It’s regrettable that our final goodbyes were so unceremonious.
You have made the world, or at least our world a better place while you were in the unit. It’s probably not easy, wearing that rank but a mere one year older, juggling personas, juggling interests and juggling petty office politics. You’ve been a conduit and a humanitarian corridor between the dinosaurs and the best-eaten-in-two-years cans of pineapples.
I will never forget how you have defended me in those closed-door meetings, at the 2 by 2 metre smoking corner where gossip is the primary toxin of the noxious cigarette smoke, and at the train rides home that are an extension of the smoking corner.
You’re like one of those motherly superiors who will fight to have you into their work teams just so that you can avoid being forced to do shit-work for the incompetent and the inequitable.
Some say its simply a ubiquitous Machiavellian social compact of mutual loyalty and patrimonial work competence and welfare. I say its a simple principle of friendship and making life easier for everybody in a world where reason and live and let live is subordinate to inane prejudice and malice.
As you move on to to a world without green uniforms and wrinkled ranks, I’m still be here (after this sergeant course is over), bearing a rank I would probably sometimes regret having. And hoping each day that I’ll be at least half as dedicated a commander as you were.