the darkest hour is just before dawn

I didn't think I'd make it.

I had a friend's engagement party to go to the night before, which I was running particularly late to. I considered having a nap after work so I could be rested enough to party, then maybe go clubbing for a few hours, and potter on down to the Shrine for the Dawn Service. I even told someone earlier in the week that I was going to try my best to get there, because I thought that it could be my last chance to do anything for ANZAC Day as a true civilian. I still didn't think my chances of keeping it together or getting it together before dawn were fantastic, though.

After partying without a nap and stopping for a couple of hours' sleep, I stepped back into my engagement/clubbing outfit of t-shirt, skirt, leather jacket and boots, and into the crisp hour of four o'clock. I put off getting out of bed for a few too many minutes, but figured I didn't have to battle traffic jams or anything, thinking that the only people around at that hour would be going to the Dawn anyway. It was strange cruising through the city at such a time of transition... there were still people in the street that were winding down from wherever they'd been dancing all night, as well as people just beginning their day by scurrying towards the Shrine, and then there was me (somewhere in between).

I'd lost all sense of what time it was by the time I'd parked and joined the throng that was progressing down St Kilda Road. I felt somewhat conspicuous tromping along in the dress boots I was wearing, as if I was just part of the clubbing crowd that had gone astray, rather than a conscious member of the Dawn audience. I was surprised at how many young people there seemed to be, and although there were people that weren't in obvious groups, I still had an inkling that people were looking at me as if I was in the wrong place. It was probably just sleep-deprivation induced paranoia, as it was pretty dark, but around me were couples, families, older groups, associations like Scouts, uniformed Cadets, and they all seemed to be Caucasian. I was not only alone amongst a mass of tens of thousands of people, I felt that even though I was an Australian, and about to join the Defence Force, I was Asian-looking and therefore just didn't belong.

I kept on closing and opening my eyes to see if the day was actually becoming lighter, or if it was just my brain tricking me. I tried not to keep looking around me to see how the other people around me were reacting. I did my best to not be distracted by the movements of latecomers, wondering why it seemed like people were only continuing to move around to try and get a 'better' spot. I listened to secondary school students talk about their sponsored and/or subsidised visits to various military memorials and sites of historical significance around the world, and realised that maybe I am getting cynical in my old age if I believe that they're actually too young and innocent to truly understand what a messed up thing war is.

For the first time I heard these stark words of John McCrae:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I stood there in the darkness, blanketed by the ubiquitous sound of The Last Post, which seemed to come from all the trees around me. I'm not sure where else I've heard The Last Post before, considering I'm not a big fan of war movies, and have never been to ANZAC services before, but there's no mistaking it when you hear it. Somehow, whether it was the bugle or the blackness, or the sheer emotional turbulence of the situation, I marvelled at how something so simple (in C Major, no less) could completely shatter me. Each note resonated deep within me, echoing with the memory of so many that had fallen. Lest we forget? It threw me that I couldn't actually forget anything or anyone I didn't know in the first place. I felt haunted by ghosts of ghosts.

It bothered me somewhat, how easily people bandied about the phrase 'ANZAC Spirit' without really giving it a comprehensive definition. If that was really what all the fallen had fought for, surely it could be summed up in a couple of paragraphs? For the most part, the ANZACs would have been fighting just to stay alive, let alone to keep their families, neighbourhoods, extended communities and the country at large intact. I like to think that those soldiers didn't really know what the war was about (does anyone, really?), but they knew what they stood for. Our country. Our people. Our values. Our freedoms. So when push came to shove, and when it seemed that the core of 'Australia' could be damaged, lost or changed forever, they fought and died to protect it.

Not that I feel particularly patriotic, and I even worried at certain points of enlistment that I'd have to jump through sufficient hoops to prove that I do dig this country enough to defend it. However, when people have said things like, 'The Air Force? Aren't you worried about going to war?' or 'Oh, I could never do that, I'm such a pacifist.' or 'Do you think you could fight in a war that you didn't believe was right?' I have a relatively basic answer. For me, joining the Defence Force is not because I am pro-war or even believe that violence is a suitable way to solve problems. Unfortunately, other countries are inclined to believe otherwise, and that's why we need defence in the first place. I used to think I was quite a pacifist myself, but you know what? It's not really about that, it's moreso that if the shit really hits the fan, I believe Australia is a pretty amazing place to call home, and I would take pride in protecting it from being taken over by anyone or anything that would threaten to change the way I like it.

Before I knew it, the Dawn Service was over. As I tried getting closer to the centre of the Shrine, I passed a work colleague and said hello briefly, moving on because I was going against the current of the crowd, and I had nothing much else to say to him anyway. I was meant to try and meet up with a friend for breakfast afterwards, but I felt too raw and fragile to cope with even an ordinary conversation. I guess in a way, I was still too busy taking everything in. I didn't know it at the time, but I had been accepted into the RAAF, so it really was my first and last Dawn as a civilian. As I strolled back to my car, I wondered how many people felt obliged to take part in ANZAC Day for whatever reason, and how many simply respected the often anonymous and unknowing sacrifices that had been made for them.

I did think about my own name banged out of metal, or whittled into stone some day. It might not be at some war memorial, but even if I made it to a wall somewhere, there's something quite awesome about the idea of being honoured by people I don't even know. I don't intend to save the world, or defend the country from anything more spectacular than food poisoning, but I certainly don't want to leave it without making some kind of mark.

two months to love

Well, this is it. Or at least, as close to it as I can be until I'm actually in.

My blood's been taken for HIV/Hepatitis screening. My first attempt at the Pre-Enlistment Fitness Assessment was successful. Just have to repeat it within four weeks of enlistment. My initial Police Check form had expired, so I sent another one in yesterday. These three things will apparently get me a Letter of Offer. Here's hoping. I've been told that my proposed enlistment date is 3 July, so if all goes according to plan, I've got about seven weeks of civilian bliss left!

When I first heard the date, I thought it would be plenty of time to sort out my affairs before I go in, yet not so much time that I'll feel like I'm just sitting around and twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the real action to happen. Seven weeks has turned into seven weekends to catch up with all sorts of people, hopefully scrounge enough money to have the biggest bash in the universe a mere handful of days before enlistment, and a small amount of time to gloat at current and past work colleagues about finally making it somewhere I've been talking about for years.

I'm surprised that I've got this far, to be honest. It's been years in the works, and I've got to admit that there have been multiple times when I really did wonder if this section of my life story would ever actually kick off. Even my enlistment coordinator was looking through my paperwork and commenting on how long my application process had been drawn out for. I've got this truly electric feeling as the days flash by.

this is a call

You have 1 saved message.
Received yesterday at 8.46AM.

Hi Angela, my name's Emma, I'm calling from Defence Force recruiting. I'm not sure if you're aware, but your medical stuff has all been finally sorted out and you're now ready to be enlisted. I'm Enlistment Coordinator here so I'm your point of contact from now on. Could you please give me a call back in regards to an enlistment date on 8633 !!!!

Thanks Angela. Bye.

hearts gone awol

It's been just over a couple of weeks since I sent in my medical reports. I've been trying to distract myself from the waiting game, but it's almost like the longer it takes them to reply to me, the more I manage to convince myself that they could be deliberating at this very moment whether to let me in or not.

Maybe they opened my envelope within the first couple of days after I sent it, and it's been forwarded on to some subsection of the recruitment office in the hope that someone can find a medical loophole big enough for me to jump through in order to get enlisted. Maybe they really want me in there, and they're willing to waive whatever eternity of a waiting period I've conjured in my imagination. Maybe I'm going to be rejected, and my application is just pending someone calling me or printing and sending a form letter to inform me of such news.

My feelings have swayed this way and that, sometimes I believe that no news is good news, because if they wanted to reject me straight away, it wouldn't take this long to let me know I can't get medical clearance at all. Other times I think that they're going to sift through their guidelines to try and get me in, but it'll be another twelve month delay, or I won't be able to do it at all. A friend of mine asked me if I'd be devastated if I don't get in, and I'm really not sure how I'll take it. I mean, I've done all that I can, and sure, this is the biggest thing I've actually tried really hard to achieve in my life, but there's just no precedent. I thought about sketching some alternative plans if I get a concrete rejection, but talked myself out of it, mostly for superstitious reasons.

I can't be too sure that the swirling in the pit of my stomach is solely due to nerves in a time of limbo, either. Despite this vibe of suspended animation and almost constant anticipation of a huge change, I've tried my best to keep the rest of my life as stable as possible. Consciously or not, I created a routine around me, of work and friends and home life, just to keep me sane in the meantime. I've never really been one to cling to regular anything, but strangely enough with upheaval seeming so imminent, I have come to enjoy all the things that give me a sense of home, a heck of a lot more. Not that I'm even enlisted yet, but I have already got quite a soft spot for my civilian life.

Without quite realising what I was doing, I think I actually put my heart on hold. Whether I managed to do this successfully is another matter, but for obvious reasons, I thought it best to avoid getting too involved, or too attached, or too dependent on anyone else. A lot of my slog to get physically and mentally fit for enlistment has been a personal battle, and there has been many a run when I have pondered how much I'm going to miss this place, and the people in it that I love. I didn't know how long it would take me to actually get enlisted, heck, I still don't know now, but I did actually try to maintain a certain level of closeness to people such that I wouldn't be a complete stranger in my home town, yet also be able to leave at short notice without breaking my heart.

When I had my job interview, I was asked whether I was single or not, I guess to see whether I had any issues about leaving loved ones behind, or had to consider the possibility of taking anyone else with me. I'm almost tempted to speak to a recruiter about what they would have said to me if I hadn't said I was single. Not that I'd have as much dramas as someone that had their own family to deal with or anything like that, but I guess I'm still at a loss for how to deal with saying no to opportunities of love in case I get whisked away. I guess it's not paranoia exactly, because the reality is that I might not be around town for much longer, but it's still a 'what if' situation that shouldn't be haunting me as much as it has.

At the start of the year, I kind of made a resolution to no longer bother with halfhearted relationships. It's going to be hard enough adjusting to not having my good friends around and on call whenever I need or want them. I just won't have the energy to maintain any kind of mediocre friendship just for the sake of it. I think what I didn't bank on, when making a conscious effort to forge better connections with the people that mattered most in my life, was that certain existing relationships could intensify to the point where it's going to be even harder to make the phase shift to not having an immediate network of loved ones.

My general outlook on life has improved tenfold since adopting a take-it-as-it-comes attitude, so I'm definitely changing for the better. I'm trying my best to not act too much like someone with a terminal illness, because I just don't know if these days are my last or merely the beginning of a new phase. Then again, no one really knows what the future holds, or can know, which is a relief, really. I've got to find the balance between pre-emptively latching on to my civilian life, and becoming accustomed to letting it all go.

In the meantime; the wait continues.

tempus fugit

It's been just over six months since I started this blog, around twelve months since I recovered from my last bout with surgery, and almost three years since I first saw an ad in the paper to cook for the RAAF. It seems incredible that so long ago, the seed of this idea was planted in my brain, and despite a couple jobs I almost disappeared into, I've still maintained some semblance of focus on getting there. Here? So close!

The past few months have been a strange mixture. There have been a few ups and downs, but I've found that it's been easier to grin and bear it at my current job, because I've always been able to cheer myself up with the prospect of escaping for something far cooler, hoping that it would be sooner rather than later. It's not difficult to enjoy the temp mentality, even if I'm having a particularly crappy day and customers are giving you the irrits, I console myself by thinking they're stuck being an asshole forever whereas I'm going to be doing something completely different and changing for the better as a person to boot! That, and whenever I look around my current workplace and see the madness that ensues, I am comforted by the thought that in a few years' time, I will be possibly looking at the same thing... but with enough responsibility and knowledge of the situation to do something about it. It might still be mad, but at least it will all be mine!

About a week ago, I did a 2.4km time trial in 12:41, which is fast enough for the 18-24 age fitness level let alone the 25-34. Stoked by this performance, I decided to kick on and see if I could crack the 25 second flexed arm hang, and found that I could go for 30. Even if I counted a little quickly, that should have me within the new improved range for 25-34 year olds. Buzzed further by taking care of the hang without breaking too much of a sweat, I figured I should pump out some sit-ups for the win. 25 of them were no trouble at all! This pretty much means that I'm good enough to pass boot camp's minimum fitness requirements, but of course if I'm at this level now... ten weeks and two days of basic is going to get me blitzing even those levels.

Now, I don't think of myself as being particularly superstitious, but I do believe in signs. It was pretty cool how the first time in a while that I checked the fitness requirements, I found out that it was easier than I thought to pass. Then when I tested myself, it turns out that I'm fit enough for the old levels anyway. Some time last year (not long after starting this blog), I was looking for some jewellery to go with a dress, and ended up buying a necklace with some mini-dog-tags on it. I also happened to keep buying military styled/coloured clothing, possibly because it came back into fashion at the time, or most other available options were dresses and/or pastels. Even though I tried to hold back on the military gear (I should be buying genuine civilian stylings, so I've got nice stuff to rock out in whenever I get leave privileges!), I think it's all helped me keep enlistment in mind.

Not long after my RAAF interview last July, I thought I should do a couple of things to make the shift to military living a little easier. One was to start getting used to sleeping in a single bed again, after some blissful years of loving a queen. It was hard to do at first, especially when I woke up most mornings to the vision of my disassembled queen bed leaning up against the wall. It got easier after I ended up selling my bed to a workmate! Another thing I've tried to do is get accustomed to drinking less coffee (a quality espresso dependency would no doubt be laughed at), and getting up earlier/quicker in the mornings. I must admit, now that I'm a lot more active, I don't nap and sleep in as much as I used to, but I also don't feel as much of a need to do it anyway. I think my next challenge should be going to sleep with clothes on!

This morning I received my final medical report from the hospital, which gave me a glowing recommendation for entry. It was kind of strange reading it on the way to work today, it was almost like a job reference, but obviously all the doctor knew about me was from a phone conversation and whatever was sitting in my medical file. Amongst all the clinical stuff, there's this super strong element of 'let this chicky in; her bits will cause no trouble!'. I didn't get time to make it to the post office today, I might deliver the reports in person on Monday depending on my work roster, otherwise it'll all be sent by Monday.

I should call my recruitment officer to find out when the intakes for RAAF cooks actually are, before I get too nervous about what's going on with the short term remains of my civilian life, or way too excited about handing in notice at my work. I was thrilled to bits when I wrote 'applying for employment with RAAF' as my reason for leaving my old job... it's even closer to the truth now!