WE ARE ALL RELICS OF THE WAR

What these scars taught me about battlefields and giving up.

One of the most-awaited activities in my school is the infamous leadership training, where chosen juniors and seniors go camping together. An obstacle course a la The Amazing Race is held to conclude the program, and that involves crawling around campus while blindfolded.

Now, the juniors didn’t know there would be crawling, but the seniors did advise that we wear sweaters and anything to protect our arms. BUT GUESS WHO DIDN’T WEAR A BLOODY SWEATER BECAUSE SHE SAID SHE CAN “HANDLE IT” AND “IT’S NO BIGGIE”? THIS WOUNDED LITTLE BRAT RIGHT HERE. I willingly ditched any protection whatsoever because I always thought I was tough, that my body wasn’t meant to fall apart, but just a couple minutes after it all started I was already begging to go home. 

I’m not as strong as I think I am, and that’s okay. I think this has got to be the most important thing this camping trip taught me (because I don’t know how fifteen different types of knots that I only remember vaguely can help me have a better life, just saying), since all my life I’ve seen myself as ‘not like the other girls’. I cringe at the idea of lipstick and skirts and having crushes on boys (I saw that as a sign of weakness, and oh my god I did not want to be weak), and growing up, I built this strong, powerful facade to fool myself that I could swallow everything I chew, no matter how much it is. I was no damsel in distress; I was the dragon that guards my castle. I wanted to prove that I was capable, that I could do anything—yet I couldn’t admit to myself that I had weaknesses too.

So here I am, howling in pain as a wound as big as a cookie inhabits both my elbows. Admitting you’re weak doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve been defeated—there’s no shame in being frail. Nobody can be strong all the time, so we’re not expecting you to be. Finding strength even though it’s not entirely there is extremely tiring, so continuing on when you know you can’t anymore will only wear you out more and more. It’s okay to sit down and refuel. You can always stand back up later on, stronger than ever.

Besides, isn’t admitting that you have weaknesses the greatest indication of being strong?

We also had a little campfire thing the night before, and it’s my favorite part, partly because I don’t think I’ve seen a real bonfire before, but mainly because we all just came together, no social barriers whatsoever, and took our masks off.

A few teachers shared the hardships they went through to be where they are now, and I realized that every single one of us came from a battlefield, albeit different ones. We’re all fighting (for) something—we all have been scarred and we all are relics of the wars we fought in and we are survivors. We’re all weak, and I applaud all of us for trying so hard to be strong.

One teacher talked about failing his parents, and so many of us cried upon learning that the battle some of us are in right now is actually winnable, and there stands in front of us is a survivor. “We may be scarred now but I survived and you will to.”

So long, soldier.