The Bridge on the River Kwai
I've had a very interesting weekend coming up, and I'm going to start with Sunday. I hope, you all remember Sairung, my CS-friend (my first friend with whom I went on a trip with) back in October. Then, we planned something in November, as well but she took off some days from work, so I couldn't make it, and she invited me to spend New Year's Eve with her and her family, but that didn't work out either - because the numbers of COVID-infected people have just increased. All in all, last weekend and this weekend, I could spend time with Sairung again and this weekend we visited Kanchanaburi province where the famous Kwai River and the infamous bridge are located at.
As a starter, I also have to mention that one of my favourite books is "The Garden of Evening Mists" by Tan Twan Eng. It's about a Chinese judge's memoir, who had survived the concentration camp during the WWII in Malaya but her sister died in that camp and she wants to create a Japanese garden for her to remember her forever. I have never been this close to history, so it's needless to say that I was already very touched when I saw the bridge and thought back to the story in the book. (The story is purely fiction though, however, there could be some people who had survived those camps and that could be their stories, as well. The book is highly recommended - but if you are in lack of time, feel free to watch the movie with the same title, it has just come out recently, too!) My favourite book is a story about forgiving and remembering. So is the place around the River Kwai (Kwae Noi to be exact) and the JEATH Museum.
It has all been a shocking experience for me. I think it has dawned on me too that the WWII was really a world war. It was not only about Germany invading Poland, it was not about concentration camps all over Europe, but it was also about Japan attacking the Pearl Harbor, invading Malaya and part of Thailand as well in order to build and export guns and machines to Malaya through Burma (Myanmar now). It has been all over the world and people all over the world have suffered a ton!
Back to my favourite book: people in the camps in Malaya were digging for copper and they have also searched for Yamamoto's secret treasures in the Cameron Highlands (according to the legend, some treasure was buried in the mountains) but they were also digging for raw material, like iron in order to build the bridge... and the Death Railway.. in Thailand, Kanchanaburi. Now you can see, why I already felt a little bit lifted up in my spirits. However, the place itself did not bring sad vibes to me: on the contrary, both sides of the bridge are thriving with life and there are colourful markets there. Even the bridge is still in use, the train departs from the nearby station and people are expected to step back to the viewpoints of the bridge to let the train go (people are faster on foot than this train on the railway at this station!). Where the camp used to be located, there is bar called Prisoners of War Camp Bar now. It was quite grotesque at the first sight. (Just imagine if there was a bar near Auschwitz or Dachau... wouldn't it be shocking?) But then I thought, perhaps this is one way to keep past alive. Perhaps, this is one way to treasure people's sufferings and be remembered forever: you cannot forbid life, life must go on and it wants to live. The lively market place around the site gave me this impression, as well: past is past and present is present. Give to the past what it needs but don't mender on it too much because it would only hurt you.
My next shocking experience happened on the bridge where - the obviously Thai tourists - have taken tons of selfies, posing themselves in their sexiest, most attractive postures. (Again, it came to my mind, what if tourists did that in the European concentration camp's sites? That would result in serious outrage from many!) While even my friends I went on this trip with tried to catch the best angle of themselves to - probably - update their Facebook profile pictures later on that day, I'm sorry, but I couldn't even smile on the bridge. I mean... people died building it. People suffered for it. People were forced to build it on the first place. I couldn't make myself smile and pose, rather, I was very pensive. It touched me a lot. I think I was even praying in myself, at least, I do remember saying sorry in myself several times to all the souls that were clearly still there, lingering in the air. I could feel history on my own skin. And then again, Rudy Francisco's poem came to my mind, too:
After this experience, we visited the museum, as well. I must say, this was the best museum I've seen out of Europe so far! European museums have great thematics, they are varied in exhibited objects, and provide lots of information for those who want to get immersed in history. Now, this museum (JEATH War Museum) was something different compared to the other exhibitions I've seen out of Europe. Perhaps, it was the topic. Maybe, it was because Kanchanaburi received a lot of donations of items of war after what had happened in the WWII. Or maybe, it was just me. I didn't have high expectations and it hit me very hard and right on spot.
The museum itself is a well-established palace-like dwelling on three or four different floors, with a pleasant garden. There is even a wat (Buddhist temple) inside, called the Peace Wat. You bet, you'd need a place like that to meditate in after all the things you had seen. I am a very emotional person, yes, that's true, so I cried through the first two rooms of the museum which contains footage of old newspapers of that time and real-life pictures of the concentration camp and of the building process, as well. In the middle of the room, there is a huge urn which says: here are the remaining parts of 108 people who had died. How is it possible to have so little to be remained from those people? What have they done to them to fit more than 100 people's body in a 1x1 m3 urn?! It's outraging, it's hurting, evulsing, and confronting in every little atom of mine. That room with those pictures, with that urn... it has just crushed me. How is humankind capable of so much cruelty? How is humankind capable of so much cruelty towards others based on... basically any little difference that can be picked up? And of course, working conditions in the camp were very humiliating, too, of course. Again, the images of European concentration camps have flooded in my mind, but these people (due to the climate) were only allowed to wear a loose pair of pants, tied above their waist. So humiliating! My blood boiled in that room. And when you step out back to the sunshine, this is what greets you:
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