FREE ESSAY ON BLENDED SURRONDINGS

BLENDED SURRONDINGS

Blended Surroundings
I found myself in a new place and once again, I must start over. I knew that there is
expected travel, but I never thought that each time I must prove myself. New faces, new
peers, and a whole new chain of command are something to get use to. For the last two
years, I have been the model soldier, superceding all their standards. "Among the best"
is what the plaque reads. As I hang this plaque on a new wall, it means nothing now. Once
again, I must play another role. Some people are in search for their identity. For me,
all I must do is to choose. My true identity is something of a mystery. Like a chameleon
who changes its color to adapt to their surrounds, I, too, assume a different persona for
adaptation.
In the Army, I learned that it is a tight and closely-knit group. I remembered my first
day at my last unit. It was about 2:30 in the mourning when I heard a knock on my door.
It felt like I open the gates of the running of the bulls in Spain. A dozen of troops
bombarded my living quarters, stuffed me in a sleeping bag, and hung out the third story
window as welcome. I learned then that surviving the military has to be done as group. To
become part of the group seemed easy for me. I became a friend to everyone. I belong to
all different types of personas. From the maladjusted to the barracks's rat (loner), I
conformed to their personalities. I became who they were. 
I suppose that this new place will not be any different. As I look at my new room, I can
pretty much describe what type of person is my roommate. The room is quite bare with the
exceptions of pin-up playboy bunnies littered the room and his desk is filled with old
letters from Gina. Other than his Walkman, he didn't have any other kind of electronic
entertainment. His bed sheet was a bit eccentric. I've met some strange characters, but
Star Trek bed sheets struck me as odd, far more than most. For the majority of people in
search of friends, people tend to be friends with someone like themselves or someone that
can guide them. I could tell that he was someone stuck in the past. He needed a guide. In
others, I became the devil on his shoulders. 
As I was unpacking my bags, a firm knock is heard from the door. The door flung open and
a tall, medium build man with a straight face stared at me. By the look of his collar, he
had to be my platoon sergeant, in other words my boss. He is ugly fellow, especially with
his downsizing stare. I knew from the moment; he kicked the door open. He is going to be
a hard man to please. A few seconds has pass before he uttered a word, only to criticize
my plaque. He said he read my profile and wanted nothing less; that's one role I'm well
accustomed to. Soon enough, I put my game face on and became his right hand man. 
My identity was justified for its purpose of survival. I survived two years in the
shadows of my own chameleon. Animals have a way of protecting themselves. Unlike animals,
we don't use claws; teeth; or long, sharp quills of a porcupine to protect ourselves. I
use my mind to conceive my identity. Like the chameleon, I used my mind to control my
surroundings, the situations, and the people around me through the use of blended
identities.