It’s been a strange week. A family member of mine was brutally murdered this week. Such a brutal act of hate. I have been struggling to come to terms with it. I feel so numb. I am on strong medication and even crying seems impossible at the moment. My parents have cried every day this week when I spoke to them. And I, I don’t know what to say, how to deal with it.
I have often wished for the ability not to feel and experience emotions this last year of my life and now that it seems my wish has been granted, I am horrified by my ability to continue as normal when the rest of my family is in mourning.
Yet another funeral I will be missing because I’m too far away from home and air travel is too expensive.
I can’t help but wonder when it will be my parents. When will the violent country that I originate from, claim them as victims too.
For the first time, in a long time, I wish I could cry. Cry for a mother torn from her family in a violent way. Scarred and hurt beyond recognition by two men with nothing but hate in their hearts.
Cry my beloved country, cry.