Sore Spots and Rough Patches

I've been through a lot in my life. I've suffered heart break and disappointment, enjoyed true friendships as well as false ones, openly relished joy, and quietly harbored grief. I've worked hard for goals only to come up short, and had opportunities I didn't deserve fall in my lap. At twenty-six years old, I can honestly say that I've had a very colorful, though not always pretty life. But, with a confidence and determination I haven't felt in awhile, I can say that life is mine. I have no shame, and I have very few regrets.

In the few weeks since I've written last, the turmoil within myself has quieted some, and the confidence and acceptance of my choices has solidified. I am single. But, I'm not alone.

I love people. It was one of the things that made me a very good waitress years ago, and that innate ability to strike up a conversation with perfect strangers has served me well in countless other circumstances as well. The Army is no different. With the thousands of service members on this post from all branches of service, as well as countless US civilian employees, and local national tradesmen, there are as many opportunities for interesting exchange as there are colors of the rainbow. It took me four months and a breakup to even notice.

When I was with Chris, I walked with blinders on a lot of the time, afraid that a conversation with a stranger would somehow make him jealous, or that he would disapprove. Looking back, I know it was foolish, and I kick myself for so many opportunities missed. After all, isn't humanity the root of why America is in Afghanistan anyway? Isn't that the basis of any mission? The protection, liberation, education, of some form of humanity??

We have a small (and what would be called "rustic" at best by stateside standards) spa here on post. They do the basics -- hair cuts and color, manicures, pedicures, waxing, and massages. I know, it sounds so frivolous in a combat zone. I was shocked when I heard of it, but was not long taking advantage of it. Every week since we arrived here, I go to the spa on my day off. I get a massage (and for only $30 for an hour, its quite an inexpensive indulgence), and occasionally a pedicure, as combat boots can be killer on your feet, and the massage is a great way to relieve what seems like never ending stress from this job. It's my little break from the madness, and my savored weekly indulgence.

Almost every week on my day off, I have had the same masseuse. I don't make an appointment, as my days off I make a point to keep blissfully free of time hacks and schedules. But, as luck would have it, Gulmira, a cute little Asian woman from Kyrgyzstan always seem to be available. I remember when I first started going to the spa, I struggled to converse with the women that work there, as their accents were thick, and their English quite broken. But, as time has gone on, I've come to communicate with them better, and can engage in light friendly conversation on my visits now. They try to teach me their languages -- at any given time, Uzbek, Kurd, Russian, Daari, Pashtun, or Mongol can be heard. Needless to say, I find it all very confusing, and can't seem to hold on to much of it. But Gulmira is patient while she laughs at my confusion, and attempts to translate what the other women say. Somehow, they all understand one another. What must it be like to live in an area where you have to learn so many different languages just to get by?

This past weekend, as I lay on Gulmira's table for my full-body massage, she did something very uncharacteristic of her. She poked me in the ribs with her index finger. I flinched, surprised, and turned my head to look at her. "You getting skinny, ma'am. What ever is on your mind is no good. You very, very... what is word? ...tense. You very tense when you see me. And you getting skinny. I see your bones. In just a week!"

I blushed and found myself wanting to apologize, but for what I don't know. Gulmira, noticing my discomfort, patted my shoulder reassuringly. "It is a man? Yes, yes, a man. Only man do this to a woman. Do not think of it. It no good for you. Now relax, and I fix." And obediently, I relaxed and let her work her magic on my muscles, and marveled at the perception of a practical stranger.

It was then that I realized that single didn't need to translate to alone. There is warmth in people everywhere, if you have the strength to look past yourself and see it. Gulmira, bless her, did more than massage my sore muscles. With her simple observation and kindness, she eased the ache in my soul.

That night I had the first restful sleep I've had in weeks. I slept for 13 hours, and awoke feeling refreshed and whole, in a way I hadn't since I arrived in Afghanistan.

My heart is not fully healed, by any means. I've slowly thrown out the letters and cards he sent me, and taken the pictures down from the walls. Each act was like a knife in my chest. It would be a lie to say I don't miss him, but the man I miss was also a lie. So, I guess it breaks even. But every day I am stronger and more prepared for the next, and every day I lean more toward laughter than tears, and anger instead of guilt. Every day I find myself looking at what lies ahead, instead of looking over my shoulder at what I left behind, and being increasingly optimistic. I never could stay sad for long -- its against my nature, and I'm so very thankful for it.