My Kiwi Backyard

I felt the clattering of metal against rayon uniform next to me. The glare from the sun was strong, I squinted as the camera flashed; lifting my arm up in a simple hand gesture. Silence, as if the world around me is on pause. I can’t breathe. The air is thick enough to slice. Then, all at once as surrounding life unfreezes, the tall soldier turns to me. His words brash, piercing.

‘NO MA’AM’.

My arm slumps to my side and I stammer an apology. A curt nod of the head directed at me, then he moves from my side and returns to his fellow troops. Pacing back and forth in front of us. We are on the south side. The only thing separating us is are concrete stairs, leading to concrete tiles. There a several pale blue pre-fab buildings. Behind them; the North. At least twenty white pillars line the front of the building. It reminds me of a secluded castle. I can see two distant figures holding binoculars. The other Peace Campers are blissfully unaware of the potential threat that was swiftly averted. They were Tittering and posing for trivial photos, just as I had been moments before. My heart was still beating a constant drum that rang through my ears.

As we left the zone, my focus was on the barbed fences, high enough to keep everything out, or in depending on perspective. The constant chug of military trucks filled my ears. Our belongings had been kept safe in our bus. I double and triple checked my passport was still there, seeing the black cover with the silver fern consoled me. The chatter of the campers faded as we pass the village of Panmunjeom, the Third tunnel and finally the last gate to pass through. The noise of happy carefree babble didn’t regain its full momentum till we were back in the bright and inviting heart of Seoul.

I had seen the hundreds of aligned headstones, monuments, lists of fallen. It wasn’t until I saw how this country was still influenced that I felt the detriment of war. I was here because my Grandfather had lied about his age and hopped aboard a Navy Vessel bound for a country he had never heard of. The same applied to the Grandfathers of the Campers around me. We were all united by the choice of our ancestors to fight for Peace. I had lifted up my hand, two fingers held high and posed for a photo in the De-Militarized Zone, not even thinking of the possible consequence. Ironic, as I knew from this moment on, the weight of the ‘Forgotten War’ on my shoulders, that this is what I would strive for in my life.

Peace.