Author guest post from Matt Okuhara.

People love a tidy war story. A hero goes off, does brave things, comes home changed—but noble. Cue the slow salute, the medal, the credits.

But what if the story doesn’t fit?

What if the soldier isn’t elite, isn’t broken, isn’t even sure what it was all for? What if he just did his job and came home—not a wreck, not a hero—just… changed, quietly.

That’s what I struggle to explain sometimes.

We live in a culture that either sanctifies or pities soldiers. You’re either a hero or a victim. There’s not much space for the middle ground—for the bloke who went, got on with it, and came back with a head full of sand and a few unanswered questions.

I’m not ashamed of my service. But I’m not interested in performing it, either.

Wearing a uniform doesn’t grant you instant wisdom. It doesn’t mean you were part of something noble. And it doesn’t mean you want to talk about it every November.

Not every soldier is a hero. That’s not cynicism—it’s honesty. And frankly, that’s what makes it matter.

Because it means war doesn’t just happen to ‘special’ people. It happens to ordinary ones. People like me. Like your postman. Like that kid from college who didn’t know what to do after Year 13.

That’s what we should remember.

Not the myth.

The person.

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