I wanted to hate it. I did. And i hated so much about it without even walking through the door. I hated how many elderly people were there. I hate how my boyfriend wasn’t the one to take me when I’ve been asking for months and i went with my class. I hated the small children. The overpriced gift shop. The stairs. I hated it all. But i dragged my bogan self, bad attitude and all, into a hot crowded room and spent an hour waiting in a line, brooding the whole way. I thought the highlight of my day was going to be Ben elbowing my in the left tit. Really, it was going that well. Mondays are never my thing, nobody likes Mondays but the anger just radiates from within me and my temper is like a volcano ready to erupt.
But then something crazy happened. I walked through the door. Simple thing isn’t it? Spending my Monday morning in Te Papa at the Gallipoli exhibition isn’t my idea of a good time. Really I’d probably rather squirt lemon juice in my eyeballs or listen to Justin Bieber on repeat. Any self-respecting bogan wouldn’t be in 50 miles of the place. But i went. And you know, I didn’t hate it. Not even a little bit. I hated the crowds, the smell, and the overwhelming amount of feelings which made me feel like a vampire being threatened with a crucifix. But sometimes, not very often admittedly, maybe feelings are good for your soul.
Now. Give me a second to act completely unlike myself. Because even though I’m heartless something amazing happened. Something that i feel everyone should experience. The hush over the whole exhibition was the first thing i noticed. The deep seeded respect for these men and women who gave their lives for us, fighting for what they believed was right. And I think there’s something powerful in that. Dying for your convictions, it makes you wonder if you could make that sacrifice. If the needs of the many could outweigh the value you place on your own life. And that’s an interesting thought isn’t it? Because, people die in wars every day. It’s like we’ve all become so accustomed to the tragedy that it no longer resonates with us. And that’s horrific. The idea that somebody losing their life for you no longer matters to you, or no longer even gets noticed, does that mean they died in vain? I spend every day of my life “Thinking Brave”. I think that true bravery, is being afraid, being terrified and not knowing what will happen, but doing it anyway. Telling yourself to take the leap even though you are standing shaking on the edge, that’s bravery to me. Because if you don’t feel fear, then you’re not overcoming anything, and are you really being brave at all?
Standing in the exhibition, in a room dedicated to the sacrifices so many men and women made for us, so that we could live in the freedom we all have in New Zealand, made me really evaluate how brave I am. It made me wonder what I would be willing to die for. It made me feel. And you know what? I didn’t hate it.