A soldier’s story

I’m a soldier. And today, I’m going home.

After so many months in the field, I finally got the break I wanted. There was never a day when I didn’t think of my wife, my son and my mother. I miss them so much. Who wouldn’t, when every day the only things you see are empty fields, the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets? Most often, though, we heard our own rifles firing.

We’re men. We’re not supposed to weep or get lonely. But we do. What have we gotten ourselves into? Why did we choose to live like this when we could have become engineers, lawyers, or doctors instead of men risking our lives?

Trust me. If we had a choice, we wouldn’t want to be here. We’d rather be with our families, watching our children grow up, doing mundane things that fathers do. But fate brought us here. Then we realize that fate needs us here.

Then we respond to that need in the best way we can. We struggle every day to protect not just our lives but someone else’s, too. And that “someone else” can be your father or your mother—or you.

We are but drops of water in an ocean. I firmly believe that the universe brought us to where we are because we each have a role to play. This keeps the balance of nature. Life-death. Yin-yang. Hatred-forgiveness. Happiness-loneliness.

Everything has its opposite. Everyone has to make his own sacrifice. What can you sacrifice to keep this balance going?

If you ask me, I have sacrificed a lot. And as soldiers and fighters, we can only do so much. God has a way of saying, “It’s enough. You’re done here. You have to go.”

And so, off we go—back to where we truly belong. I am more than excited to breathe the city air, to kiss my wife, to hold our son. I’m flying home and the clouds move with me. The best thing is I have served my purpose.

After a few hours, I see it: that familiar backyard where my child used to play. Someone opens the door for me. I see my wife, standing in front of me with a letter in her hand, our son beside her. And the telegram says I am dead.

She can’t see me but I can see her. She is weeping for me. Finally, someone is weeping for me!

When I went to the battle field, no one told me that going home will cost me my own life. If someone did, you know what I’d say? “I would take a thousand deaths just so I can go home.” Still, I’m happy because now I’m where I’m supposed to be.

This is my sacrifice. What’s yours?

Janessa C. Tek-ing, 21, is director of communications at Teach Peace Build Peace Movement.