Page 20 - Issue 22

fight injustice. Afterwards, we journeyed across to our next
city, Lublin.

The most pivotal part of the city was their concentration
camp, known as Majdanek. It was much different from
Auschwitz. The entrance of the camp featured an ominous,
grey statue built by the Soviets to commemorate the
liberation 25 years after. It was very convoluted, squished,
and discomforting to imagine. It encapsulates the condition
that the prisoners were put through. The sun was basking
down on the camp, a contrasting play of the atmosphere of a
concentration camp. The presence of the camp was very
foreboding, like a skeletal remains of the gruesome life this
camp bred. The further we walked down the camp, the more
discomfort that my friends felt.

At the back edge of the camp were two structures. One was
a crematorium that felt more “alive” than the one in
Auschwitz and more terrifying. The other was the most vivid
and most difficult sight to see. It was a large dome that was
visible at the front entrance of the camp, and inside was a
large mound of human ash. The grey particles of what
seemed like thousands of people who were alive were
shoveled into a mound. I don’t know who did this, but its
image was one that no one could forget about easily. At that
moment, it was hard to know how I felt. To others, it was too
great for them to bear. I saw some of them tearing up and
giving one another hugs of ease. At the end of the tour, we
held another tekes to commemorate those that suffered. I
played the violin for it. And looking back on that, I knew that I
should’ve never done it. This was the trigger that made me
cry. I never thought I would do it. But it definitely sent my
mind into a torrent of fire, anger, sadness, and pain. Playing
an instrument in a place filled with death was inherently
wrong, even for a small act like that. I knew I couldn't find
myself to bear such a bad mind.