The bomb has exploded
He was killed around nine o’clock with a gun and a grenade. The press didn’t report this, but I believe his body parts were inside and outside of the car. Not sure if we can still call them “body parts.”
Things explode all the time, and bodies too. Who would’ve thought that our bodies could be so inhumane? What happens to our soul when it’s killed by explosive devices? The complete becomes fragmented, ripped to pieces. No mind, heart, soul, just tiny bits of flesh that before made a human body.
What does it mean to be human in these times, after all? Times in which our fears are bigger than our dreams. Times in which I’m afraid to say I love you because distance and commitment are greater than us. Times in which I write news stories everyday without dropping a single tear. It’s the age of information, and I’ve no time to feel the pain of the victim, and even of the oppressor. I don’t even have time to feel my own pain.
But then, a minute of stillness comes, and I begin to wonder about them. What did he think before blowing himself off? Can we still say that frustration pushed him to do this? What kind of frustration is this? Who caused it? What did he feel when he saw the gun? Did my life change when their bodies became transmitters of political messages? No.
What is happening to our voices, our connection, our humanity? I don’t know what that means, but I know we’re missing something that would resonate like those words. We are all incomplete, and we haven’t even registered that the bomb has exploded.
Time to wake up.