I find beauty and power in many things about this world.
I find beauty and power in the mountains, in the trees. I find meaning in silent connections and interactions with strangers. I find joy in learning something new. I find challenges exciting. I find the unknown intoxicating and addicting. I find the same beauty and power in an old woman's back as in a child's laughter. I find power in being curious. I find power in being open.
I am eternally grateful for my family, and for my friends. I can say confidently, that I know now what I deem meaningful in my life because of them. But also, and drastically so, because of the opportunity to live in the places the I have lived, and to have seen the places that I have seen. I know, without a doubt, what matters to me. I also know that some of the things that I value deeply in this world and in my life are not universal. I can't assume everyone to love the mountains (although, come on, everyone should!); I can't assume to connect with people over my Asian-culture fascination; I can't blame someone for not thinking that communicating through body language only can incredibly fun. I can't expect people to show an interest in what I love, in what matters to me - in my life.
And most people don't. Most people don't ask questions, don't really seem to be able to connect or to care really. And I really don't expect them to. I really don't.
And most people don't. Most people don't ask questions, don't really seem to be able to connect or to care really. And I really don't expect them to. I really don't.
But there has been one place, a single place, that I had the opportunity the visit, that seemed to draw everyone's attention. And family members who I hadn't spoken to in over five or six years - my father, who is having trouble with his memory - my brother, with whom I usually only talk about video games and shows and mom - my friends, ALL of them, even the ones I hadn't seen since high school - everybody cared. Everyone wanted to know.
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| "Work will set you free" |
While planning our stop in Krakow, my boyfriend asked me if I really wanted to go to Auschwitz. He had been once before, and warned me about how it might affect me emotionally (I am incredibly emotional). I was hesitant. I called my mom and told her that I did not see the point of putting myself through something as strong and intense as Auschwitz. I had friends telling me "Why wouldn't you while you're there? Just be sure to get the tickets before hand because I hear the sell out like crazy" FACT: Visiting Auschwitz is free. And truly, I didn't want to. I simply didn't know how I would respond, and I didn't know if my response would be appropriate, or not appropriate enough, or... I don't even know.
I friend of mine (an awesome, awesome friend of mine [thank you so much for everything, Jarek]) met us in Krakow and was kind enough to drive us to Auschwitz himself. He explained how when he was in college he was part of the Erasmus exchange program and that he was used to taking people to Auschwitz on a regular basis.
"Don't you mind it? Isn't it hard to go?"
"No, I actually really like going?"
"Really? That seems like such an odd thing to say! 'I like to go to Auschwitz'!"
"Well, I think it's important to go."
And that did it. A shift happened, and I stopped thinking about how being there would affect me, personally - because really, it isn't about me.
Passing through the main camp, we passed through people taking selfies, people having a small picnic by the gate, people literally trying to snap the perfect picture of the toilets in the shacks. It really did not feel like a place where 1.1 million Jews were murdered. I did not feel like my soul was shattering as it felt when I watched Schindler's List. There was a massive sense of detachment as we first entered the main camp, and I remember realizing how through the shock of seeing so many easy going people, I was unfeeling. I didn't feel anything, entering through the gates where the trains came through - the trains with millions and millions of Jews being transported into a dead trap. I remember just thinking 'What are these people doing?'.
It took us walking through the first set of encampments where it slowly -very, very slowly - it started to settle in. Imagine, you pass through a group of Germans on a tour, facing a site where Jews were burned - heads down, hands shaking and trying to hold back tears. You see people kneeling, hands on the ground as if trying to feel something, or trying to connect to something, or to control something. You read everything there is to read, you try to understand what you read, make sense of it. You walk through the march of the dead, where men and women and children were stripped, shaved and herded into the gas chambers. You see the pictures of men and women and children who died there. You see the rooms with the shoes, with the suitcases, with the hair. You see the book, the size of an entire room, filled with names - the names of all the prisoners, all the murdered. You hear Hitler's speeches and read along the subtitles. You see pictures that the children from the camps drew about their daily life. You see Auschwitz, and you see what hate, what pure bigotry, and what pure hate does. You see what it is capable of.
How can it not shake you?
And maybe you're shaken - hard and deep into your core, and you think about the brutality of history and the brutality of men and women. You're truly, truly shaken. But what can you do? What can anyone do? It happened. It's done. And in a couple of days, life continues and the impact and the shock become a memory.
"Auschwitz stands as a tragic reminder of the terrible potential man has for violence and inhumanity"
I do believe that it is important to go and to be shaken. I believe that it is important to be reminded of the wonders and the horrors of our history. I believe that it is easy to forget and to think of it as something of the past - that we've come so far.
Maybe not everyone can understand my obsession with mountains or with culture. But everyone can understand humanity. Anyone can have a completely different experience and response from a place like Auschwitz - but I believe that it is plain, for anyone to see, what Auschwitz stands for, and why it is important.
I friend of mine (an awesome, awesome friend of mine [thank you so much for everything, Jarek]) met us in Krakow and was kind enough to drive us to Auschwitz himself. He explained how when he was in college he was part of the Erasmus exchange program and that he was used to taking people to Auschwitz on a regular basis.
"Don't you mind it? Isn't it hard to go?"
"No, I actually really like going?"
"Really? That seems like such an odd thing to say! 'I like to go to Auschwitz'!"
"Well, I think it's important to go."
And that did it. A shift happened, and I stopped thinking about how being there would affect me, personally - because really, it isn't about me.
Passing through the main camp, we passed through people taking selfies, people having a small picnic by the gate, people literally trying to snap the perfect picture of the toilets in the shacks. It really did not feel like a place where 1.1 million Jews were murdered. I did not feel like my soul was shattering as it felt when I watched Schindler's List. There was a massive sense of detachment as we first entered the main camp, and I remember realizing how through the shock of seeing so many easy going people, I was unfeeling. I didn't feel anything, entering through the gates where the trains came through - the trains with millions and millions of Jews being transported into a dead trap. I remember just thinking 'What are these people doing?'.
It took us walking through the first set of encampments where it slowly -very, very slowly - it started to settle in. Imagine, you pass through a group of Germans on a tour, facing a site where Jews were burned - heads down, hands shaking and trying to hold back tears. You see people kneeling, hands on the ground as if trying to feel something, or trying to connect to something, or to control something. You read everything there is to read, you try to understand what you read, make sense of it. You walk through the march of the dead, where men and women and children were stripped, shaved and herded into the gas chambers. You see the pictures of men and women and children who died there. You see the rooms with the shoes, with the suitcases, with the hair. You see the book, the size of an entire room, filled with names - the names of all the prisoners, all the murdered. You hear Hitler's speeches and read along the subtitles. You see pictures that the children from the camps drew about their daily life. You see Auschwitz, and you see what hate, what pure bigotry, and what pure hate does. You see what it is capable of.
How can it not shake you?
And maybe you're shaken - hard and deep into your core, and you think about the brutality of history and the brutality of men and women. You're truly, truly shaken. But what can you do? What can anyone do? It happened. It's done. And in a couple of days, life continues and the impact and the shock become a memory.
"Auschwitz stands as a tragic reminder of the terrible potential man has for violence and inhumanity"
I do believe that it is important to go and to be shaken. I believe that it is important to be reminded of the wonders and the horrors of our history. I believe that it is easy to forget and to think of it as something of the past - that we've come so far.
Maybe not everyone can understand my obsession with mountains or with culture. But everyone can understand humanity. Anyone can have a completely different experience and response from a place like Auschwitz - but I believe that it is plain, for anyone to see, what Auschwitz stands for, and why it is important.
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