Nothing ever remains the same. Time passes, and even though we would liketo remain the same, we cannot, since we are shaped and molded in ever new ways through the very fact being alive and experiencing the world around us.
On the surface, life appears to have gone back to normal for me after the July 22nd attacks. But none of us can escape what happened, and there are continuous little reminders of it each time the events have receded from the forefront of my mind.
Walking through the city last Wednesday, I paused, wanting to shoot this image, but frustrated by the fact that the best distance to shoot from would be in the middle of the street. Blocking traffic as a pedestrian is rarely a good idea, right? But looking to my left to check for cars revealed what I had momentarily forgotten – the bomb went off a few hundred metres up this street, and the street is still barred and likely to remain so for a long time yet.
Then there are the news. The stories of the survivors and the victims’ families and friends are painful to read. I was last brought to tears in front of my computer by the recent story of how the police kept watch over the dead on the island through the night between the 22nd and the 23rd, and how the night was lit by the mobile phones of the victims ringing again and again.
I am fortunate. I am able to forget for a moment what happened, and the pain I feel, as my heart and all my sympathy go out to the bereaved, is brought on by empathy and fear rather than the full force of grief and bereavement.
I am also fortunate that I have so far been able to tell myself to take something good away from any change, be it good or bad: I am now a little wiser. A little kinder. I have learned a little more. And I will use what I have learned for as long as I am on this Earth, which is all anyone can do.