That old black magic

Well anyway, some of you might have heard, others not. That job I was expecting to come through did not, in fact, come through. It just sort of petered out, and just the other week I got that confirmation, as well as a long over due explanation. I am the victim of good old fashion racism! They hired a Canadian about 5 months ago; despite some reservations, as he had held 3 or 4 jobs with Japanese companies in the last three years. It turns out those reservations were well founded. In order to work for a Japanese company, you must accept a few things. You WILL be unexpected to work unpaid overtime, you will be expected to attend company functions, and you will speak as much Japanese as you can and become a part of the company family. This guy, refused to do all these things. After 5 months, they eventually fired him, essentially for his inability or unwillingness to assimilate into the company standard salaryman mold. So, he sued them. A pointless gesture, as Japanese courts rarely find against Japanese in favor of foreign people. Though, sometimes they do. So, since that Canadian didn't work out, the company has decided never again to hire white people. I am white, in case you didnt know. So, I am SOL. One of the most valuable things I am taking from my time in Japan is an intimate knowledge of racism, and how it must feel to be black, or other such things in America. I was not at all racist before, but after this place, I have a new respect and understanding of such things. Merry Christmas Ray!

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Just another one of those nights. When you remember that what we call scars really aren't. Scars heal, and you can look at em and say, man that shit hurt, but it don't anymore. It healed. Wounds are what they are; like malaria, something that just keeps coming back, again and again.

I do what I have always done. I put it all back in my pack, and I soldier on. One, two, three, four, I love the Marine Corps. One foot in front of the other, again and again, but you start to wonder where the hell are you actually going? I have taken the broken pieces of all that I am, and tried to make something new, but I am still that same flawed and broken person that I have always been. I am still fighting myself.

Henry Rollins said that you can spend you entire life walking around in the nowhere land of self-doubt, and I can see how that is true, but the fight against it, the constant effort to propel myself forward in spite of them is draining me. I do not wonder if I have the strength to continue. I am stronger than that. I can die with my fingers clutched around the throat of my enemies; kicking and screaming in glorious combat. I can continue. I don't know if it is self doubt to wonder if the cost of the battle is too great, but I find myself wondering that very thing. Am I fighting a battle I can not win; destined to fail? In the end, are the years I spend in pursuit of victory simply going to be part of the cost of that I pay?

I doubt myself everyday. I weigh the cost, and pay the price. Why do I fear mediocrity, and the simple pleasures of what even I would readily admit are the pleasures in life. Family, friends, and the knowledge that they will always be there? Those things that men have found for all of history. I live my life alone; often near desperation. I am very different, I tell myself, and not without good reason, but I am not that different, and a simpler life calls to me as well. I know the cost of my efforts, but I have yet to reap its rewards. To accept that life is failure, to succeed against its draw is success. I think. One, two, three, four, I love the Marine Corps...