I remember the first blog post I wrote as a personal blog post for ASTU 100, it was an interesting experience, but I struggled to do so because of how foreign blog posts were to me at the time. For my final blog in ASTU I would like to acknowledge that I struggled just as much, if not more, to write about the following topic. I struggled not only because this was a tough topic for me based off of my experiences as a soldier, but also because I found myself reevaluating the way I choose to tell the stories of my past, the way I choose to share my memories.

This past year in ASTU 100 we have constantly focused on the theme of memory. No matter what literature we read, we always seem to come back to the idea that memory is defined by subjective experience in which the person conveying a memory controls.

Redeployment

Recently for ASTU 100 we read the first chapter of Phil Klay’s book, Redeployment. I can honestly say I was a little overcome as he took me back to my own memories of basic training. After finishing the opening chapter I was so nostalgic, I found myself texting my closest army buddies just to check in on them. Redeployment encompasses the theme of memory, and how that can affect us in our everyday lives. Coming back from war Klay had a hard time, like most veterans do, readjusting to a normal life. It’s difficult for him to come down to white after being at orange for so long, as he describes it.

Alertness Levels

When I first read the chapter from Klay’s book I felt such a strong connection to it. I felt like no one in the world understood me the way he did when he wrote every single word, every single sentiment, on that page. The reason I felt this way was because I realised how disconnected I had been lately.

It has been almost a year since I left the military, but sitting in our ASTU class this week I found myself itching to bolt due to the memories triggered as a result of the discussion. In no way are these memories traumatic, nor do they inhibit me in my daily life, but simply I had learned to leave them behind, and as a result I never completely dealt with the feelings I felt as an active serviceman. Having them brought up in an unexpected setting left me jarred as a result of the sudden recollection of two years of a life I had chosen to leave behind.

After leaving class that day, I spent a few hours by myself and took some time to reevaluate the memories I was repressing, because I realised in that classroom that if I don’t deal with the past now, I may not have the ability to deal with it in the future. I discussed my dilemma with my ASTU Professor, and she suggested I listen to a podcast featuring a veteran, Michael Pitre, that Phil Klay mentioned during his reading of the novel we listened to in class.

In the podcast, Pitre discussed the way his friends and family reacted to his experiences as a veteran. They felt uncomfortable. And whether intentional or not, they distanced themselves from Pitre. As a result, he found himself telling decoy stories to fit the mould that allowed him to relate to others. This is a concept Klay discusses as well, thus the two are closely connected in the messages they convey regarding the disconnect between soldiers and citizens.

Coming to university after being in the military felt the same way, I felt like I was creating a decoy and simply saying what I had to to relate to my peers and move on from being a veteran to being a college student. What I realised thanks to my ASTU 100 Professor Dr. Luger was that I needed to do more. I needed to take something from this, and find a way to progress rather than just recognise the correlations to my past. Realising the issue at hand isn’t enough, Dr. Luger helped me understand that I need to find a way to show some improvement on that front. Progress.

After re-reading Klay’s chapter of Deployment, and after listening to Pitre’s podcast, I invited my friend Jamie over. I have known Jamie since my first day at University; we cracked open some beers, and I told him to ask me about the military and that I would answer truthfully without any decoy I may have given him in the past. Because I trusted Jamie, I was ready to tell him the full truth.

James Cohen

Jamie asked me about the story that was hardest for me to tell, and I told him about my buddy Ben. I would like to point out at this junction in the story that the term “buddy” in the context of this story is meant as “forced companion”. More specifically we were paired up and accountable for each other, and not as “close friends” as the term may imply.

Ben is the one on the right with the rifle.

It took me a while to answer Jamie. I struggled for a few minutes and sipped on my beer as a distraction to avoid answering until I knew I was ready to tell him about Ben. But after a while I mustered up the courage to tell Jamie a full truth. Although at times I struggled to look him in the eye (for I feared his eye contact may have made me fall back on the very decoy story I was trying to avoid telling), in the end I spent almost two hours telling Jamie about someone I hadn’t dared to mention since the three years I had met him.

Ben was a complicated guy, he was different and he struggled to fit the structure the military demanded. He was so hopeful and full of dreams that just didn’t fit the army’s rigid design. At the end of basic training I was so relieved to be free of the burden Ben was at the time, but it was only later, at the end of my service that I realised the reason I had such a hard time accommodating Ben. He was everything I wanted to be in terms of rebellion against the military institutions and norms. We were both smart guys with ideas that were well outside of the scope of our jobs, the only difference is I put aside my morals at times and fought the system to the top. Ben on the other hand was a martyr who fought so hard he ended up at the very bottom. I always justified his situation by saying that I was there by choice and that he was a conscript; in reality Ben and I were so alike, we just dealt with our hatred for the system in different ways. (For anyone that cares, Ben is doing fine now; he left the military and he is now studying Engineering in Singapore)

I didn’t think I would be able to do what I did. I didn’t think I would ever mention Ben again in my lifetime. And yet, not even a year after leaving the army, I found myself able to open up to a friend for the first time since serving.

For what seemed like the longest time (1011 days to be exact), I found myself recounting a story about the army that held no implicit cop out based off of my audiences reaction. I found myself telling the story of my buddy Ben, something I don’t think I would have ever done in my lifetime had it not been for the tools and insight both Phil Klay and Michael Pitre gave me. Skills I also strengthened this year in ASTU 100. Skills I use now to survive.

Through Klay, I realised that the trauma of my past is one that will always be prevalent, but by choosing to acknowledge it and open up to those around me, I have a shot at moving forward. Through Pitre, I realised that not everyone, and not every situation, is ready to hear about the experiences I had in the military. I have spent more hours with Jamie than most people I know, and for the first time I pulled him aside and directly told him about my past. Ben isn’t a story I would be comfortable telling in a group setting, and I don’t think I would be comfortable recounting my story of him to most people I know, but together Klay and Pitre helped me realise that even if the world isn’t ready to understand what you have been through, certain individuals may be. Just because I choose to recount my story to Jamie differently than how I do in a group setting, does not invalidate the experiences I had, in fact it strengthens them through the fact that they are better reserved for the audiences ready to receive them.

Both these authors, both these veterans, helped me realise that my stories are not ones that should make me feel bad about being different, but rather that they just simply aren’t meant for everyone. The way we choose to remember is not based off of how we generalise our past, but rather whom we choose to share its purest forms with.

Me.

For all my readers, I would like to thank you for reading this blog since its inception. Alas this is the final post, but worry not, for the story of my life continues, as do the stories I choose to tell to those who care to listen~

I spent a large portion of my childhood writing poetry. I used it to express myself in a world where I was unsure of what I was allowed to feel. At a young age we often struggle to recognise that what we feel may be the same as someone else, even if they are unable to portray their struggle the same way. This last week in ASTU 100, I feel like I have been given the opportunity to revisit my my entire life so far, but with a lens that helps me better understand myself now that I know my world a little bit better.

The wonderful thing about poetry is its genuine subjectivity. What may be poetic to one could be an arbitrary string of words to another. Trying to decipher personal poetry can be like trying to solve a colourless Rubick’s cube. I have learnt that poetry is a form of expression. It can embody almost any emotion, be it playful, symbolic, or sad (just to name a few).

Colorless Rubick’s Cube: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/380906080974518276/

Poetry differs from classic literature in a way that it sets the stage for you to paint your own depiction of it. Rarely does good poetry spell out what it wants you to know, but rather it gives you a skeleton key to open your own mind and take from it what you find most valuable.

In ASTU 100 we have been looking at poetry and how it can have both cultural and political implications. Often poetry helps express ideas that are best not stated directly. Under the guise of a poem, we can see and even better understand the unspoken intentions if deciphered correctly. For example, in class the first poem we looked at was “In Flanders Fields.” I did not know about this poem until my first Remembrance Day here in Vancouver. When I read the poem for the first time, it brought me back to my basic military training where we walked through a cemetery and took time to recognise all the soldiers who died in World War II fighting for us. This field trip in my training was a way to show us the purpose of being a soldier and why we carried such an important marker in society. In the poem, the soldiers are portrayed as heroes and the people reading it are implicitly urged on to continue the fight in their name. Later we were shown that during the time this poem was first released, it was turned into a marketing scheme to promote “Victory Bonds.” It just goes to show how war was initially ignited from passion and how unfortunately like most things nowadays, it is all about money. This poem, at least to me, speaks to how even the things that wars are fought over, are rendered purposeless by assigning monetary value onto them; a potentially politically precarious proposal on my part, but the way I see it, nonetheless. I must state my bias though for my own habitus is one of a soldier who was simply considered government property on paper, and not an actual human being.

In Flanders Fields: http://samvousa.org/flanders-field-poppies-blow/

Buy Victory Bonds: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/561613016011734376/?autologin=true

As a child I often wrote poetry about my immediate surroundings and I often wish I had saved this poetry so I could go back and analyse myself; I find little pieces of it scattered around in old notebooks and pieces of paper, but in a way its a metaphor for my life. As someone who grew up everywhere, with a plethora of unique experiences, I don’t have one place to go back to and revisit all of my memories that made me who I am. Rather than having one piece of myself to analyse, I have scattered pieces of myself all over the world. Until I understood the unique aspect of my situation, I felt purposeless, but just because life is purposeless, does not mean our lives cannot have purpose. Poetry, at least for some people, can give them that meaning their lives are lacking. Poetry is what got me through my childhood and helped give me meaning in a world where I felt I had none.

Alas, I shall leave you with a poetic gesture, an original composition written by yours truly:

A Soldiers Purpose

When I grow up, I want to change the world,

I don’t have powers like Superman,

But I have hours, like a clock,

One I stare at, hoping for time to pass,

Watching it through my forlorn looking glass,

The best of days I crave an ice age, to slow its hands,

The worst of days I crave a volcano, to burn through its pain,

These hours I have, I choose to spend,

Helping those, who cannot fend,

For those that I, can help make change,

I need not fly, to play this game,

I wear no cape, no symbol on my chest,

But I do my best, to help the rest.

Written by Sartaj A. Singh, 8th February 2018

Hello world! This week as a part of ASTU 100 we were asked to explore the “Amazonia Exhibit” by Nuno Porto at the Museum of Anthropology (MOA) located on campus here at the University of British Columbia (UBC). Although a relatively small exhibit within the museum, the Amazonia Exhibit stood out when juxtaposed with the rest of MOA due to its vivid colours and enticing objects on display.

There was so much to explore within such a small space, but what was evidently clear was that native Amazonian’s were experts at crafting practical and useful tools to further their day to day survival. These included things such as darts for hunting:

Utensils for eating and cooking:

Bags for carrying objects:

And even headdresses for ceremonial (or possibly even fashionable) purposes:

But the object that stood out to me while perusing the exhibit was one I connected with immediately, the hammock:

We often look at hammocks as an object of leisure, but it is rarely if ever looked upon as a tool of survival. The hammock is a sturdy object that holds the user well above the ground and in turn helps protect from certain predators. Strung up high enough, it can also be used to hide from enemies or other imminent danger. The hammock is also a light and easy to carry object that is useful for people that tend to move around a lot.

The reason the hammocks within the exhibition stood out to me was because I have spent a lot of time in hammocks for survival purpose. When I was in the army, the majority of our training took place in the jungle, and the purpose was to learn to survive, much like the Amazonian tribes. Although we spent more time in tents than hammocks, a few times I did manage to find an ideal spot for a set up. Hammocks are easy to carry, set up, and dismantle. They provide tactical benefits involving height as well as the ability to view your surroundings thus making ambushes less likely.

Even after I left the military, I still found myself in a hammock. This summer I spent two weeks camping around the southwest of the United States with friends in its national parks. Rather than opting for a spot in the tent, I decided that spending my nights in a hammock would make for a more memorable experience. When the threat of bears raiding campsites came up, my friends in the tent were certainly a lot more scared as they were closer to the ground. Whereas my friend and I who opted for hammocks found ourselves stargazing into the milky way before we fell asleep without a care in the world.

Another hammock benefit is being able to witness things you might have missed while sheltered and indoors:

Learning to survive in the jungle as well as camping out with friends, there was so much of the Amazonian exhibit that I could relate to on a personal level. When I saw the hammocks at the exhibit, it was easy to understand why the Amazonian tribes used hammocks in the rainforest as a part of their toolbox.

I found further similarities between myself and the Amazonian people, for I too enjoy making and using my own tools:

Overall, I had a great time at the exhibit and found myself quite immersed in the experience:

Hello world! This week in ASTU 100 we visited the Rare Books and Special Collections (RBSC) Exhibit at the Irving K. Barber Library here at the University of British Columbia (UBC). More specifically, while here, we were looking through the work of Joy Kogawa, a Japanese-Canadian author that experienced the Japanese internment in Vancouver first hand and wrote about her traumatic experiences in her widely acclaimed book, Obasan.

We were given lots of folders to browse through while at the RBSC and they all contained lots of different articles and sources of knowledge regarding the Japanese Canadian Internment as well as reviews and summaries of Obasan the book. The articles I was analysing were ones that mainly summarized Obasan and even showed the impact the book played in relation to Japanese-Canadian individuals affected by the Japanese internment.

The fact that so many reputable news sources, as well as the heavy discussion based around the book in all of the articles we analysed at the RBSC, shows how important the book was at the time as a form of expression of the trauma faced by the individuals affected. None of the reviews we read in the articles painted the book in a negative light, nor did they show any criticism in regards to the book. This initially had me fear that bias might have been in play whilst they were being written. But upon their analysis of the United States of America to Canada and how the two countries acted differently in their method of the Japanese internment, I realized that these articles were less focused on how good a book Obasan is, and more focused on how well it paints a picture through a lens one may not have initially considered.

Many think of Canada as an accepting society with little to no flaws, especially in regards to its closest neighbour, and for the most part, today it is. But before I came to Vancouver I personally had no idea of how vastly different the Canadian government acted towards the Japanese in the time of internment. A lot of people from outside of Canada, myself included, had no knowledge of the Canadian governments actions and assumed that it was solely the United States that had its actions to apologize for.

For those readers still unaware, while the United States did detain their citizens of Japanese descent in internment camps, upon the end of World War Two (WW2) those citizens were given every opportunity to return to their homes and reclaim what was left as well as keep ownership of what was rightfully theirs prior to the detainment. In comparison, Japanese-Canadians were also detained during WW2 by their government, the caveat being that they were asked not to return upon completion of the war and were stripped of most if not all of the belongings they had accumulated prior to it.

It is easy to see how one might have mistaken the treatment of these citizens for the opposite countries if we were to remove their names and compare them with the current political climate– which makes it all the more shocking that Canada, possibly the most accepting country in existence today, was once the prime example of what ones government should not be.

These articles that we were shown at the RBSC helped show how the world reacted to the treatment of these Japanese-Canadians and how Obasan helped portray a first-hand case study into exactly how much these people suffered during those already trying times.

Hello world! My name is Sartaj and this is my first personal blog for my ASTU 100 class. ASTU 100 is an English class that is a part of my “Global Citizens” Coordinated Arts Program (CAP).

This week in class we have been reading the graphic narrative, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi. Persepolis is the story of a young girl growing up in Iran during the Iranian revolution in the 1980’s. Before the revolution, the main character, Marji, was in a school with boys and didn’t require a head-dress. As the story progresses, we see the regime get stricter and the consequences that come with that for Marji and her family. Marji is placed in an all girls school and is made to wear a “veil” also known as a hijab or head-dress. Throughout the book we watch her struggle to accept that the life she once knew is no longer tangible and that the changing environment is not one that she can grow accustomed to. Upon her expulsion from school, Marji’s parents realise that Iran is no longer a place for their headstrong daughter, prompting the decision to send her to Vienna to study in a more conducive environment.

The veil or hijab is usually seen as a symbol of oppression in most western societies and is viewed that way largely due to Islamophobia and stereotyping. Islamophobia is defined as an “Intense dislike or fear of Islam, esp. as a political force; hostility or prejudice towards Muslims.” Islamophobia is easily one of the biggest issues in the world we currently live in, and ever since the September 11 attacks, most people have grown to fear an entire religion based solely on the actions of supposed extremists. Unfortunately 16 years later this issue has only grown and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. This unprecedented fear has caused the world to develop into a toxic society and has caused unnecessary harm and struggle for innocent people associated with their religion.

The forced wearing of the veil is a prominent issue in the book and can be closely related to the stereotypical judgement that comes alongside it even in today’s political climate. We have developed such a negative connotation around a piece of cloth that Muslim women are judged regardless of whether they even wear the veil or not. As Celine Ibrahim from the New York times wrote, “The paradox is that, whether a woman wears a headscarf or not, fault finders can point fingers and pass judgement on her intentions and preferences.”

Living in an illiberal democracy (Singapore) the past 10 years is the closest relation I have to Marji. I grew up lucky enough that I never had to worry about much, especially as a male without any religious restrictions. But having the state you live in impose its values upon you, especially when you’ve had exposure to a life without those restrictions, is a difficult adjustment. So in some ways Marji’s struggle feels so similar to the way I struggled, but at the same time I can count myself lucky that I never had to go through anything as extreme as she did. Although I will never know the extent of the struggle a muslim woman faces in today’s toxic society, I can only hope that one day the world remedies the irreversible damage caused through stereotyping and oppression.

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