The War Is Over, You Can Come Out Now

In 1974, a man walked out of the jungle in the Philippines wearing a moth-eaten uniform, carrying a rusted rifle, and still absolutely convinced World War II was going strong. His name was Hiroo Onoda, a Japanese soldier who had been waging a one-man guerrilla campaign for nearly three decades after the war had officially ended.

He lived on fruit, wild animals, and, occasionally, stolen rice. He ignored the leaflets dropped from planes and dismissed the heartfelt letters from his family as propaganda. People told him—repeatedly—that the war was over, and he responded, essentially, “Nice try, Allied tricksters.”

To get him to finally stand down, the Japanese government had to fly in his actual former commanding officer, now retired and presumably annoyed, to issue a formal surrender order. Only then did Onoda agree to come out of hiding.

Now, to be fair, some might admire his loyalty. Others might raise an eyebrow at the 29-year delay in fact-checking. But I read this story and thought: “Oh no. That’s me.”

Because most of us, at one point or another, are fighting a war that doesn’t exist anymore.

Maybe it’s the war you started fighting when you were 13 and someone told you that you weren’t smart enough or pretty enough or useful enough. So now you're 35 and still grinding yourself to dust, trying to prove something to a ghost who isn’t even watching.

Maybe it’s a grudge you’ve been nursing like a bonsai tree for ten years, perfectly trimmed and irrigated, while the person you’re mad at doesn’t even remember your name.

Maybe it’s the relentless self-protection, the emotional camouflage, the guerrilla tactics you learned because once upon a time, it wasn’t safe to be seen. Maybe you needed to hide in the jungle back then. But now? You’ve got friends. A couch. Netflix. An espresso machine. And yet there you are, still crouching behind mental foliage, flinching every time someone gets too close.

Most of the time, no one has to force us into these battles. We volunteer. We set up camp in the trees and tell ourselves we’re just being “realistic.” But really, we’re just scared. Scared that if we stop fighting, we’ll lose something essential. Our edge. Our purpose. Our narrative.

But what if the war is over?

What if the only thing keeping you in the jungle now is a story that used to be true?

What if surrender isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom? The kind that comes from finally listening to the voices that have been trying to reach you for years: You’re safe now. You did your duty. You can come home.

So maybe it’s time to put down the rusted rifle. Wipe the mud off your face. Accept the rice someone is trying to offer you in kindness instead of assuming it’s a trap.

Maybe the world isn’t your enemy anymore.

Maybe it never was.