A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.
In solitude moments, i think aloud of this one word that alludes me.
We all make sacrifices, some small and some strong.
Some are life altering and some make life easy to go by.
What is it that makes us sacrifice?
Is it easy when it is for people we care about?
And sometimes i wonder, why do we do it?
Some sacrifices are simple and silent that we hardly notice and some are painful and etched in our memory forever.
When a mom sacrifices a meal to feed her children its a silent sacrifice. Nobody awards her for that simple feat. Its the love she gets in return.
When a man dies in enemy lines, the whole nation rewards him. For a life lost and to me war can never be justified.
There will come a time when each one of us will make a sacrifice. Life is never easy.
Sacrifice is a word that symbolises pain, in one form or the other.
Sometimes we fail to notice the little details of life.
When i get to live life only once, sacrificing things near and dear to me would mean rubishing the very cause of it.
Why do we do it then?