Since coming back from overseas, this is more of a foreign

Host:
The train station café hummed with the muted energy of a country caught between motion and pause. Television screens above the counter flashed with headlines, debates, and smiling faces that didn’t match the tension in the air. The smell of burnt coffee and wet coats filled the space. Outside, the winter rain pressed against the glass, streaking the world into watery confusion.

At a corner table, under the flickering light of an old lamp, sat Jack, a veteran of his own kind — not of war, but of ideals. His coat was draped over his chair, his face thoughtful and hard in the way men’s faces get when they’ve seen too much and can’t quite name what they’ve lost.

Across from him sat Jeeny, notebook in front of her, steam rising from her tea. She had the calm focus of someone who believed conversation could still repair things — or at least remind people that repair was possible.

Jeeny: softly “Jim Mattis once said — ‘Since coming back from overseas, this is more of a foreign country than the places overseas. I don't understand it. It's like America has lost faith in rational thought.’”

Jack: letting out a long breath “That line hits harder than most war stories.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “It’s not about geography. It’s about home not recognizing itself anymore.”

Host:
The station intercom crackled, announcing a delayed train. No one in the café looked up. The noise of cutlery and quiet voices continued, like background static in a country that had forgotten how to listen.

Jack: after a pause “You know what’s strange? You go overseas — to chaos, to conflict — and you think, I can’t wait to come home. But then you do, and it’s like the ground’s shifted. You realize you were fighting for something that doesn’t quite exist anymore.”

Jeeny: softly “For the idea of America, not the reality?”

Jack: nodding “Exactly. Over there, the mission was clear — protect, rebuild, survive. Here, everything’s blurred. People fight each other over facts, over science, over basic decency. It’s like everyone’s abandoned reason and picked up rage instead.”

Jeeny: gently “Maybe that’s what he meant — that the real foreign war now is the one fought inside our own borders, in our own minds.”

Jack: half-smiling, tired “And it’s harder to fight. You can’t win against confusion. You can only try to outlast it.”

Host:
The lights flickered briefly, reflecting off the rain-streaked windows. Outside, a man in a heavy coat paced under the awning, speaking angrily into his phone — his gestures sharp, his words lost to the glass.

Jeeny: quietly “Do you think it’s just politics? Or something deeper?”

Jack: shaking his head “Deeper. Politics just shows the symptoms. What we’ve really lost is trust — in truth, in reason, in each other.”

Jeeny: softly “Faith in rational thought.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. We used to argue to understand. Now we argue to win. There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: thoughtfully “Rational thought takes humility. You have to admit you could be wrong. But this country — we’ve turned pride into religion.”

Jack: smirking faintly “And humility into weakness.”

Host:
The train outside hissed, brakes screeching faintly in the cold air. Inside, the café felt warmer but smaller — like the walls had drawn closer around them.

Jack stared down at his cup, the reflection of the hanging light rippling in the dark liquid.

Jack: softly “I served with people from a dozen different countries. Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria. And you know what’s crazy? For all the war and chaos, those people believed in something — family, faith, survival. Over here, we’ve got freedom, stability — and we’re using it to destroy ourselves.”

Jeeny: gently “Because meaning doesn’t come from comfort. It comes from conviction.”

Jack: after a pause “And we’ve traded conviction for convenience.”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. We’ve confused opinion with truth and comfort with virtue.”

Host:
The television above them shifted to a news debate — two pundits shouting over one another, their faces tight with self-importance. Jack glanced up, then looked away, shaking his head.

Jack: quietly “You know what gets me? Everyone thinks shouting louder makes them right. But reason doesn’t yell. It listens.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because truth doesn’t compete — it waits.”

Jack: half-smiling “Maybe that’s why it feels foreign here now. Reason’s gone into exile.”

Jeeny: softly “And faith has been replaced by certainty.”

Jack: pausing “You think we can come back from this?”

Jeeny: after a long silence “We have to. But it won’t come from leaders or speeches. It’ll come from moments like this — from people talking again. Slower. Kinder. Honestly.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Like rebuilding a country one conversation at a time.”

Jeeny: smiling back “Exactly. Because democracy isn’t a monument — it’s maintenance.”

Host:
The rain slowed, the rhythm easing into silence. The café had emptied; only a few stragglers remained — a student typing quietly, a couple sharing a pastry in tired peace. The world outside gleamed wet and restless, but the space between Jack and Jeeny felt still.

Jack took a deep breath and leaned back, his voice lower now, almost wistful.

Jack: softly “When Mattis said those words, I think he wasn’t just disappointed. He was heartbroken. Because it takes love to feel that kind of loss. You don’t grieve for something unless it once meant everything.”

Jeeny: quietly “Maybe that’s the silver lining — that disillusionment is still a form of devotion. To say, ‘I don’t understand what we’ve become,’ means you still care enough to hope we can be better.”

Jack: after a pause “You think hope’s still rational?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Always. Especially when the world says it isn’t.”

Host:
The camera would linger on them — two faces lit by the dim glow of a café lamp, surrounded by the quiet hum of a restless nation. Outside, a train pulled out into the night, its lights fading into darkness, its path uncertain but moving forward all the same.

And as the sound of wheels on wet track faded, Jim Mattis’s words would echo — weary, truthful, and deeply human:

“Since coming back from overseas, this is more of a foreign country than the places overseas. I don't understand it. It's like America has lost faith in rational thought.”

Because home isn’t just a place —
it’s an agreement.

An agreement built on reason,
mutual belief,
and the courage to listen.

And when that faith falters,
when noise replaces dialogue
and outrage becomes identity —
the foreign land we fear
isn’t beyond our borders,
but within them.

Yet even then,
there is still a way back —
through conversation,
through humility,
through the fragile, stubborn grace
of people who still believe
that reason,
like love,
is worth defending.