In the past four months, I’ve been shot at numerous times, to the point where reacting to it is just a natural process to me.
Shoot. Move. Communicate. Survive. Adapt.
They drill it into your head over and over. Pray you’ll never have to put it to use.
It’s been fun here, but I am about ready to come home now.
When I come home, I’ll be able to actually tell some stories. I hope. If not, I can describe the weather and the sunsets, my least and most favorite parts of this God-forsaken shit hole.
That’s all I’ve got for now.
This guy. I can’t even fathom what life has been like for him but he’s kind of the greatest, ever. Forget about Drake, this is realtalk. Can’t wait for you to get home, Nui.
