Half Lost, Half Found

When I am not face to face with the lonely reality of being 6,200 miles from home,
incandescent with frustration sprawled on a carpeted floor,
realizing the blessing of ice cold air conditioning divergent with the ever-moisturizing hell that is the Minnesota summer outside,
I make and reassure promises.

Recently I have promised myself to remain single until I reach the holy Land. I have also promised that I will keep my physical condition on par with my mental aptitude, because the truth is, I have found it eerily simple to stray and rot in the depression come firsthand trials of intimidation and lack of will.

Life ultimatums are serious. I know in these twenty years of consciousness I have assumed that over and over, but the intimate experience is a first, and all the more rattling.

I have given up on a life here for a life in the country I love for a precarious soul-search; joining an Army currently at risk for going to war with two nations, Iran and Egypt.

But I love it.
I dare say that I am both ready and already proud of who I am becoming.
Imagining the future and every small commitment I make for arriving in Israel is an emotional detonation of identity and raw oath.



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