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There is a song I listen to sometimes. I goes something like this, "This world has lost its glory – let's start a brand new story' bla bla bla.
It sounds nice – perhaps too nice to be realistic, but it makes me wonder how we can ever possibly start a new story! Hasn't the world learned any lessons from its abysmal record of collective human greed, futility, irresponsibility, pride and well there's not enough ink and paper to express all the suitable adjectives of why, how, and what causes mankind to go to war…
So here I am, a new generation – a collective product of all the genes, DNA, and all that microscopic stuff as well as the effects of my environment and some of my very own characteristics thrown in for good measure. I run the risk, however, of being swept along with all the other collective jumble of elements that make up the human bean – I mean being – of just following along with the crowd, something like sheep or should I say, like lambs – to the slaughter…
So like most of the others in the world today I've been given a flag in one hand and a machine gun in the other and a list of expectations – the nations glory and all that, including historical figures to emulate whose past remains somewhat obscure.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm a patriotic soul – kith, kin, son of the soil, child of the nation and all that, but just because I don't want to be cannon fodder for some politicians' point system – doesn't mean I don't love my people and the soil beneath my feet.
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In the good old days when enemies actually got to look at each other before lunging with swords and what not – soldiers, commanders, and even neatly dressed politicians winced somewhat when the battlefield and its horror and ugliness were mentioned. That was sometime before the invention of technology that enables soldiers to see around corners, through walls, and also - don't forget - the impressive ability to push a button and destroy a city or a country for that matter. I guess it does have its advantages – I mean from 20,000 or so feet up you don't have to go through the inconvenience of seeing your handiwork – I mean it kind of keeps one out of reach; disconnected from the burns, screams, blood, pain, and the loss of war and slow miserable death…
So pondering on such terrors I've more or less decided that I don't want to die in someone else's power struggle but I also don't want to kill…This of course leaves me in a bit on the spot; a target – excuse the pun – of vehement cries of 'You coward! You unpatriotic so and so! You! You! You!'
So I decided in the end that since the world seems so hell-bent on killing each other, that I'd join the ranks but on the perimeter so to speak. I thought I might just don my camouflage suit, boots, ammunition belt, and all that and start trekking around the world looking for a war that's worthy to be fought. Do you think that will keep the war-mongers satisfied and off my conscripted back?
So getting back to the new story I'd like to make – the one mentioned in the song – well my imagination conjures up images of harmony, justice, safety, innocence, peace – hmm a few rare delights on the world's stage. But then, back to reality, I do have the choice – I can fight in someone's war and try to come out of it with my soul in tact or I can go on trekking around the world looking for a justified struggle, or I can go to anyone of the big cities and be murdered for my shoes, my jacket, my mobile, or just for the heck of it…
So needless to say I haven't gotten around to starting that new story yet – I'm sure the world has lost it's glory but I'm too busy dodging potential muggers, thieves, and would-be murderers to get to the airport to start my trek around the world in my camouflage suit – to think that story through…
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