21–02–2020

You must write. It is the matter of life or death.

In this short spasm of time we all come out the same.

I aim rudderless at this junction. Adrift into the blur of the same perfect southern Californian sunny days. Nothing remarkable to show, just the date ticking over anew. I sleep on someone else’s ideas. I navigate someone else’s streets. I eat someone else’s bought food.

As of right now, my intention to serve this country, has been denied. Based upon false pretenses of misguided honesty. I can say that misfired honesty has been my biggest weakness.

It is an early spring morning in San Jose, California. The sun isn’t up at this moment. The chartered bus is being loaded up with hopeful patriots awaiting to swear into the armed forces. I being different, followed the bus in a beater hand me down Honda. Driving through those dark streets in those pre dawn hours, my attention was no where near focused.

The building was white and old concrete. The parking lot mirrored the age, as it quickly devolved into gravel. This is where I parked my vehicle, and walked toward the gathering mass of people. The crowd formed two lines based upon gender. Behind a glass door was a single metal detector. Everyone had to pass through this security measure.

After you walked through you surrendered everything that was not important to you. Which meant you were left with a folder, your identification, a persona informational history sheet, and the clothes you were wearing.

Thus began the long day of hurry up and wait from different medical stations to the other. Idle conversation came and went. Different faces inhabited those generic chairs.

The afternoon sun entered the windows, when I was called into a doctor’s room. I was instructed to sit on the bed, and give the final comments on my medical examination.

No means no. I said that negative response repeatedly, until asked this question.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Maybe I felt comfortable in that moment. Maybe, the fact that I was able to survive 23 years of life without this allergy becoming an issue.

I answered yes……well kind of.

“When I was little my mom, said I was allergic to bananas.”

The doctor’s eye brows perked up. “Oh really? Do you remember what happened?”

“I really don’t.”

I was just trying to answer the question and move on. The doctor had follow up questions.

“Did your throat become scratchy, or swell?”

“Oh yeah, I think it did. That’s all it did though.” I agreed.

The medical professional checked a box. The mark on the piece of paper was for anaphylactic shock. An instant disqualification.

Since that moment I have eaten bananas on the daily. My mother was mistaken. I do not have an allergy to bananas. Yet, as far as the entrance to the armed forces is concerned I do.

I have sent letters, and lab results proving my mistake in response. As of February 18, 2020 all the requests for review, and evidence have been denied, and I am unable to retake the physical exam for military service.

Every time I recount this experience, I feel incredulous. Like this has to be a joke or something. I guess you could say this shit is bananas!

I have seen my friends move on with their lives, and I got hung up on a false impression from my childhood.

Futility, and gratitude are the only things that fade with time. I pursued and took stock in something that was never going to happen.

When the thought of military serviced first entered my mind. I was a college student on the way out of the halls of academia. That belief was my next step. That belief became part of my identity. I graduated and held the hope that the waivers recruiters were sending to MEPS would be granted. I slowly descended into nothing. I wasn’t a college student, I wasn’t even a fully employed construction worker. I was a dreamer, hoping that I would move forward with my life.

Now. the dream. Is dead.

The silver lining is I know I tried, and how precious honesty is. No really means numerous opportunities.

Just makes me wonder what the heck else I can or should do. I hate the reliance of being selected by someone else. My last name alone disparages alphabetical selection. Yet, I am to unorganized to strike out on my own.

A drift, and asleep at the wheel. What will happen will happen.