Gilded Truth

Save Yourself

Have you ever imagined what it would be like when your earliest memory was to wake up inside a concentration camp? Could you even fathom what the scent of grime and sweat smells like, how the stench enclosed in the compound was on par with animal manure? There are more stories than one meets the eye, thus why this writer exists. I write stories based on truth, just like how our dear government hates us to be.

Now that I may have piqued your interest, may you spare me some time to listen to what I have to say? This is a story of heroes whose stories are left unspoken and kept in the dark. This is a story of those who chose to sacrifice their freedom over the freedom of young children and women. These men were someone's father and brother, but at the same time, they were someone's heroes.

The concentration camps were scary, dark, and painstakingly agonizing. Just imagine how fifteen families crammed in a small room live with no electricity and comfortable beds. And if you were lucky enough, you'd share handwoven mats with other families. The cemented floor and walls were ice cold. If one was unlucky they would either fit themselves in old cardboard or a thin sheet of newspaper. Mothers would have no choice but to cradle their children and lean by the cold concrete wall to comfort them. It was grim and dark inside that room.

Amidst the grim atmosphere of the place, one would hear a faint hum of a song every night. A song about the far wide seas and azure skies, of people raising their fists to the heavens as a sign of revolt. It was the song of freedom of those groups sent to the camps. They said that every time they sang this, they were paying tribute to their fallen comrades.

The song goes like this, dear reader:

One could push us back in resistance,
But as brave we are we will push back,
With our wives, mothers, daughters, and children in our mind,
Their images etched in our hearts.
My dear comrade it's a perilous ride,
I am glad you are here arm-in-arm in our pursuit,
May the heaven give us blessings,
May we not forget our reason to stand and cry out.

It was a lullaby for fussy infants inside that room, a song of resistance for those who didn't forget what they were fighting for, and a reminder for widows that their other half died a hero. It might not have the greatest rhyme nor the best tune, yet the simplicity of its words could easily pull one's heartstring, triggering a sense of new hope, and reminding one person that they were not alone in every battle.

But when the day comes...

These men were kept as laborers, suffering under the harsh light of the sun, unable to take a sip of water nor bite their old, moldy bread. Children ran errands for guards, and women were sexually assaulted by the authorities. One wrong move and one would suffer from inhumane punishment. Children were being whipped till their backs bled and they curled up in pain. Women would be beaten up if they refused to serve the higher-ups, their genitals mutilated and burnt by cigarettes. Men always had it worse; the punishment for them varied from what the officials deemed "proper." Some would be taken away and would never be seen again, making their everyday life in the concentration camps uncertain.

Till one night, our brave heroes woke their families up in hushed voices. Amidst the darkness in the room, one could clearly see how their eyes glittered with tears and sadness. They gave directions for the children and their beloved families to crawl through the hole on the wall they had hammered for months without the guards noticing it. The hole would direct everyone into the wilderness, where the bushes were lush and the trees were tall, enough to keep the vulnerable hidden in the shadows. One full-grown person could easily go through it.

One could vividly imagine how these fathers and brothers pulled their families in a tight embrace, knowing that this might be their last, knowing that what they did could cost them more than what they trade-off. But if it meant giving back the freedom they longed for to their families, then they would gladly sacrifice theirs. For the last time, the anthem of resistance resounded in the room as every person went through the hole. When everyone was in the clear, they slowly cemented the hole, as if they were accepting their fate that the concentration camps would be their burial grounds. The last thing these heroes said in common is, "Save yourself and be free."

— Alethea