Fall in!

     "Fall in!" a common command given in the Marines. It commands a group of Marines standing around to organize themselves into a formation. The width of the formation are called squads and in length, the rows are called ranks. The command can also be given to a single Marine, it commands him/her to join a group already in formation. When a Marine, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, or Coast Guardsman returns from service they return to a group they've been away from for quite a while.
      The Marines I have served with were still young when they left home. Eighteen, some even seventeen come into boot camp and learning for the first time how to shave; how to shine their boots; how to iron properly; how to properly address and greet someone in a respectful manner. In essence, the DI (drill instructor) was the father we never had. He puts us to bed at exactly 2100hrs every night and gets us up, like children getting prepared for school every morning. For many of the young recruits, this was their only solid father figure. And boot camp, was the furthest and longest they've ever been away from home. We learned so many things in boot camp. We learned how to walk again, this time in step with the person to your front and to step off with your left foot at all times, and the importance of the three S's every morning; Shit, Shower and Shave.
     We learn about life in a different manner compared to the everyday man. I speak of men because this is the only perspective I can see it. Don't think of it like I'm excluding women. I can only speak of what I know.
     I know a Marine, a very good one, that when we were leaving the Marine Corps, he had serious doubts on what to do. He didn't know if he wanted to stay in or leave and return to the civilian world. He was young when he joined, only eighteen. Jose Vazquez from East Los Angeles, CA, or from "East Los" he would say in his layed back MexiCali accent. On our flight to Kuwait during our first deployment, he sat right next to me. He was anxious and looking out the window. California's bright sunshine was coming through the porthole. He turned to me and if he had a tail, you would see it wagging at this point.

Vazquez roof top overlooking Ramadii, Iraq

     "This is my first time flying Zoleta", he said, huge grin in place. I thought to myself, "Get the fuck outta here". Imagine experiencing the first flight you were on was not to some tropical vacation spot, or to visit grandma because you miss her chocolate chip cookies so much; but to Kuwait, not knowing if destiny had purchased you a round trip flight. You won't be landing in Hawaii where women in grass skirts and coconut bras put a lei around your neck. Instead, you would be rushed to the furthest reaches of the desert to participate in the largest assault in modern combat.
     Flash forward to 2005. We were now two time combat veterans now. Hardened like a sword that was tempered with a hammer, but now we were scared and uncertain. He did not know if he would go to college. What would it be like to be away from the barracks? The unknown lay in front of Vazquez. Not only did he tell me that he feared it, it was showing in his every expression.
     Today, I asked about those doubts he had. It was rough for him in the beginning but he managed to find his way through. Perseverance, Marines don't quit. They find they're way, one way or another.

How did you feel as your EAS (End of Active Service) date came closer?

I have to say the Marine Corp was the best decision I could have made for myself. My choice to volunteer my life during September 11, 2001 was an amazing and incredible time. I met a great group of elite people who took it upon themselves to make a commitment to sacrifice every ounce of sweat, tear and blood to take on matters that were beyond our control. Upon returning from my 2^nd tour from Iraq my morale was ecstatic about my separation from the service. What was so mentally draining for me was thinking about what to do once I was out. Safe to say school was the plan and idea, but really had no clue about what to pursue as a lifelong career. Honestly, separating from the Marine Corp was terrifying for me because I wanted to be a “lifer” a term we utilize for those who make it a career. Personal problems and family made me come to my decision to go through my separation and transition to a civilian. 

What was going through your mind when you were out and living your life as a civilian?

Living life as a civilian was a huge transition for the first couple of years and continues to be. The thought of having to go back to school was scary even though there was nothing to fear. Apparently, my thoughts were so powerful controlling my emotions and feelings that my thought process was completely disillusioned about what I wanted in life. This was a challenge for me and I took it upon myself to find help and make that effort to find what would give me a happy medium for my life. Therapy has helped me and continues to help me bridge the gaps that make me feel as if I cannot fit in society. Also, staying busy and making the right choices continues to be part of my success being a civilian. Making goals and keeping them in perspective keep my mind focused and on track.

What problems do you face and expect to face in the future?

I personally believe that you have to go through trial and error and find out for yourself what works for you and what makes you function effectively and efficiently. When you feel like there is no answer, know that others have been there and have overcome their challenges. Semper Fidelis!

   Vazquez and I still remain close. We have made it a plan to be only a phone call away when we had problems coping with flashbacks, stress, nightmares and just regular life. We were brothers at arms and remain to be eternally. War had made us family and that is as good as blood. Semper Fi indeed Vazquez.

Training Ops

Setting up our transition area

As with any great training plan, as time goes by, there will be a point where you have to kick it up a notch. This weekend was one of those times we kicked it up, kicked it up into outer fucking space.

Approx 3/4 mile point. Still all smiles

Team Zombie is compromised mostly of members from Xtreme Dragon Boat Racing Team (including me). At this time of year, practice begins for the oncoming dragon boat competitions. Not to neglect any practice, we've incorporated it as part of our workouts. The usual DB (dragon boat) practice days are in the morning every weekend. Those participating in the biathlon will have to train to complete their brick workouts either Saturday before DB practice or Sunday after DB practice. Then we've got the nut jobs that decide to do it both days of the week. More power to them.

Cynthia C. telling us she's still ok

Unfortunately, no pictures were taken during Saturday's practice and I was not able to attend due to work commitments. I will tell you this, mostly every body that went to Saturday's brick workout also went to Sunday's. That's dedication right there.

After DB practice Sunday at the World's Fair Marina in Flushing, we headed off to Alley Pond Park, the site of most of our brick workouts. There was a great turn out with 17 team members at ready. Bikes were staged and the route briefing was given. Shortly we were off. The distance we would be covering is a 2mile run-2 mile bike- 2mile run. Of course, what's a workout without its share of hills.

Adrian C. (Left) and Joseph Z. (Right) determined

How were these people so motivated? How did I get persons that hate to run, throw on running shoes and freakin run? One member didn't even know how to ride a bike until she heard of the team. Interesting fact, I'm the only veteran in the team. None of them has the impact of wounded veterans as much as I do, yet they're doing as much as I am. Running the dreaded hills, biking the distances, sacrificing their time to spread the word about the team. What would you rather do on a beautiful weekend? Probably sleep the fuck in or vegetate in front of the HD flat screen. Negative. Not these Zombies. I can tell you why they're motivated. Cause they have a lot of fucking heart. They believe in this cause as much as I do. More than the veterans in my college do. That's another damn story.

Team Zombie, you've made me proud. You're the platoon I've been looking for since I've left the Marines. I am honored to have fallen in your ranks. Semper Fi and Ooo fuckin Rah!

Marilyna L.

Otto C. (Left) and Leaanna K. (Right) off for the 2nd Run

Jane Z. is Xtreme-ly excited

Cynthia C. showing off her new found bike skills

Jeremy K. had some technical difficulties (Pedal broke off from too much torque)

Gary L. is Xtreme

Eddy K. checking his finishing time

The Diary

Would always be carried on the inside of my flak jacket

I was fishing through some of my things in the garage the other month and I happened to find this little black book. It was lightly covered with some sand. The binded edge of the book was taped with an olive drab duct tape. For a moment, it looked unfamiliar to me. Then it hit me, and I literally said out loud, "Oh shit!". It was my combat diary from my first tour in Iraq. It still had some sand on it and looked a little worn. A parachute cord was taped to the binding and I used the length of it to hold or mark a page.

Front binding

As I shuffled through its pages, I saw a lot of things that bought back memories. In the front book binding, I taped a picture of my wife (we weren't married yet at the time) and I on our visit to Disneyland. The picture was dusty and the lamination I put on it had some wear. I'm glad I laminated it. Taped to the back binding, was a picture of my niece, Kymora. She was wearing a blue jumper and light blue knit hat. Dare I say it being a Marine, she is adorable. She's so grown up and busy with selling girl scout cookies, gymnastics, and lacrosse.

Back binding

I shuffled through the beginning parts of the diary. The beginning had some poetry I had written. A lot of it were notes I had written during classes we constantly gave within our company. Classes like clearing a room of hostiles, the handling EPW's (enemy prisoner of war), combat 1st aid, and code encryption. This little black book was partially a book of notes, and partially my diary. I did not keep a good diary. Reading it, they were just a lot of ramblings of a kid stuck in the desert. The beginnings parts were boredom. Why didn't I keep a good diary? It's value to me would mean so much now than I would have ever imagined. I do recall, the time I should have spent writing, I spent sleeping. Sleeping was as valuable as water. It would be hard to come by as we rolled into Iraq. It did bring back memories, and emotions though. The texture of the cover reminded me of the constant struggle I had to keep sand out from between the pages. Sandstorms or even the regular wind made sand appear everywhere. This made it difficult for keeping weapons clean.

Back binding where I wrote the serial # to my M16 and Night Vision Goggles

Orders on our first mission into Iraq

Notes on interpreting arabic writing

How to fire a SMAW (Shoulder Mounted Anti-Tank Weapon)

How to say numbers in arabic

Notes on clearing a room

Its entries were very private. I would find myself cutting off an entry into the diary when another Marine would come by. I was afraid they would read it. They might think "Zoleta's writing his final words". I could take that Marine's hope easily knowing that I may have given up hope by writing my final words. Even now, it's hard to share. What would others think? I don't know. But. it's best to put them in my boots and share our story for no one may ever understand us. Our story may never be told.


Little by little I'll post entries of my diary. It's going to take some courage on my part but give it time and I'll build it up. So check back in regularly to read about some of our stories.

-Semper Fi