I grew up in a military dictatorship.
I grew up in a country at war with itself.
I have been hit by stones thrown at me by children who used to be my friends because their parents saw my parents as the enemy.
I saw refugees carrying bundles lining the roads walking slowly, heads down away from the conflict.
I saw people with missing limps and bandaged heads begging for food in the town.
I have been in a car surrounded by demonstrators, the car was rocked, people were angry, it was close to a riot, we were fearful that we may not see the next day.
People close to us were hacked to death with machetes in their homes.
Older friends of mine went to fight proudly in their uniforms as soon as they were old enough.
As a child, the thing that made all of this real was when our dog was shot by a soldier.