Horror and heroism

Inky darkness engulfed me. The silence was oppressive and it paralyzed my thoughts. I had gone against my instincts and lowered myself into one of the Cu Chi tunnels in Vietnam. I was petrified, yet mesmerized. Each breath came as a relief, each step required effort.
I crawled and snaked through the maze that guerilla fighters called home. People had bled and died here. They had also laughed and dreamt here. Life had continued in its macabre form in the black hole that my petite frame could barely stand in. The walls became an extension of me as I groped my way through the dizzying stillness and tried to visualize the horror of living in these grave-like labyrinths.
Disease, starvation and death reigned inside while a vicious enemy lurked above. I felt their terror, their desperation but most of all their thirst for freedom. Only the desperate desire to preserve territory, freedom, family and life can explain how these people survived here for as long as they did.
The urge for air and light overpowered me and I scrambled to make my way out. I burst through the ground like a plant sprouting its first leaf and filled my lungs with clean air. The sunlight felt brand new. As I slowly opened my eyes I caught a small glimpse of the price of freedom; freedom that we take for granted everyday. My eyes adjusted to the bright light and the world came into focus. It was the same world but for just one moment I had lived someone else’s life.
Oblivious to what had unfolded on this soil, tourists posed for pictures, drank their Coca Colas, engaged in trivial banter and zoomed off to the next must-see destination. A place of horror and heroism had become merely a stop on a tourist itinerary.
I picked wild lilac flowers growing haphazardly in the forest and laid them down at the entrance of each tunnel. I uttered a little prayer. As I made my way out I dropped the flowers down the path much like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, hoping that one day I would find my way back.