thoughts from gallipoli
Dear WWI,
I watched a movie about you today, but really, I didn't do that much watching. Instead I sat, hugging my arms to my chest, watching the floor, listening to your horrid sounds. I wish I could tell you how much I dislike you, how horrible you are to me. Your death-smells, death-trenches, death-gas, death-nights all frighten me. You do not know how many nightmares I have had because of you.
But I can't hate you completely. Without you, I would cease to exist. Because of you, my great-grandmother remarried. From you, a new family was born.
I don't know why that is so hard for me to swallow, but it is. I want to see your battlefields, your trench-scars that still line the French and German countryside. And I want to find his grave, my almost-great-grandfather. I hope that isn't strange - I'm sad he had to die, but grateful I have been given the chance to live.
I suppose none of this concerns you, you the instigator of Gallipoli, Verdun, and Versailles. You who slaughtered and maimed 37 million. You who destroyed a continent, requiring your sister war to try to put it back together again. The injustice is great, but the hypocrisy of my complaint is too great for me to raise my voice any louder.
I cannot bring myself to thank you any more than I've already briefly mentioned. But please know this: when I think of you, a tiny prayer is flung from my heart towards life and those who are still mourning because of the horrendous irony of war.
Sincerely,
Your great-granddaughter
I watched a movie about you today, but really, I didn't do that much watching. Instead I sat, hugging my arms to my chest, watching the floor, listening to your horrid sounds. I wish I could tell you how much I dislike you, how horrible you are to me. Your death-smells, death-trenches, death-gas, death-nights all frighten me. You do not know how many nightmares I have had because of you.
But I can't hate you completely. Without you, I would cease to exist. Because of you, my great-grandmother remarried. From you, a new family was born.
I don't know why that is so hard for me to swallow, but it is. I want to see your battlefields, your trench-scars that still line the French and German countryside. And I want to find his grave, my almost-great-grandfather. I hope that isn't strange - I'm sad he had to die, but grateful I have been given the chance to live.
I suppose none of this concerns you, you the instigator of Gallipoli, Verdun, and Versailles. You who slaughtered and maimed 37 million. You who destroyed a continent, requiring your sister war to try to put it back together again. The injustice is great, but the hypocrisy of my complaint is too great for me to raise my voice any louder.
I cannot bring myself to thank you any more than I've already briefly mentioned. But please know this: when I think of you, a tiny prayer is flung from my heart towards life and those who are still mourning because of the horrendous irony of war.
Sincerely,
Your great-granddaughter
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