Sorrow of war and beauty of peace: From Nanjing's past to light of peace

The cool night breeze blew softly against me as I walked along the modern streets of Nanjing, China. Tall buildings stood alongside rows of green trees. I was witnessing a new era of peace and development. Yet, in the stillness of the night, my thoughts turned to the city's painful past. Earlier that day, I had the opportunity to visit the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall, which tells the harrowing story of the atrocities committed by the Japanese Imperial Army. Even now, in the dead of night, I remain haunted by what I saw and heard there.

The moment I stepped through the doors of the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall, darkness seemed to descend upon me. A terrible feeling overwhelmed my heart—a deep sense of sadness and despair. It is not merely a monument that recounts history. It preserves the painful memories of the massacre carried out by the Japanese Imperial Army after capturing Nanjing, then the capital of China, in 1937. It stands as a living memorial to the screams and tears of more than 300,000 people who were brutally killed during those dark days.

As I walked further into the museum, the light grew dimmer, and I found myself surrounded by an overwhelming sense of heartbreak. The black-and-white photographs and the skeletal remains unearthed from mass graves spoke of the fear and despair etched onto the faces of innocent civilians. Every 12 seconds, the sound of a single drop of water echoes through the silence of the museum as a star-shaped light fades. It serves as a chilling reminder that a human life was lost every 12 seconds during the massacre. Each time that sound echoed through the halls, my heart pounded.

The most painful part of the visit came when we entered the Nanjing Liji Alley Comfort Women Station Site Museum. It represents one of history's darkest chapters, where human dignity was stripped away and cast into the deepest abyss.

As I entered its narrow, dimly lit rooms, the agonised cries of thousands of women seemed to echo from the walls. There, before a statue with tears streaming down its face, stood a powerful symbol of the true cost of war. The innocence of these young women was stolen to satisfy the desires of the invading Japanese soldiers. I could not help but imagine that every moment they spent within those walls was a living nightmare. Tears welled up in my eyes, and the memory remained with me for the rest of the day.

As I left that heartbreaking environment, my thoughts turned towards the museum's final destination. I emerged from the darkness of the exhibits into a large open square, where the sunlight warmed my face and I took a deep breath. It felt like stepping into hope after emerging from complete darkness.

At the centre of the square stood the Peace Monument. The soaring sculpture depicts a mother holding a young child while reaching upwards, accompanied by a dove—the universal symbol of peace. I stood in silence and looked around. I saw people smiling as they went about their lives, while real doves flew freely overhead.

Standing before that monument, my thoughts raced. The cruelty, sorrow and suffering brought by war are things humanity must never allow itself to forget. These dark chapters of history are preserved so that such atrocities are never repeated. Time and again, I found myself emerging from the darkness of heartbreak into the light of peace, appreciating its beauty and immeasurable value.

The museum left me with a profound lesson: no matter how deep the wounds of war or how great the loss of humanity, forgiveness and the hope for peace will always be stronger. I left that place believing with all my heart that today's world needs the tranquillity and beauty of peace more than anything else.