RECEPTION.

June 16 was the day I shipped out to Fort Jackson, SC. However, this was not the same day I shipped directly to my unit--before that, I had to go through Reception, which was probably the worst part of BCT. It was around midnight or so when the coach buses came to pick all of us up from the airport, and the bus ride was about 25 minutes. Everyone was afraid to fall asleep, for fear that they would get a rude awakening by a drill sergeant. Needless to say, it was a drill sergeant that got on the bus when we arrived in the Reception Battalion, who barked at us to form up according to branch. We thought they were going to bring us to the barracks to go to sleep, but to our dismay, our inprocessing started right when we got off the bus. No sleep til 2200 the next day. What a great way to start off Basic.

Inprocessing involved filling out endless amounts of paperwork, from financial matters to medical histories to life insurance. This was also when we got issued our uniforms, boots, military IDs, and vaccines. Getting our vaccines was the worst part--we all filed into this one room, where there was a line of NCOs holding needles, and they were not gentle at all. It was like, step up, STAB, walk to the next NCO, STAB, and so on and so forth. The last shot was the ever so gentle Hep B shot, which was inserted all the way into my arm bone, nearly causing me to faint. Nothing like getting 6 shots in a row, huh?

Reception was when the Army principle of "hurry up and wait" was at its finest. For every room we had to go through, for every process and issue we needed to do, there was a long, long line, and this line involved standing at parade rest with our mouths shut. I think it was around this time when I somehow learned how to sleep at parade rest with my eyes cracked open. Other people tried this tactic but failed miserably. The lack of sleep, combined with the little amount of time we had to adjust to a fast paced environment, equals a clusterfuck of epic failure, which we were constantly reminded of by the workers and drill sergeants that worked in Reception. I remember when it was my turn to get my ID picture taken, the specialist told me to key in the last four digits of my social. I looked at her blankly, because I did not understand what she meant. I didn't see a keyboard in front of me. So then she repeats herself, but also adding that if I didn't get it by then she would repeat herself rudely. I still didn't understand. Then she yells at me, and finally points to the number pad that was at the other side of the computer, by the wall. Her battle buddy proceeded to mock me, "Oh, she probably expected the numberpad to be on the ceiling or something!" Never in my life had I met such a rude staff. I mean, I get the whole "you're only a Recruit, you're not really in the Army yet", but we're still people so we still deserve some sliver of respect...Anyway, if you ever get a chance to look at my military ID, now you know why I look like I'm about to kill someone lol.

There were so many people who already wanted out, and I could only pitifully shake my head at them. If you can't even get through something as simple as getting your hearing test done, how can you expect to survive Basic? I was actually surprised at how many immature, stubborn, disrespectful and weakminded people there were, but I guess I was a bit naive in expecting to be surrounded by a bunch of motivated, dedicated, super hooah people? Idk. Most of the people I shipped out with were either still in high school or just graduated high school, so I shouldn't have been too surprised by the lack of maturity. I'll never forget standing outside the medical quarters, and all we had to do in our formation was to get accountability of everyone. Did we do that? NO. Instead we just stood there, in the scorching heat, bickering and arguing about HOW to count everyone who was there. I had never been so frustrated, how something as simple as counting had to turn into the argument of the century. Heck, there were people crying over it. This was when I prayed that wherever I end up, I hope I didn't end up in a gagglefuck like I was in at that time.

That's pretty much what Reception was. Waiting, sleeping, arguing, and waiting some more. Luckily I was only there for four days, sucks for the people who had to be there for like 2 weeks...

Army Life Pt 1: Making the Standard

I, Karen Joy Castro Castillo,
Do solemnly swear that I will defend the Constitution of the United States
against all enemies, foreign and domestic,
that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same,
and that I will obey
the orders of the President of the United States
and the orders of the officers appointed over me,
according to regulations
and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
So help me God.

Words cannot describe how proud I am right now, all sworn in and enlisted in the Army. Well technically, I'm not actually going to be enlisting with the Army--I'm still with the ROTC, but I have to "enlist" in order to get a slot for basic training. Once I get back from training, I will sign a new contract with the ROTC which will give me a 2 year scholarship and the opportunity to train with a Reserves unit as well as the opportunity to branch into the Medical Service Corps. Can you believe how much has developed since the last time I blogged here? Exactly one year ago I made the decision to try out ROTC, not knowing what will come out of it. The uncertainty has since solidified into affirmation that the Army is definitely something I want to be a part of.

Of course, this was in no way an easy decision. Throughout the whole year, ROTC has tested me physically, mentally, and emotionally. There have definitely been times where I've doubted my own abilities, whether I was really capable of doing everything that was asked of me. However, there have also been times where I've proved myself wrong, which revived my motivation and confidence to keep going.

My ultimate test came near the end of this year, when it came time for me to get a Basic Training slot. It was the end of April, and Major Perrin and SGT Wynne wanted me to be at the Body Fat Standard because time was running out to get me a BCT slot for the summer. I stepped on the scale, and disappointingly, I did not lose any weight since my last APFT. I was sent home again and asked to return a week later, in hopes that I would have lost a couple of pounds or inches off my waist. Ate less, ran more, and hoped that I'd make tape the next weigh in. A week later, step on the scale again, only to realize I GAINED a pound! At this point, MAJ Perrin was ready to choke me, and SGT Wynne told me to start coming up with a back up plan. Basically, they told me that if I really wanted this, I would find a way to lose FIVE pounds by the next week. A huge lump formed in my throat, and my heart sunk. How the HELL was I going to be able to pull that off?! Is it even possible?

I went home, numb and knowing that my career in the ROTC/Army was about to end because my stupid self couldn't lose the pounds in time to make it to Basic Training. Heck, why did I need to lose the weight if I was going to lose all of it AFTER training anyways? I felt defeated, and I was really close to giving up. Was this really worth me risking my health? After a night of ruminating and pensive thinking, I woke up the next day and decided to do something about this. I was NOT going to give up. Heck, the first 2 tenets of the Warrior Ethos are to never accept defeat, and to never quit. So I started drinking water. LOTS of water. I knew a lot of my weight was water weight, so my plan was to pee it out and sweat it out. I sat in saunas, I cycled with heavy sweats on, ate a lot of fiber to clean out my digestive system, did EVERYTHING. Before I knew it, it was time for me to go back to the unit again to get weighed. MAJ Perrin smiled at me, noting how much skinnier I looked. "Step up on the scale, Miss Castillo!" she said in her usual bright voice. I watched the weight level off at 161, down four pounds from last week, and a grin creeped on my face. LTC Hall came in to personally congratulate me on my achievement. "I am proud of you," he said, staring firmly into my eyes, "I know this has been hard for you, but there are not many people like you. You are not even overweight, but some people are just cursed with the way their body is shaped [there are people who are practically obese but manage to pass the tape test because of their body shape!]. You have kept up a consistent effort throughout this year and I have seen you grow and improve. Keep it up." Hearing this from the colonel meant a lot, especially at a time when I thought I really didn't belong. I did it. and I did it without dying, haha.

Take home message-- This whole experience can be summed up in Harriet Beecher Stowe's words: When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

Contemplation

I haven't written on here in so long...It seems as if I only write when I'm sad, so I guess it's good that I haven't been writing in awhile because it means I've been happy most of the time? Or it's bad because I only write when I'm sad? I guess it's just one of those mysteries....Here's a couple of musings for you to chew on today.

At the moment....

I write in the midst of my procrastination, which is, by the way, a habit that is very hard to break. I still have papers to write for english, and a bio final to study for. I'd might as well give my mind a break, since I had a pretty intense psych final today. MY GOD, I don't know why writing papers is such a bitch to do. The reason why I put them off all the time is because I'm just...afraid of writing them. I'm intimidated by the blank page on my computer screen...how I have to fill three pages worth of analysis on these things...make it something worth to read. But when it comes to other things like analyzing a TV episode or a journal article online, I can pull out 1000 words without breaking a sweat! It's probably just the mentality of writing in a formal academic format that hinders my creativity. I just feel constrained whenever it comes to writing assignments...I wish I can whip out papers filled of BRILLIANCE like others can.

Lately....

I've been feeling insecure. When haven't I felt insecure? Or inadequate? Sometimes I just pause and wonder how I got accepted here in the first place. A lot of times I feel overshadowed by my own peers...I was hoping this would motivate me to do better, but lately I just feel like I'm just not good enough....Grr. I have to destroy this negative attitude. It's bad for my health, and it does nothing but waste my time.

ROTC

I still don't know if this was a good decision. But I feel like I have to do this. I want to do this. It would give me great focus and more discipline in my life. I would lose weight. It will help me develop into a better leader. It will help me find the confidence and strength that is hiding inside of me...It would just bring out the best in me. But I do have to acknowledge certain things, like the amount of work I would have to put into this program, both mentally and physically. It will no doubt test my limits. I just hope that I am ready for this. I will try it out for a year, and if I want to go through with the ROTC I will accept the full tuition scholarship for the remainder of college and contract with the Army. I don't really care what other people think at this point. This is my life, my decisions. I decide what is right for me, and if people think otherwise, well too bad. They can stay in that negative mindset while I move on and prove them wrong.

The only thing I'm really worried about is how my parents will react to my decision. They'll probably first be angry because it will take away the focus from my education. They think ANYTHING I do that has nothing to do with my education will deter me from succeeding. They're paranoid like that. First they thought being in Boston would lead me to bad decisions like going clubbing every weekend and getting pregnant and inevitably dropping out. Now they (more specifically, my dad), think that socializing with other people will lead me to caring less about my education and then drop out. They're so scared for my failure so much that they fail to acknowledge my abilities. I wonder how they truly view me. Do they think I'm a vulnerable, frail girl who can't fend for herself out in the real world? Another thing is, my parents would probably not be able to distinguish between ENLISTING in the army and participating in the ROTC. They'll think I'll end up like their family doctor's son, who was a marine corporal that died in Iraq. They'll obviously worry that I'll be deployed during college, which is NOT the case in the ROTC because training takes place DURING school, and our miltary obligation does NOT begin until after we are commissioned. ugh. just thinking about having to talk with them about the ROTC is already giving me headaches.

One thing I am truly bad at is communicating with my parents, if you can not already tell. For one thing, they are very stubborn and a lot of times refuse to listen to me. And even if they do listen to me, they'll try to disprove what I say and just try to push their opinions on me. My parents are also very narrowminded people, who seem to be unable to accept a different perspective other than their own. Because of this, I get frustrated and end up releasing my frustration by yelling at them, which leads nowhere in terms of persuading them. at first I thought maybe it's because of the language barrier. But no. Even if I spoke to them in Tagalog I probably still wouldn't be able to get my point across. I try to understand things from their perspective...I understand that they are trying to do what is best for me, but they do have to acknowledge that I'm no longer that young child that they've reared for 18 years. How will I be able to make decisions for myself if they always try to make them for me?

Why does speaking to my parents have to be so difficult? If I could get past this, I could get past anything in life.

Dream 1

2 dreams.

the first is of me walking around providence, with gray overcast at some points and dank darkness at other points. I am crossing a slippery bridge with no guard rails, passing by a squatter that is blasting some hardcore rap. I then find myself walking down a narrow downtown street in my socks, the ground soaking wet from the melting snow--I can feel the uncomfortable cold wetness of my drenched socks as I stepped on the slush.

the next dream is of me making out with a very cute asian guy. I sit on his lap and start grinding on him, passion just spilling out of me. We then make it to the corner where there are a lot of belongings and i ask if we should continue. the guy turns into R and it turns out we were in a room full of random people falling asleep in random places.

The perfect time.

Now. The perfect time to let this feeling slip under my skin.
Let the tunes flow into your ears,
let them let your feeling flourish.
Let it wash through your body,
so each and every bone and blood vessel can shiver from reality.
The heart beats slowly. then quickly.
And aches.
Drown out the loud silence,
it can kill you.

Disconnected.

She closes the door on everyone else and watches the rest of the world go on without her. She then begins to search for something to fill in the void deep inside of her, but is unable to figure out exactly what that would be. She is reexamining each friendship and relationship she has, and then goes on to reexamine her own purpose in this world. Troubled, frustrated, and pensive, she violently grabs a pen, hopelessly wishing it would turn into a sharp object she could use to puncture herself so all of these lingering thoughts of worthlessness can bleed out from her, seeping into the ground to never be seen, heard or thought of again. But the pen doesn't change form no matter hard she convinces herself it would, so she buries herself in her pillow and hopes the pain would go away in the form of tears. The big monster has awoken inside of her once again, whispering sinister words into her mind about herself and the people around her. Consequently, she disconnects herself, letting herself become consumed by this vicious monster. "All your doubts are true," it sneers, "Let them flourish."

Today.

Today is January 20, 2009, 5:22pm. It is currently 29 degrees Farenheit, with snowflakes powdering the day old snow on the grounds of Tuft University. Today is a new day. A beautiful new day. Today was the day Barack Obama was sworn into office as the 44th President of the United States of America as the first African American President in history. And I am proud to say that I have witnessed this moment, even though I was watching it from a projector screen in my Intro Psychology Class. Location, however, didn't matter. It was the moment, the words, and the whole thought that this is actually happening that has given me and everyone around me an electrifying feeling inside.

To be honest, I never really have been politically active until now. I had no interest in politics whatsoever because I thought all politicians had the same agenda. Same old stories, same old campaigns. Same old promises that are hardly ever kept, and the same old people who end up winning office. I didn't have any hope in any sort of change in this country--I thought we would just continue chugging along in the same state of uncertainty, distrust, and pessimism. But this election, this election was different. Barack Obama was definitely a different kind of candidate. I have never felt so inspired and moved by a politician; nor have I ever had goosebumps on my arms when listening to a politician until Barack Obama came along. He was finally someone that I felt I could connect to, someone I could trust. He made me feel like I can feel hopeful and safe in this country once again. He was like a breath of fresh air to a country in need of rejuvenation.

My parents (more particularly, my dad) were probably one reason why I avoided politics. They had this very cynical, conservative, and pessimistic mindset to everything. My father was a strong republican--he believed that no promises can be kept, that change is impossible and would never happen. He despised Obama's whole campaign of change, calling him a person of false dreams and that his words were just bullshit. He had all these stupid, ignorant reasons as to why Obama shouldn't be elected--like emphasizing Obama's connection to the anti-patriotic preachings of Reverend Wright, the fact that his middle name is Hussein and the fact that he has "Muslim blood". My mother would agree with everything my dad would say, and reiterate that her co-workers at the VA Hospital (who were republican War veterans) also denounced Obama. Every time this subject of politics was brought up, I would brace myself for all the false and narrow-minded claims my father would make about Barack Obama. Perhaps the most horrible thing he has ever said about Obama was that if he were to be elected, he would become some sort of tyrannical Anti-American terrorist and overthrow the government. "Would you want THAT to be our country's leader?" He sneered.

I don't understand how my father can be so influenced by this negative portrayal of Barack Obama by the media. How can he NOT see through these false things that have obviously been blown out of proportion? How can he NOT see the same thing I see in Barack Obama--that sense of hope, confidence and security?

After Obama won the election, he slightly backed down from his previous claims, but still kept that pessimistic, skeptical outlook on what our country would be. He even made note of how there were no Asian Americans that were hired in his cabinet--speculating that it was because Obama did not have a good experience when living in Indonesia, thus forming some sort of hatred against Asians. Where the fuck did THAT come from? Where in the world would he get that idea? How can he distort the facts in a way that he thinks Obama is discriminatory? "We'll see," my dad would then conclude, "We'll see where this goes. He's full of promises that he can't keep."

And throughout this whole time, anger and frustration is boiling up inside of me. But then again, I try to put myself in my parents' shoes. They have been raised in a different country, in a different time, and have had different experiences than what I've had. My dad has lived a rougher life than I have, so maybe that would explain the motives behind his reasonings and beliefs. And that is why I have never challenged him. But I also never agreed with him. I don't let his beliefs and opinions phase me/influence me anymore, because I am capable of forming my own beliefs and opinions.

This is getting longer than I thought it would be. I will end on this note--I would rather accept this feeling of hope and the fact that change has finally come, rather than sulk around and cynically deny it.

Thank you, President Obama, for helping me believe again.