Conflicts vary, but the sufferings are mutual, that is the first thing I learn about wars. As I grow up, “war” is something rather abstract, in a way that it is almost incomprehensible; since the fragmented pieces of truth, when put together, depict such reality that, to me, seems unbearable. During history lessons, I get to be taught about war under the eyes of a historian. Who started war? What was the reason for doing this? What conclusion can be drawn from these events? These questions, as a student, you may all hold the key to the answers. Yet, the questions of why thousands and thousands of lives were taken away on a daily basis, why there was the need to murder, how people felt, both of those who were forced to flee from their own country, and those who stayed and fought vigorously for their nation, remain untouched.

            Have you ever wondered the same things? I know Anne and Tram had. Friends were such luxuries at the moment, therefore they turned to diaries, where feelings are heard, thoughts are shared, and souls are sympathized. Through those lines, I can feel the profound grievance of broken families, the utmost fear on hearing the approaching sounds of soldiers, of gunshots, of hurling bombs. I can feel those fights, both the visible bloodshed, and the revolutions that they had in their minds, in order to keep themselves alive, in the times of death.

That is the truth, the truth about wars. Unjust, brutal, and atrocious as it is, there is and will always exist a thin line between life and death. Humans, we are the directors of our own wrongdoings. We are all capable of causing pain, suffering, and misery. Nonetheless, it is of equal vitality to bear in mind that we are all capable of feeling pain, suffering, and misery as well.

Was depression the only theme which characterized the two diaries, then honest to goodness, the impression it had left me with would never be this deeply-rooted. In those dark days, when people woke up with fear and slept within fear themselves, it seems unthinkable to have something such noble to cling to, for it is the one thing that is immortal against war, against sins, against time.

“Hope is the thing with feathers

  That perches in the soul

  And sings the tune without the words

  And never stops at all.” – Emily Dickinson

It was not until these pages that I genuinely conceive what it was like to be a youthful, reckless, flaming soul in the times of cruelty, ruthlessness, and barbarousness. Not until these pages that I can deeply connect and interact with, since the two of them were both young girls, coming into this unjust war all clueless and innocent. Despite how chaotic the world outside was, good spirits are kept and maintained, hope was the colorful feature, and love as the special glow to finish the whole picture. Not that Anne Frank and Dang Thuy Tram were unaware of their surroundings, of the lingering trail of an imminent end, of the rights they were robbed off and of the harshness they were newly entitled to. Still, the everlasting enthusiasm outlived all the hardships, and the depths of their thoughts and souls were plainly written down in their diaries- the diaries that live to this day.

There exists a burning desire to live, to love, and to be loved. There I find a ceaseless flow of appreciation for life. There I see dreamy girls, who would fill their lives with knowledge, with care, and with affection for other people. There, I witness the births of two heroes. From there, there is a growing hatred inside me: how much I loathe wars. War is hellish, even the idea of war in its own shell is destructive already. To me, it is of no importance whether who won or who lost, for war is unjust and thus may it be no scale to judge who is better or who is worse.  What mostly concerns me is who is remembered and who is not. As far as I know, peace has been determinedly built up through tears, pains and blood. Thereupon, shall my concern be left to your own decisions.

All things considered, the lesson I learnt is not much theoretical, but how it literally affects my perception. Anne and Tram sow a seed into my heart, and shape a compass into my mind, which tell me how they had long yearned for freedom, for liberty. And so, how my generation, and all of your generations alike should be thankful for the life we are living, for the peacefulness we are sharing.

War is crime, war is murder, and war is hurtful. War can kill lives but war can never kill hopes. War can leave people destitute and poor but their minds are forever vivid. War can push people to the verge of depression, terror, and fusion but war will never be the end; for peace is here to stay. That is what Anne Frank and Dang Thuy Tram inspire me to believe. By no polished languages of their own, it is their way of exchanging confidences that made me feel is it our responsibilities to maintain the treasure that we are granted with: peace.