Its hard to believe that the massacre was over 40 years ago today. It doesnt feel like that long ago some days. Its hard to believe that an event that long ago could still have me waking up in a sweat, crying, gasping for air. Its hard to believe that every single day I wake up, I expect it all to have just been a bad dream, to see my brothers and parents alive and well. Instead I am greeted with a cold, empty house. People say that time heals all wounds. I dont think whoever said that experienced My Lais wounds. The day didnt start like a normal day. Many villagers did not go to the markets on time because they were scared of the helicopters. Normally there were only 2 or 3 that would fly over but there were so many. We stayed in doors to try and hide from trouble. I know now that was the wrong decision. I cant tell you how it started because I do not know. I do know that my baby brother was crying, and mother asked me to go to the well and get some water. I left just before 7am. It took me longer than usual because I needed to go to the bathroom on the way. When I got back to the village it was about 7.15am. I heard the guns before I could see them. I remember throwing the water bucket and sprinting to my home. The soldiers hadnt reached it yet, but they would. I told everyone to hide in the rooms. We stayed like that for almost an hour. I began to believe that we might be safe. That hour was, to that point, the scariest moment of my life. Hearing guns, screams, cries, soldiers marching past our windows. Explosions were happening as well, but I couldnt figure out why. I heard fires burning, my mom sobbing. Then I heard the door get kicked in. We all jumped up and ran towards the back door, the door that lead to the garden. There were two soldiers that followed us to the garden. They shot my brother in the leg and he fell. Both my parents ran to his side, trying to beg for his life in exchange for theirs. For a minute it looked like they were willing to spare us. They got us all to our feet, and dragged us to the wooden shed, a space not meant for a family of 5. We were cramped and confused, but the hope that maybe the soldiers would have mercy hung over us like a protective blanket. This wasnt the case, of course. The soldiers spoke to each other in English, we couldnt understand what they were saying. Then one moved towards the door, to close it. As the door was almost shut, a small metal object was thrown inside. None of us knew what it was, and the terror only arose when the soldiers started laughing. They had no mercy, the Americans. Father was slamming the door, trying to open it. Mother was screaming at the top of her lungs, facing the back of the shed trying to provide a barrier between whatever this thing was and her new-born child. My brother. I just sat down. Defeated. If this was how we died, at least it was as a family. I think I heard the explosion before I felt any pain. I felt a pain on every limb of my body, metal shreds in my skin, fire burning my skin till it peeled off. Everything happened so fast its all a blur to me. I do remember feeling a contrast to the heat on my skin. A colder, thick liquid. It took me a while to realise this was the blood of my family. I was still on the ground, lying flat. I stayed like that for close to 2 hours. In that time at least 4 different groups of soldiers opened the door, probably checking to make sure there were no survivors. I wasnt playing dead, I felt it. Lying in my familys remains, their blood, their bodies. I didnt have the energy or motivation to move, so I stayed. I stayed on the ground for hours; hearing more explosions and knowing that within a split second, those explosions signalled the change from hope to dread, from life to death. I think I cried, but I wasnt sobbing. My eyes just flooded water down my face and I had no control over it. After a long while, the explosions stopped. The guns stopped. The helicopters started. The screams didnt stop though. They never stopped. Every night theres a scream, and the entire village knows what that person is dreaming of. I slowly got up from the ground, looking around at the bodies of those that I loved. My baby brother was still gripped by my mothers arms. They were both dead, but it showed the dedication that my mother was willing to go for her children right till the very end. There was a terrible smell. The shed was in ruins, so I just stepped out over the remains of a wall. Looking around, you wouldnt have known this was where Id grown up anymore. It was merely smoke and rubble, fire and death. I walked down the street, looking around at the bodies of innocent men, women, children, animals. Some women werent wearing pants anymore. Some men had shapes carved into their chests. There werent many survivors, but the ones that were looked exactly like me. Covered in blood, the only clear part of their face a trail from their eyes down their cheeks where the tears had wiped the stains. It was in that moment I vowed never to have children. I would spend my whole life worried about another attack like this, I couldnt bring life into this world anymore. We did nothing to them. We worked, spent our lives in the fields. How could they come and kill us that way? More than 40 years have passed, and the village has recovered. We rebuilt homes and crops. We saved the animals we could and nursed them back to health. We drank water from the stream for weeks because the Americans had poisoned the wells. Since the massacre, the Americans have sent us their apologies several times, sometimes with financial aid to help us in our lives. I am told that only one person was convicted of crimes in My Lai that day. He has made a personal apology to our village through the media, but I want him to come back... and see things here. Maybe he has now repented for his crimes and his mistakes committed more than 40 years ago.

www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/6072064/My-Lai-massacre-Lt-William-apologises-more-than-40-years-after-vietnam.html (05/09/14)www.blogs.baylor.edu/mylaimassacre/234-2/ (12/09/14)