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Author
The author is a paranoid, deranged and cynical misanthrope who records snippets of her life so that she will remember them when she grows old and withered. The identities of any names or initials on this blog are based on the assumptions of the reader unless otherwise specified, and the author claims no responsibility for them.
Reality
The author somehow got into medical school. Yes, you of the general public, shudder and fear the wrath of an inept doctor.
Loves
Reading, Maisy (my dog), tea, writing (albeit badly), piano, music, junk food.
Hates
Almost everything else besides the things mentioned above.
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Bao Cheng' Bernice' Chien Young' Chun Hing' Claire' Faustina' Felicia' Ferly' Gloria' Irene' Irene & Jiaying' Jac' Jiamin' Jiasin' Jiaying' Lutheng' Karene' Marissa' Melesa' Mingyi' My fictionpress' Pamelia' Pei Rong' Qiu Ting' Rachel' Satires Site' Stasia' Sylvia' The Clique' Vinette' Wenjia' Xin Rong' Xue Ying' Yanne & I' Yanne & Jamie' Zeena' 203'
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Chat area
I'm feeling kind of depressed now because I've just been researching the Holocaust for my history research essay.
It makes me wonder what the limits of the destructivity of humanity are, if there are any. And who has the rights to condemn people to life or death. And why God allowed such things to happen.
I don't think it's fair of me to pretend to understand what the Holocaust is about.
Anyway, we went on our history excursion to the Holocaust centre on Monday. Most of the trip wasn't that interesting (we did a lot in class already). It was only when the Holocaust survivor spoke to us (no one could catch his name because of his strong German accent) that I perked up.
He (I think his name was Kernard) was about my age when the Holocaust started. In 1942, he was sent to one of the labour camps to bury people who had died from exhaustion, and he was telling us about how these people were delivered by the truckloads in paperbags, undignified, nameless (except for the occassional one where their friends wrote their names on the insides of the paperbags).
Then when the Holocaust went into full effect, he was sent to a concentration camp (either Flossenberg or Gross-Rosen, I don't remember, but I think it's the former) to dig trenches to try to prevent the Russian tanks from crossing into Germany. And he was telling us about how they had to share a piece of bread and a ladle of soup with pieces of unidentified objects swimming in it between 5 people. So most people would eat half the bread and hide the rest away for another time, because they only got food once a day.
And he said that 98% of the people in the camps were generally sympathetic and helpful, but the remaining 2% would go around scrounging for those pieces of bread to ensure their survival, at the expense of someone else. So he said that one of the 2 greatest lessons he learnt from the Holocaust was to be a human being, not a human enemy. Which I thought really made sense.
The other lesson was given to him by his friend, who was a judge before the war and died shortly before the death march began (the Nazis were marching them towards central Germany because of the advancing Red Army), and was the one that made him decide to make a run for it. It was, if memory serves me right, to live by justice, not law. There was law in Nazi Germany, but no justice.
Bah. I do reckon he's one of the unluckiest people I've met though. He went back to Germany to study after the war, and he finally moved to Australia because of Stalin's regime. First Hitler, then Stalin. And now Howard. HAHA. How unlucky can he get.
Oh, he also said that out of the huge number of people in the school he was in before the war, he could count the number of survivors just by the fingers on his hands.
Oh well. I guess enduring a whole year of the evil dwarf for just that day's really worth it. And I'm probably dropping hist next yr for music, because I want to take piano lessons, and my mum would cut them off because I've finished my grade 8 (if I pass on Monday). Unless I take music as a school subject.
I'm off to do my lit assignment. Shall just leave this little passage from 'Night' by Elie Wiesel which I thought was really sad.
'Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.
Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever.
Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.'
And if any of you are interested, this is a link to the Jewish Holocaust museum in Israel, Jerusalem that Gaby gave me. She went there last year, and she was telling me about how heartbroken she was after that :(.
Yad Vashem (Holocaust Museum)
12:08 PM