Another 25 January comes. Another year passes by. Everything stays the same. No. It is now worse. But "we" are not to be blamed. Do I regret? Hell no. Do I lose faith? May be in the process, but never in the dream. Those of you who have turned our most basic human rights into far-fetched dreams are the ones to blame. Here are my scattered, never previously thought of, thoughts...typed down into a Facebook status box. Not in a ballot station, not in a square, not chanted, but typed...where it all started; Facebook.
Three years have passed, another has come, and the only thing we have gained so far is Disillusionment. Yes, now the romanticism of the revolution has faded away. Those who made it, stood for it, dreamt of it, have gone too, in the most vicious ways. Some of them have been killed, injured, and some of them are remanded in custody... not only in a prison cell, but also in their Bigger Dream. It is dehumanizing; to love something that destroys you. But sadly, after so many years, you come to the conclusion that the only things that can destroy you are the most things that help shape who you are now.
Another thing we have won? Ourselves. Our certainty we will always have someone who is willing to go beyond what is expected from them to defend us, free us, and sacrifice their well-being for the Dream..
What have we lost? Everything else. Everyone who matters.
I look back and what comes to mind is one thing. No, not 2011, but 2012; the year I was shaped into the person I am today. The year I knew all my enemies, and all my friends...those who have lied, and those who have been killed for their honesty and altruism. Those have failed you, criminalized you, and those who died instead of you.
I don't have a survivor's guilt now. I am envious of those who have died...who have been killed, to be correct. Their dilemma has ended. They don't think of what is right or what is wrong or the consequences. They have been given the privilege of giving up, without feeling guilty about it. The decision has been made for them, to rest. Rest. I only think of those of those they have left behind.
I look back at the last three years in my life with one question: did the perpetrator know that a bullet does not only kill one person? Did they know it kills a whole family, many friends, many dreams, many plans, and many love stories, many lives not lived? How many artists, genius scientists, eloquent poets, talented photographers, singers, actors, and genuine lovers have they killed? The answer remains in the morgues. We will never know.
I look now and all I know is that I don't know a thing. Blood is spilling, and more is to be spilled. You go to sleep, knowing you will wake up to yet another massacre. Which friend am I going to lose this time? The question remains unanswered until the massacre ends. Should I tell them not to go? Should I force them to stay here, with me, with us? Or should I do what I believe in and leave them decide on their own? What is right? What is wrong? Which am I going to be able to bear the most?
I know we should continue fighting against injustice, be it subjected on those we consider enemies, those who have betrayed us, or be it for those who fight with us, because we would be fighting against injustice itself, not for the sake of those who have failed us necessarily. But I also stand disillusioned, with very little power, and more courage, to admit: we should never leave the battlefield, yet we need to fight differently. Protesting, risking the lives of those you love when you call upon them to join you at the squares, is not going to do anymore. Protesting should be a means to serve a goal, not a goal in itself. We know our goals, but we stand helplessly when we are asked about the "alternative, the replacement of the dictator". Martyrs who have died protesting, I have no "alternatives" to the dictator, but be sure I would never support him. I would never support those who have killed you, and this is the least I can offer you, your loved ones, myself, and my principles...for now. They, each and everyone of them, have our blood, your blood, on their hands.
We will figure something out...so I hope... I don't know. Forgive me.
Three years have passed, another has come, and the only thing we have gained so far is Disillusionment. Yes, now the romanticism of the revolution has faded away. Those who made it, stood for it, dreamt of it, have gone too, in the most vicious ways. Some of them have been killed, injured, and some of them are remanded in custody... not only in a prison cell, but also in their Bigger Dream. It is dehumanizing; to love something that destroys you. But sadly, after so many years, you come to the conclusion that the only things that can destroy you are the most things that help shape who you are now.
Another thing we have won? Ourselves. Our certainty we will always have someone who is willing to go beyond what is expected from them to defend us, free us, and sacrifice their well-being for the Dream..
What have we lost? Everything else. Everyone who matters.
I look back and what comes to mind is one thing. No, not 2011, but 2012; the year I was shaped into the person I am today. The year I knew all my enemies, and all my friends...those who have lied, and those who have been killed for their honesty and altruism. Those have failed you, criminalized you, and those who died instead of you.
I don't have a survivor's guilt now. I am envious of those who have died...who have been killed, to be correct. Their dilemma has ended. They don't think of what is right or what is wrong or the consequences. They have been given the privilege of giving up, without feeling guilty about it. The decision has been made for them, to rest. Rest. I only think of those of those they have left behind.
I look back at the last three years in my life with one question: did the perpetrator know that a bullet does not only kill one person? Did they know it kills a whole family, many friends, many dreams, many plans, and many love stories, many lives not lived? How many artists, genius scientists, eloquent poets, talented photographers, singers, actors, and genuine lovers have they killed? The answer remains in the morgues. We will never know.
I look now and all I know is that I don't know a thing. Blood is spilling, and more is to be spilled. You go to sleep, knowing you will wake up to yet another massacre. Which friend am I going to lose this time? The question remains unanswered until the massacre ends. Should I tell them not to go? Should I force them to stay here, with me, with us? Or should I do what I believe in and leave them decide on their own? What is right? What is wrong? Which am I going to be able to bear the most?
I know we should continue fighting against injustice, be it subjected on those we consider enemies, those who have betrayed us, or be it for those who fight with us, because we would be fighting against injustice itself, not for the sake of those who have failed us necessarily. But I also stand disillusioned, with very little power, and more courage, to admit: we should never leave the battlefield, yet we need to fight differently. Protesting, risking the lives of those you love when you call upon them to join you at the squares, is not going to do anymore. Protesting should be a means to serve a goal, not a goal in itself. We know our goals, but we stand helplessly when we are asked about the "alternative, the replacement of the dictator". Martyrs who have died protesting, I have no "alternatives" to the dictator, but be sure I would never support him. I would never support those who have killed you, and this is the least I can offer you, your loved ones, myself, and my principles...for now. They, each and everyone of them, have our blood, your blood, on their hands.
