Good bye my world
In a discussion about the case, someone raised an objection to "someone who was not a party to the incident, who was not from Nagasaki, and who was not from Hiroshima, complaining about it. Seeing that opinion made me aware of my position, so I will say what I must say.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. We were made to sit in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, where there was not even an air conditioner or a fan, and for nearly an hour we were made to listen to stories about the atomic bombing. It was hard for me anyway.
I think it was even more painful for the elderly people who told the stories. But I don't think an elementary school kid could have imagined that. I, too, have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most.
There was one photo that I just couldn't face as an elementary school student. It was a picture of Taniguchi Sumiteru(谷口稜曄). If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would still like you to see it.
My grandfather was not a child then. But of course there were elementary school children who did the same thing he did. I am not speculating that there were. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it.
A young brother and sister found their father's corpse in the ruins of the fire and burned it themselves. They didn't have enough wood to burn him alive, and when they saw his brain spilling out, they ran away, and that was the last time they ever saw him again.
I know how it feels to think that I am the only one. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. I know that I have closed my mouth because I thought I shouldn't talk about it, and that is the result.
I have seen some posts asking if they should talk about "the case" even though they were not involved in it and were not born in Nagasaki or Hiroshima, and I am a bit aware of it, so I have to say what I have to say. I say this because I was born in Nagasaki, am a third generation atomic bomb survivor, and grew up hearing the stories of those who experienced the atomic bombing firsthand. I know it's a little bit too much for me, but I'm going to say this because there are very few survivors left.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about the atomic bombing. They were stuffed into sushi for nearly an hour in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle of summer, with no air conditioner or fan, and told stories about the atomic bombing. That was a hard time for me. I think it must have been even harder for the old people who told the stories, but there was no way an elementary school kid could imagine such a thing, and I had forgotten most of the stories I had been told for a long time. I have forgotten most of the stories I was told. I can only remember one or two at most. There is one more hard thing. Every year around this time, a row of grotesque images that would drive the PTA crazy in other areas are prominently displayed in the hallways. These days, I hear that the atomic bomb museum has been bleached out and many of the radical and horrifying exhibits that traumatized visitors have been taken down. I don't know if they are still there, but they were there when I was in elementary school.
There was one photo that I just couldn't face when I was in elementary school. It is a picture of Sumiteru Taniguchi. If you search for it, you can find it. It is a shocking picture, but I would like you to take a look at it. I couldn't pass through the hallway where the photo was posted, so I always took the long way around to another floor of the school building to avoid seeing the photo.
Now I'm thinking that my grandfather, who headed into the burnt ruins to look for his sister, couldn't have turned away or taken a different path. There would have been a mountain of people still alive and moaning, not just pictures, and a mountain more who would have given up at the end of their suffering. He walked for miles and miles, towing his handcart through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search of his sister. My grandfather was not a child at the time, but of course there were children who did similar things. Not that there wouldn't have been. There were. I heard the story from him, and I still remember it. A young brother and sister found their father's body in the ruins of a fire and they burned it. They didn't have enough wood to burn his body, and when they saw the raw brain that spilled out, they ran away and that was the last time they ever saw him anymore.
I can never forget the story I heard when I was a kid, and even now it is painful and painful, my hands are shaking and I am crying. I keep wondering how the old man who escaped from that father's brain could have been able to unravel the most horrible trauma imaginable and expose it to the public with scars that will never heal.
The reason I can't help but talk about my grandfather and that old man, even if I have to rehash my own trauma, is that this level of suffering is nothing compared to the fact that their words will be forgotten. My hands shaking, my heart palpitating and dizzy, my nose running with tears, it's nothing compared to the tremendous suffering that was once there and will be forgotten.
My grandfather, who went through an unimaginable hell, lived to see his grandchildren born, and met his sister's death in the ruins of the fire. In other words, my grandfather was one of the happiest people in the ruins of the fire. My grandfather and that old man were, after all, just people wading in the depths of hell. I think that the suffering that even people who had experienced unimaginable pain could not imagine was lying like pebbles in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and no one paid any attention to it. Their suffering, which I can't even imagine, is nothing compared to the countless, tremendous suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably every time people talk about them. The memories that those people could not allow to be forgotten are now largely forgotten; the tremendous suffering of 78 years ago is mostly gone, never to be recounted again. Those who suffered the most from the atomic bombing died rotting in the ruins of the fire, unable to tell anyone about it. Many of those who saw it with their own eyes kept their mouths shut and took it with them to their graves. Most of those who spoke a few words are now under the grave.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are so light. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in such light words. But still, someone has to take over. I realize that even my words, which are so light, are only the top of the voices that are left in this world to carry on the story of the atomic bombing. I know how it feels to wonder if someone like myself is allowed to speak about this. Still, I hope that you will not shut your mouth. This is the result of our silence.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering and live my life consuming other people's suffering for the fun of it. I am writing this while I still have some imagination of the suffering of the old people whose voices, faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
Translator's note: The original post in Japanese is a response to a post by a Japanese contributor who wondered if he was qualified to speak out on the subject of the A-bomb when he was not from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but still spoke out about Barbie and the A-bomb. I translated it here because I think it deserves to be read by the world.
In Nagasaki, kids grow up hearing about the atomic bomb. We were packed like sushi in a gymnasium without air conditioning or even fans during the scorching summer, and we listened to stories about the bomb. It was incredibly tough for me.
I imagine it was even harder for the elderly who spoke about their experiences. As a child, I couldn't fully comprehend their pain, and now, I can hardly remember most of the stories I heard. I can only recall one or two.
Every year during this time, gruesome images that would make PTA elsewhere go crazy were displayed in the hallways. I heard that many of the horrifying exhibits that used to traumatize visitors at the Atomic Bomb Museum have been removed, and the museum has been considerably sanitized. I'm not sure about the current situation, but that's how it was when I was there.
There was one photograph that I could never bear to look at as a child – a picture of Tadashi Taniguchi. You can find it if you search, but it's a shocking image with a viewer discretion warning. Still, I want people to see it.
Even though my grandpa was not a child, I'm sure there were elementary school kids who did similar things. I don't just think they might have been there; they were there. I heard the stories from the people themselves, and I still remember them.
I can't forget the stories I heard as a child, such as the young siblings finding their father's burnt corpse in the ruins and cremating him. They didn't have enough firewood, and their father ended up half-burnt. They ran away after seeing the brain tissue oozing out, and that became their final farewell.
Even someone like me, who experienced such unimaginable trauma, has gone through pain that I can't even imagine being compared to being discarded, forgotten, and ignored. Compared to what those people experienced, my suffering means nothing.
広 報 - 佐川町
... けけけらけらけらけけけけらけらけらけけらけらけらけらけらけらけらけらけけけらけらけけらけけけけららららららららららららららららららららられれれるれれれる ...
断力、自らの食について考える習慣を楽しく身に付け ... れれれれれ、れれれれれれ、、、 ... まままだままだままままだままだだだだだだだ.
帯に家計簿をつけていただく調 ... はだははだだだだだだだだだだ ... コーココーココーコココーコココーココーココーココーコココーコココーコココ ...
広 報 - 東串良町
ここ. の度度. の度度. の度度. の度度. の度. のの度. の度、多多 ... は 身の. 身身の. 身身の. 身の. 身のの. 身の. 身身の. 身身の. 身身のの. 身 丈に.
ここれれれだだだけけけははは身身身ににに付付付け ... - 高知県
『THE IDOLM@STER MOVIE 輝きの向こう側へ!』
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