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| Sunday, 02 April 2006 |
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A soldier's sketches Let's start from the beginning. I won't try to sugarcoat or justify my life. I won't give you some lame excuse like my father being an alcoholic and comes every night to beat up my mother. No, that didn't happen - I was brought up by a decent family. I won't tell you how hard it was to leave my family and friends either. (Come to think of it, they were kind of proud of me at that time.)
All my life I just wanted to be noticed. Though I did well in my studies I wasn't exceptional. I wasn't really interested in carrying on the family business either. I definitely wanted something else. Something more. It wasn't exactly fame that I was after. I wanted the world to see who I really am. A better part of me. Somehow I knew there was more to life than rotting away like my meek father or decomposing slowly like my lifeless mother. I wanted my life to have a cause, and in fact I wanted to something useful with my life.
Of course, there was the other obvious reason. Sandya. She was the love of my life. Not to mention the heartache of my youthful passions. I'm not poetically inclined, but her hazel eyes and lukewarm smile would be enough to keep me going for a week without any food or fare. I was practically worshiping Sandya from the age of 12. Of course she didn't even know that I existed. After awhile, I was starting to think she had a point. I went to war. It's actually easier than they say it is. They teach you all kinds of stuff to keep your conscience occupied. "You're fighting for your country". "The children of the country can sleep peacefully because of soldiers like you". "You are fighting for the god damn sovereignty of the nation, the heritage your ancestors kept with their blood."
They say that war is not nice. They're not entirely wrong. The aftermath of war - the blood-filled carcasses and the body parts that are blown away by bazookas and grenades -are a little disturbing. But when you get used to it, when putting your life in the edge becomes more frequent than a bottle of whisky and some good company, you learn to make the most of it. The rush of adrenaline, the feel of the T-56 in your hands, the cries and roars of your comrades, the patriotic wind blowing through the bullet scratch on your shoulder, these things can never be explained to someone who has not served in the army. But with time, you get tired of playing fair. When you're gambling with your life you learn the tricks of the trade far more intelligently. As I see it, Darwin's theory of Natural Selection is by far the most philosophically ingenious concept man has ever deduced.
I learned to survive while my comrades died in battle. I learned to grab the glory of the moment. I learned to have my way with the superiors. I learned to climb up the ladder, with each rank gaining pride and prestige and inflating it with more lies and deceit. (Our society is based on a fabrication of falsehood -it's a logical place to make your stand...) I became a 'War Lord'. There are two tragedies in life. One is not getting what you want. The other is getting it. Though I do regret the decisions I have made, the lives I have put in danger and the countless 'mass murders' I have prescribed; if I didn't do it, someone else would have. It was essential for survival and to remain at the top of the food chain.
But what are my crimes when compared to the things that 'normal' people do today? Adultery, bribery, corruption to the highest level, and exploitation at every possible chance they get? (At least I did these things for the name of the country.) I am old and wretched - alone and solemn. I will probably die soon, but I am not afraid. Not because I don't believe in an after life or not because I am void of all conscience. Not because I am fooling myself that I haven't done anything wrong and not because I'm already in hell. The simple truth is - I am not the only one. From the beginning of time man has always been ruthless. Come to think of it, many of mankind's greatest achievements have been triggered by war and hatred. I have been but a mere pawn in a necessary evil. I may not be a saint in front of God, yet there are people in this world that herald me as their savior. They claim me as a hero and argue that if it wasn't for me, they couldn't have lived peacefully. Ironically these are the same people who seduced me into a life of war. The people who painted the life of a soldier close to that of sainthood. The people who didn't want to kill the cow for themselves, but nevertheless still wanted to eat her flesh. Dignity, pride, respect, and freedom - and all those bullshit in between; I truly wonder sometimes whether these things had actual meaning to them other than the synthetic illusions created and sold so easily to the youth. God maybe forgiving, but I am not. If I have the chance to live my life
again I will be happy to kill the people who advocate war, instead of
taking the thousands of lives like mine on the opposite side. Please
brother, if you want to make a difference, if you want to fight for a
cause; fight against war, and against the devils who justify it. |
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