It is not Politics, it is not War, it is not Intelligence, it is just a day to remind people who lost their lives under the pressure and risks of War. The first time I heard of it, I was a child and I listened how my great-grandmother lost contact with her family in the other side of the Atlantic after her neighbourhood, in Piccadilly, was bombed. I had never shared this kind of information with my friends because culturally speaking it appeared as something they would not recognise as part of our local upbringing while you were living in South America.
In that sense, this kind of Day to remember was not a relevant topic but it used to appear briefly on media. I had been living more than 24 months in Australia, and before taking the time to follow one of the events I would understand deeply my surroundings, I just don’t want to be a lonely tourist taking pictures to show where I was, what I saw, what I listened, what I witnessed… I do really want to experience with a sense of belonging rather than the outsider perspective I would felt when I arrived and I couldn’t even managed properly my time to find a place to live between classes and readings.
Even when I read multiple times about Wars and also be part of multiple Military events while I was studying or working, or celebrating the commemoration of Wars of Independence, the truth it is this experience would be different in many ways. Perhaps, the location, the language and growing up in a family, where some members were passionate readers of International conflicts during the Cold War and Wars books gave me a sense of excitement a little bit elevated.
It was definitely an interesting approach to write about it. Particularly, when I wait so long for it. The bands were ready, the retired soldiers, sergeants, captains, lieutenants, all of them were ready waiting for the time to salute the crowd, to walk in memory of the people, who is no longer here because becoming part of the Army, Navy or another militar service finish their lives earlier. In that sense, it was a high sensitive experience, people who couldn’t have the happiness of celebrate a Victory, or at least survived it. In some sort of way they gave the most precious thing everything had, their lives to let others enjoyed it. I don’t believe it is wrong to remember them. Even in the most ancient cultures, there was always a person who wrote down the number of lives lost during the conflict. Some people would think about it as a sick, obsessed disorder but how you outgrown the hardest times, if you don’t share with others how, and whom conquered to let you live in the present.