Sorry I failed in my endeavor to post 1 thing I like per day. I’ll try to do it for real this time. By the way, creditz to because plagiarism is a crime and I don’t want to be a delinquent.

It’s too recent to talk about, but obviously there were reasons why I didn’t post or go through with this challenge. Something happened, and I can definitely say that it has changed my life. Saying something changed your life is such a cheap statement. It’s hard to say you understand until you’ve felt it yourself. I don’t consider myself a victim and I don’t think that I have suffered. I am no more than a sympathetic bystander, but the sketch was enough for me to understand the picture.

Evil is not a story. Madness is not a headline. It’s all around us. It’s inside us. It consumes us. I don’t think enough time has passed for me to be able to accurately paint this canvas for you, but I can’t help but notice everything happening from this one tragic event. People are pointing fingers, jabbing microphones in faces, clicking the shutters of their cameras. Some are showing sympathy, some are giving advice, some have turned this into a political and institutional manner. Everyone has different ideas of who is at fault. We are angry. We are upset. We are heartbroken.

I experienced a new spectrum of emotions and thoughts during this past week. I’m neither dramatizing and hyping this up nor deconstructing and dismissing as just another event. I’m not being insensitive. I’m trying to talk and think and make sense of this myself. At first I was in disbelief. I just wanted to know more. I didn’t care whether it was true or fake or gossip or factual. I just wanted more information in hopes of clarifying what could not possibly be true. But knowledge brings sorrow and I was shattered by what I had discovered. I couldn’t tell what was real and I couldn’t help but question why we were here. What kind of world do I live in? It was a serious question and the weight of the answer was too much for me to carry. Are people good? Am I good? I felt afraid. I felt ashamed. Ashamed to be human. To be a part of this world. I know that I’m no better than anyone else, and the fact that people were capable of such depravities crippled me.

And then the gust of desensitizing wind hit me after I felt as if I had been beaten so many times before. I kept saying, it’s too early. It’s too emotional, but articles, commentators, news reporters, even those who were personally affected turned this into a debate, commentary. As if this was just another news story, a moment in history, a work of literature that could be analyzed, ripped apart, dissected, and then probed through again. Who to blame? A person? An institution? Society? Is this just one example to be used in a societal critique? I’m aware that it will be discussed, and at some time, it must be discussed. Such a tragic event cannot go without the world seeking deeper meaning from the loss. I am fully aware of this and I know I will, one day, be able to consider this unforgettable memory an opportunity for growth and maturation.

I guess the worst part was that even during this time of turmoil for me and so many people, my ability to gossip, belittle, and criticize was not compromised in the least. This may seem unrelated to the above statements, but the connection was clear to me. Because where do I stand. I am now aware, but I act ignorant, or even stupid. I hate the bitter taste of malicious and hurtful words as they came out of my mouth, but I’ve never stopped. When’s the time to start doing the right thing?

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