Under my skin a boundary
I listen carefully to an address to the young cadets,
Find out how youth your age, in your home village, paid the price with their lives...
The plea to remember the sacrifice brings me home, home to why I am standing there. “Here we go”, I think to myself and grin, as if I was outside of this story. The cadets face the grave, which looks like an excessively large resting place. I bring myself back to present from a state of drifting, and try to listen to what is being said,
love for the fatherland
the most valuable gift to the fatherland
I get a bit teary-eyed. I am, after all, written in this story. It is our shared national memory. We are not allowed to forget. The imminence of death, so much at stake, and the romantic idea of something greater than me. I recognise an oral history and a popular imagery of clichés which gave birth to the soldier and the militarised state, yet I am neither appalled nor even judging. Rather, something tickles my insides. As a subject I become invested in these particular structures (Ahmed 2004, 12) which, in this case, means the state and its military constituents.