In the aftermath of the explosion that occurred in Boston on Monday, 15 April 2013, I find myself asking, what does it feel like to be there? I think, it feels like hell.
I wonder what it feels like to wake up the next morning and finding out that everything has changed.
I wonder what it feels like to blink for a second, and suddenly all that you know dear in the world is gone.
I wonder what if feels like to pick up a phone one day, only to hear ill news.
I wonder what it feels like to be on that fateful plane on 9/11.
I wonder if I still have the courage to live, knowing I only have seconds to die.
I wonder if I would have dried my words of love, trying to convince the other party on the phone.
To then convince myself, he knows.
I don’t think he will ever know.
I wonder what it feels like to be on that beach.
I wonder how I will try to make sense of what happens, because it doesn’t.
I wonder if I will still have time to pray, or scream, or cry.
I wonder if I’ll still stay to true to myself, with my one foot stepping to my grave.
I wonder if I’ll ever be ready.
I wonder what it feels like.
Death, what is.
I wonder what it feels like to wave to your loved ones and finding out you can’t feel your legs seconds after.
I wonder if it hurts.
I wonder if I can still feel any pain.
I wonder what hurts more, the physical pain, or the plain truth that I will never run again.
I wonder what it feels like to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I wonder what it feels like to not be at the wrong place at the wrong time, for someone else has taken your place instead.
I wonder if whether I’ll curse life.
Or worse, God.
I wonder if I will ever love again.
Or enjoy the breeze of wind on my cheeks, just like the way I used to.
I wonder if my soul can take it.
I wonder if I can.
Photo by Reuters/Jessica Rinaldi