It’s been a month. A month since the lives of so many were changed so abruptly. They say an entire nation was changed in that moment, because of one extreme, right-winged psychopath. People were killed, most of these politically curious (rather than politically active – as many still weren’t old enough, and many we still only exploring this interest) and intelligent, young adults. The lives of their loved ones are changed forever.
I wrote some thoughts about the terrorist attacks earlier. Love and respect were words I used to describe the people around me at that time. These words are still relevant, very much so, even though we no longer speak of what happened. I say we’ve gone back to where we were, but stronger this time, because we now know what we can expect from those around us. We now know that we can rely on others, and that we are not alone in what has been going on. We don’t talk, but we think, and we know, and we don’t forget.
Time is said to heal all wounds. Maybe it does, but wounds still leave scars. Scars are visible, they show, and everyone can see that they’re there. But a scar is also a thicker layer of skin, tougher than the unhurt skin that was torn apart, or away. The area of the scar is less easily bruised.
The weeks after the attack were exceptional. All those who spoke up, spoke for the same cause. Everyone stood together. I would like to have kept on those pink shaded specs that made everything look so blissful and peaceful, but now there are other voices as well. I hear what they say, I listen, I learn, but I think, and I know, and I am not alone. I watch them with my deceiving blue eyes, and turn my scar towards them, and I am not alone. Democracy means there will always be minorities, but the majority rules.