Marked
Tatted on my left wrist, lies the Samoan word, “aiga,” highlighted by a tan line from the watch I’ve worn since Basic Combat Training. The ink, like the watch, was now a bit faded–the watch fading away from constant exposure to the elements and the tattoo, from the lack thereof. My tattoo was sheltered under a piece of rubber, away from judgmental eyes, embarrassment and from possibly shattering the persona of a person many depended on. A person who was always strong, resilient and hopeful; a person I no longer knew. They all needed him but he was a complete stranger to me now. It had felt as if that person had died a while back yet I still struggled to keep his persona alive. And that four letter word? It was his epitaph.
A Folded Sheet of Paper
However, a few years prior in BCT and before I thought about joining the U.S. Army, that word was my motivation and my identity. “Aiga” is the Samoan word for “family” and they were my everything. I was the oldest of five children–a demanding and often overlooked position. I was the chef, chauffeur, protector, provider … a third parent, if you will.
My love for my family was what drove every decision I have made up to that point, to include the decision to stay home after high school. I opted to help provide financially for the family instead of using my scholarships to pursue a degree and I did not hesitate on that decision. I knew what had to be done and as the eldest child, I fulfilled my role.
I was raised with responsibility to the family and with the Samoan values of selfless service, humility and respect–it was not surprising I eventually found myself in a military family that cherished the same values. After observing what the military provided for my uncle and with his guidance, I knew the Army would provide security and a chance for me to provide for my family while still maintaining a level of independence. After a year and a half after I graduated high school, I finally set my course to Fort Jackson, South Carolina for BCT.
Before I had a permanent reminder on my wrist, I had a folded up piece of paper that I kept throughout the ten challenging weeks of BCT. On the very front of the paper, was the words, “Keep Hope Alive '' and within every fold was another statement I held dear. Some additional statements included: “Break Generational Cycles” and “Remember Why You’re Here.” When I fully opened up the sheet of paper, there was a list of names of my immediate family members … my seven reasons. Whenever I needed some encouragement, I reached into my left breast pocket to retrieve the folded sheet of paper.
Remember Why You’re Here
To be completely transparent, writing “Remember Why You’re Here” was unnecessary. I did not forget why I joined–not for a second. The answer lingered in my mind with every “smoke session” from the drill sergeants, every mile of ruck marching and with every playing of “Taps.” Every challenge I faced in BCT, I would recall a challenging time from my upbringing and it made BCT that much more tolerable. During the long ruck marches, I recalled the time where my father and I walked miles to the grocery store with our backpacks when we had no car. When our unit was in the field sleeping in the cold, I recalled the winters in Georgia when I had to boil water on the stove just to shower and the car rides filled with many blankets and sibling cuddles. When my comrades would complain about eating Meals Ready-to-Eat packages, I remembered how scarce food was at times. I remembered everything; I mean, how could I not?
Yet somehow, about a year after I received the Army patch at BCT graduation, I was asked, “Did you forget about us, son?”
A Friction Point
I was in disbelief when I was confronted by that question. I felt as though my sacrifices were not seen or valued. That question quickly brewed into an argument that created a rift within the family. The rift created a void that introduced me to foolish habits.
Pessimism and failure started to creep in my daily routine and thoughts. Unhealthy habits reshaped my youthful optimism and weakened my religious security. Without my family, my reasoning for being in the uniform diminished into vanity and my view on life became bleak.
Purpose and Community
“Every Soldier, every person needs two things in life,” said U.S. Army Lt. Col. Timothy Crawley, Deputy Commanding Chaplain for U.S. Army Pacific. “We all need a purpose and we all need community.”
Those words resonated with me. At that time, I felt as though I had neither. What was my purpose if not family? What community did I have left after being alienated from loved ones for so long? I was failing at life, repeatedly. I failed to meet expectations, to be there for the people I loved and I failed myself, most importantly. However, in my lowest moments, no matter how much I pushed them away, there were a few loved ones who showed me grace and love at a time where I did not love myself anymore. They did not give up on me when I had fully given up on life and that made all the difference. For them, I am eternally grateful.
It was with their support that I was able to cut out detrimental things in my life that were hindering me, rebuild relationships with family and friends that I deeply missed, and allowed me the strength to start accepting help. I always prided myself in the fact that I was someone people could rely on and I took that as strength. Truthfully, it was not until my darkest moments when I realized there was also strength in vulnerability and allowing others to help you. Maybe that was what the old Army marketing catchphrase, “There is Strong, and there is Army Strong” meant: we are stronger together.
Another lesson I have learned was the importance of self-care. With an upbringing immersed in selflessness, I thought it was a bad thing to think about yourself. But I soon realized if I constantly give, I will be left feeling empty. With that being said, I am still trying to figure out the balance between being there for others and being there for myself. Yet, I am proud to say that I have a better grasp on that concept.
Before I can take care of things during my work day and before I can take care of others, I need to first put myself in a position where I am able to give. It reminds me of the Army’s “People First” philosophy. The Army came to a similar conclusion that if you take care of the Soldiers, they will be able to fully accomplish the mission without any distractions from life’s many challenges. In like manner, I have been using many of the Army’s resources like Military and Family Life Counseling to put myself in a position that I am able to serve my country and loved ones with a peaceful and sound mind.
Marked: “a;ga”
Tatted on my left wrist, lies the Samoan word, “aiga”, but in place of the letter “i” there is a semicolon, no longer highlighted by a tan line. As the semicolon represents a place where a sentence could end but continues on, it is a symbol used for suicide awareness and prevention. Just like its grammatical use, it represents a moment when a life could have ended, but the choice was made to continue on.
The reason it is placed in the word, “aiga,” was because although it was familial issues that started my downward spiral into depression, it was also family that kept me going. Not only the family I was related to, but my military friends that became family.
It is no longer a mark of shame, but a mark of victory I wear with pride. I chose to keep fighting and I am proud of myself.
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