As the time for those I love has dwindled, I’ve come to question whether all the time I’ve spent studying was worth anything.
Am I somehow cheating if I claim the Hispanic identity without having shared in its suffering?
But amongst close friends, self-deprecating, cynical, dark humor—the language of the morbidly joyful—provides the perfect disruption.
Cadets and students alike tend to mistake inexperience and ignorance for incompetence.
War is not beautiful. War is the screams of helpless men. War is the sobbing of orphaned children. War is the silence of a city wiped from existence.
I want unfiltered answers, not a pat on the back or another consolatory sandwich from some OCS event.
For eight weeks I had the pleasure of working at the Pentagon, and my god, I was about as useful as a broken office stapler.
In all my years of ranting, I have yet to convince a single conservative to join the Democratic cause. Whether we like it or not, educating others requires a conversation, not a self-righteous sermon.
It seems that most of us have forgotten the point of political deliberation. Neither insults nor a condescending tone do us much good if the goal of discussion is to convince others of our stance.
I want to dismantle the misconception that marching forward necessarily means never turning back.
I had become nothing more than the sum of my routines.
Ultimately, I’m not afraid of any one organization making a robot of me.
To the cadets commissioning this May, I wish I could be there to salute you.
The expectations cadets encounter are what make the transition between school and ROTC both humorous and difficult.
When thanked for my service, I feel guilty. Guilty of stealing attention away from those who’ve already served yet remain forgotten.