Patriot Realm

'So we marched into the sea and when we got out to about waist level they then machine gunned from behind."

The words of the sole survivor of the horrific massacre of  Radji Beach on Banka Island off the coast of Sumatra. 

On 16 February 1942, Japanese soldiers machine-gunned 22 Australian World War II Army nurses and killed 60 soldiers and crew members from 2 sunken ships. 

From the 22 Nurses shot on that day, there was only one sole survivor, Sister Vivian Bullwinkel.

Valentine's Day. The time of year when love is in the air, and florists start seeing dollar signs. But have you ever stopped to wonder how this holiday of hearts, flowers, and overpriced chocolates came to be?

Legend has it that Valentine's Day traces its roots back to ancient Rome. There are a couple of different origin stories floating around, but one involves a Christian martyr named St. Valentine who was executed by Emperor Claudius II for secretly marrying couples against his decree. 

Another tale suggests that Valentine was a rebel saint who defied the Emperor's orders and continued to perform marriages in secret because, well, love conquers all. 

St. Valentine, the mysterious figure at the heart of Valentine's Day, has captured the imagination of romantics and historians alike. While the details of his life are shrouded in mystery and legend, his legacy as the patron saint of love and affection has endured through the ages.

The Fall of Singapore on 15 February 1942 was more than just a military catastrophe - it was the shattering of an empire’s illusion of invincibility. As British defenses crumbled and Japanese forces swept through the city, a different kind of courage emerged from the chaos.

Amid the bombs, fires, and screams of the wounded, Australian army nurses upheld a duty that was more than just medical...it was an act of old-fashioned patriotism, a selfless devotion to country and comrades. Refusing to abandon their patients, they worked tirelessly in makeshift hospitals, tending to the broken and dying, even as enemy forces closed in. 

Some, like those aboard the doomed Vyner Brooke, met brutal deaths at the hands of their captors, while others, like the six nurses on the Wah Sui, barely escaped with their lives.

Their actions embodied a time when duty to nation and fellow man was not just expected, but instinctive - when the call to serve was answered not with hesitation, but with unwavering resolve. Every man and woman, soldier and nurse, deserves to be remembered. And honoured. 

A family is like a great ship navigating the sometimes stormy seas of life. At the helm stands the father, strong and steady, charting the course. Beside him, his wife is the trusted co-pilot, offering guidance, balance, and unwavering support.

Their children, the eager crew, look to them for direction, learning the virtues of discipline, teamwork, and perseverance. Together, they sail forward - not without challenges, but always with purpose - bound by love, faith, and the shared mission of reaching a bright and promising horizon.

I confess. I'm a Man. My wife is a woman. Our children are boys and girls. 

This statement is probably offensive to some people. 

Fortunately, I live in America, where to say such a thing is not against the law. Yet there are places where the very idea that I say this could offend someone could mean I am breaking the law is ridiculous. 

As America recovers from having been off course, so many countries are still heading to the rocks.

When someone comes along and shatters the illusions of the grandeur of the ruling classes, things can get ugly. Someone brave enough to restore clarity of vision and thought is an enemy to the kings of deception. 

In the enchanted land of Veritas, mirrors were once sacred. They reflected the truth, allowing people to see themselves as they truly were. Some gazed into them to understand their past, others to chart their future, and many simply to admire or improve what they saw. But all that changed when King Ordain, fearing the power of reflection, decreed that all mirrors be placed under his control.

"A man who sees himself too clearly may question his place in the kingdom," the king proclaimed. "And we cannot have that, can we?"

At first, the people grumbled but complied. The king’s sorcerers crafted enchanted mirrors that showed only what he permitted - faces twisted into obedient smiles, thoughts bent to match the royal decree. If one dared speak of the old mirrors, they were accused of dangerous thinking.

But Veritas had always been home to those who sought the truth.

Whispers spread of a secret way to see oneself again. In the dim-lit corners of the city, wise folk donned the Cloaks of Obscura - woven with spells that shielded them from the king’s gaze. With these cloaks (Virtual Passages to Normality), they could slip past the enchanted mirrors and glimpse reality in hidden pools and polished metals the king had not yet touched.