup).  There’s an oasis of palm trees that supposedly grew naturally in straight, even lines.  Legend is Moses or baby Jesus, or some other biblical character walked through there.  This is my home.  This is my prison.  Everything you need – Thursday is karaoke night, Friday is hip-hop, Saturday Salsa, Sunday Swing – everything except space and freedom. 

Your body and mind can get used to anything.  Stockholm Syndrome is an example of that.  I’ve gotten used to Al Asad.  Seeing civilians on motorcycles is normal.  Seeing the same exact people every day is normal.  Working out 4 times a day is normal.  My mind and body has gotten used to it like its getting used to the rising temperature already over 100ºF.  This is all now normal.  So, it’s easy to wake up and go to work and go to meetings and training and not once think I’m in Iraq.  I carry a weapon everywhere I go.  I’m in a combat zone.   It’s easier yet to forget what “normal” used to be.  What it feels like to drive my bug, drive to the beach and run in the soft sand.  I forget what it’s like to hug someone, to kiss someone, to . . . All the things that used to be normal are a distant memory now.  Has it been four months or four years?  It all blurs together into one long Wednesday. 

        And then something happens.  You get an email about a memorial service for a fallen Marine.  Your internet and phone goes down on Mother’s Day because you are now in Rivercity.  Everyone’s first instinct is “Oh no, I need to call my family.” Then you realize a mother somewhere is facing the hardest day of her life today.  Another email is sent announcing a 21 gun salute for a fallen soldier – 19 years old.  These are the moments when you remember you are at war.  The times when you remember the husband, wife, mother, father, brothers, sisters, friends. . . all the things you left behind.  This is when you pray that they didn’t leave you behind, but know their life went on without you.

I left my life on pause.  My things boxed up in a shed and scattered at friends’ houses; a now an ex-boyfriend’s garage.  I think secretly this was my way of saying “I’m coming home.”  I left it on pause so I could come home and pick up the remote and unpause it.  Start life right where I left it; but, I know better.  I know that’s not how life goes.  Life goes on without me.  Children grow, earthquakes rumble, people die, people get married, babies are born.  None of it stops because I’m gone.  Someone came in and unpaused it all without me.  Life as I knew it moved on. 

It’s easy to forget.  Forget why I’m here.  Forget the dangers all around me.  Forget that my daily routines that are a way of life were strange and awkward not too long ago.  I forget what it’s like to pick up a cell phone and hit a button and call anyone I want, what it’s like to drive my car.  I forget the feeling of freedom at the end of the day – taking my hair down throwing on a favorite pair of jeans, strappy sandals and going out with girlfriends.  It’s easy to forget, but I hold on to the little things – a letter from my nephew, picture of my sisters and niece at an Irish dance feis, a video from home on Christmas morning, a daily email from Jill.  I hold on and remember what I have to go home to, remember what I left behind.  I remember that the things that truly matter will still be there.  The children will be an inch or two taller, but they will still be my Teed bug and Lady bug.  I will go back and get used to the way things are and soon enough this will all seem like a weird dream from another life.  

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