Appreciation

Before he knew life, my grandpa stared at the face of death. Innocently unaware of the dangers, he curiously reached his hand out grabbing at the gun muzzle pointed at his head. His eyes shone with childish wonder, in stark contrast with the dreary, deadly eyes of the Japanese soldier hoisting the gun. Sweat oiled the soldier's forehead, as his index finger touched the trigger softly, teasing it. 

The war had dragged on for far too long, and the soldier had lost the ability to distinguish between the living and the dead, bloodshed had clouded his sense of judgment. Whatever sympathy and morals he carried into the war had long since been lost; he long forgot the purpose of the war, except to follow the directions of the higher-ups and shoot at any Chinese man that crossed his path. 

Alas, something tugged his heart when he saw the boy smile and play with the weapon which could've blown apart his head. The boy's mother came running and when she saw the soldier, she dropped to her knees, weeping and begging for the soldier to spare their lives. He could've so easily killed them, just as he had killed so many others before them, a light tug on the trigger would've done it. But that smile stopped him. The undeniable innocence of the boy drew from his scarce reserve of sympathy and he decided to give them life. He retreated back leaving my family unharmed. 

I owe my life to that man. A sudden gust of wind might've been enough to cause him to pull the trigger and take away everything I know. Things could've been so easily different. 

My grandpa didn't have it easy growing up. Though he was lucky enough to make it out of the war alive, it was a different story for the majority of his family. The war devastated mainland China, millions were dead, food was scarce, and people were left to fend for themselves. 

My mom told me tales of herself rummaging through grandpa's medicine cabinet because of just how badly she was starving. 

It's been quite a leap from my grandpa's time to my generation. In just a few decades, everything has changed. The worries shifted from hoping to find enough food to eat to worrying about if the right kind of cereal is in the cabinet. The troubles of the past seem so distant that even those in my family who survived it are slowly forgetting. Their previous enthusiasm and appreciation for just finding a house to live in slowly diminished and changed into distaste for any apparent discomforts. 

I can see this happening so clearly with my own family. When I was younger, my parents took special care in eating food slowly, savoring each bite of what they could've only dreamed of in their past life. They looked over furniture carefully to make sure everything was clean and safe. My sister and I watched over our stuffed animals carefully(we only had a few) and rejoiced when another could be added to our collection. In general, we were pretty thankful people. 

Today, our house is filled with constant complaints. The house is always too warm or cold, the food we're served is never the right taste, and the newest devices are always too slow to function. When I stop myself to truly think about my childish complaints, I can see foolishness of my annoyances, and I can't help but feel "some kind of guilt about having had an easier life than [my parents] did"(Spiegelman). I wonder how much my grandpa would've wished to live the life we are currently living. 

It only takes a second to acknowledge all the pleasures of modern life, yet so many people are dissatisfied. It should seem that it's almost a duty for use to appreciate the abundance of goodness that so many before us died for. Perhaps the paradise that we dream of now will only be daily life for the future. To be dissatisfied is almost an insult to the real challenges faced by those of the past. My life is in itself a stroke of luck. I only hope to use it squeeze dry all the joys my grandpa never experienced and truly breath in all the opportunities they gave to us.