Dear mom…

“Dear mother,

I know it has been a long time since we have seen each other. And I know that it’s been a long time since I have wrote to you. And I would like to apologize. To be honest, I couldn’t write to you because I didn’t know what to tell you. My days are now reduced to me shooting into a void at a mass of people. And it may sound deeply depressing for you to hear this because I know that this was never how you wanted your son to be: a killer. I try to convince myself that this is only a game, that war won’t change me and that I’m okay. And even though I am still whole with flesh and bones, inside, I feel empty.

Yesterday, I killed a young man. I put him down with an effortless pull of the trigger.

And the guilt doesn’t even come. I know I was trained to be like this, I was trained so that all emotions would get erased during this period, to not be afraid. But inside, I’m terrified. Whenever I leave the camp with my backpack, I shake. I try not to show it because otherwise I wouldn’t be perceived as a real man. And yes, mother, I finally understand what you meant when you said “You don’t always have to look so tough you know. Every man can break sometimes and that doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

And I think that right now, those are the words that I need to hear from you.

But here, I see so much that I don’t even know how to express myself when facing the everyday bloodbaths. I keep thinking that sooner or later I will be back home and I will be able to get back to my old life. Things would be just like before. But truth is, a war effects mentally, so much that you tend to lose yourself and who you once was. I don’t even know if things will ever be like before. I don’t know if I ever will be capable of being the same person I once was. Every day I see people die, people wounded, and friends coming and going. And I am sick of it. I am so sick of having to endure daily routines filled with despair and loss. And it sucks because every time that I get attached to something, it gets taken away, swallowed by the deadly mouth of the war. So now, I have learned not to get attached to anything but my own life. Because one morning I may wake up and everyone who once was standing beside me, would be gone, and the only thing I would have left would be me.

Mother, I keep telling myself that you might be proud of the decision I took for my country. But yet, right now, I feel like I have deceived you in so many ways. The war is changing me, dear mother. I feel less lively, like a piece of my humanity was taken away along with the lives of my many comrades. There is a saying:

“I see humans but not humanity.”

And that is exactly what I see every day. We all are torn by the damages of the war. And mother, as much as I want to tell you that I’m fine, I am not. Sure, I’m alive and standing. But my heart is no longer present and my life is no longer me living, but me surviving. I don’t want to live by the survival, thriving. I want to live and enjoy and actually feel alive. Because right now, dead or alive, there would be no difference. Because my soul is no longer a soul, and my body is no longer bodily nor is it lively.

My muscles are tight and my mind is messed up. I try not to think too much, otherwise things get even more complicated for me. I spend my days listening to orders and following them. You could describe me as a human machine with the limbs and muscles as mechanical engines. No brain, no thoughts. I shut myself down. That’s the purpose of a war after all, isn’t it? It shuts down all humanity in one’s soul and picks out every possible human aspect of you. War is a game in which the taken of a piece is the taken of a life. And all you can think of is whether or not will you make it. And so far, I could never say that I am alive because of my skills or because god helped me out. I don’t believe in god no more. After all, if god really was above us, then why did he bring such hatred to our humanity?

Mother, now you know how I am. The struggle to write this letter was huge for me but I made it through so you could hear about me. I miss you mom. I miss you annoying me about how I dressed up in the morning and worrying about how presentable I was. I miss how your cooking was. I miss the house that I always wanted so desperately to leave. I miss dad too. I miss him and the rest of the family. I miss the care we had for each other. Here, the men are too strong for me, too few emotions are shown. I miss you so deeply mom. I managed to think and open my mind in order to write this letter. And this letter is no trophy you should keep nor should it be a piece of something you should be ashamed of. Keep it and read it when you miss me. Because I miss you mother, so much.

With all my love,

Mark.”