A Soldier's Scar

By TheBetterMe | The Better Me Blog | 5 Mar 2021

My grandpa, Juanito loves to tell us a story. We all loves his story from where he is a young man, still having a strong grip to his fate. But what struck me the most is when he was still a soldier. A story of heroism and sacrifice.

Once, he was a soldier. Fought in the battle field for the sake of freedom. He was young and strong. The protector of the weak. He told us how sorrowful war were, back then. How it ended someone's life, destroyed someone's dream, and create a barrier among nation and people. How everyone always lives in fear, and if they are going to live long to have a happy, and peaceful life. How it hurts being stationed in a war zone, far away from home not knowing if you're going to come back home, or maybe never. How everyone, including children were used to the deafening sound of the guns clashing. How back then, you always, always live like it's the end. For even at the comfort of your home, you can lose your life anytime because of the bomb sent from above or being hit by a stray bullet. Being a soldier, you have to be ready to sacrifice and risk your life. In the battle field, everyone has their reason why they are there. It's a battle of what you believe, a clash of soldier's will to survive and be able to come back home in one piece, alive. He remembered how his heart ached and broke at the sight of his comrades being shot dead, once, twice, he can’t count how many gunshots but it’s raining of bullets, or bombed. You can’t even grieve or cry, maybe you’ll be next. Who knows?

After the war, he was one of the lucky surviving soldier while the others, came back home, with a cold body lying in the coffin, that never again will they'll be able to see and hug tightly their wife, son, daughter and parents. Some never came back home, even just their cold body never made it home. Some came back without an eye, a leg, an arm. The penalty of war. While he was telling the story, I can see how it still haunts him, looking into his eyes. I can still feel the pain from him even if it was all in the past. He always said that during the war, everyone's dream was to die peacefully, surrounded by loved ones. It would also be great if they’re gonna hear them crying knowing they are there in their last moment. As they were in the midst of a battlefield, they all saw how sad and lonely it is to die there. The last moment you're going to see is also your comrades dying on you. When you’re lying on the ground gasping for your last breath, you even won’t be able to see the sky clearly because of the smokes from guns and bombing. The last sound you're gonna hear is the rain of gunshots piercing through your body, hitting you like a thunder. The last thing you hold is a weapon to kill, not a hand that reassures that everything's gonna be okay, and you can peacefully go. The memories of war is a soldier’s forever scar. The grief, loses, tears shed, fears and worries during the war are forever engraved in them.

War was the greatest disaster humanity could ever create. It steals away the peace, youth and dreams. The up bringer of grief, chaos and destruction. And for what reason, mainly? Differing views and opinions? Differing political stand or just merely displaying power over nations who are incapable, defenseless, and possess resources they want to claim and get a hold of? And what about the aftermath? A city and borders filled with blood running, some dried on the street, a pile of dead bodies of children, elderly, man, woman and soldier. Ruined institutions like hospitals, schools and parks. At the thought of it all, it’s crushing my heart. It aches so much just trying to remember what my grandpa experienced long ago. That is why I am always an advocate of peace. I don't want to be the grandpa who tells a story of a sad, distant past. I want to tell my grandkids how well I live, where nations and people are at peace. Where differing views and political stand would only result in a constructive argument, than a war where a life lost, you'll never get it back.


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This is a work of fiction. Any events, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events, are purely coincidental. 




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