Drowning in the Little Things

When you think of loss in a military aspect, most people think of veterans, war, and soldiers. But how about those who aren’t actively training for war or those who aren’t directly in military service?

Most don’t think of military children as those who have experienced loss. But, loss isn’t always death. As a kid, I lost many things. Jackets, toys, et cetera. In a way, that’s still a loss.

In the military sense, I have lost some things as well, but it is nowhere close to others out there. People have lost family at a young age, been stripped of a childhood with their family due to work, or even lost their youth.

As a military dependent, I usually move every 2-3 years. If my memory serves me right, I went from Los Angeles (my birthplace), to New York, to Seoul, to San Diego, McLean, and then back to San Diego. Though I was able to keep some friendships, many were lost. I lost contact with some people. Some people weren’t interested in keeping up a friendship with someone far away. Some people might have even just straight-out forgotten that I existed. It was sad, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Maybe the reason I still remember all of this is because of those losses. I miss those friends, but there’s no way to get them back. Maybe that’s why I continue looking ahead, trying to make the best of what I have… because I fully expect it to stay little.

Many have said that my childhood wasn’t that extensive. I found no problem with it, but it did get lonely at times. My mom tried her best when I was younger, but I found myself playing alone or with my sister most of the time. However, when my sister reached middle school, she got much busier. I was still in 4th grade, still a curious kid who had just reached that awkward stage, especially since the COVID-19 pandemic had just hit the United States hard. 

I was stuck in online classes, with people I only knew through screens and call chats. I had my family alongside me all the time, but it’s different for school and friends. My dad, whom I was and still am very close to, still had to go to work, and in the fear of the pandemic, we all wished for him not to get sick. Losses were crazy, and deaths were high. Everyone saw only one hope: a vaccine. I prayed for it as well, hoping for protection.

Nobody in my family got sick, but I know many who did. Heard of many who survived, and many who… died. I didn’t experience loss the same way everyone else did, but I lost connections. When I returned to school, everyone knew each other. Everyone but me. I made some friends, yes, but many of them flaked after I moved, contact lost in the many thousands of miles of distance.

After reflecting on my past, I see that loss isn’t only death or disaster. It’s the little things as well. As time flies by, many forget about the little losses. But when you sit down and add them up… the coldness you’ve tried to ignore sinks in.