A couple of friends wanted to go out today for fun in a boat ride, I couldn’t go because I was feeling a bit under the weather.

Back in the motherland, the streets of rage were back to their long ongoing struggle after a hiatus of 5 years, during which I became an expat and no longer hold the honor of carrying the emblem of the fighting class.

Every social media post I read just hurts, inevitable death and destruction seemed to be both logical and foreseen. I called family and friends to ask for the news, But I really called because I wanted to tell them I wish I could be there with you, it didn’t seem right to me to miss this chapter. I wanted to contact my cell mates from September 2013 and ask what role they played in this beautiful melody, I wanted to know if the cause still lives… I did not do any of that, I just settled for updates.

I’m laying in bed feeling weak and helpless, staring at a rag on the wall and saying to it if I can’t be there, I’ll put a picture of you here. Maybe destiny wanted me sit this one out.

I am not sick. I am ashamed. Ashamed to be out pretending to have fun while my blood is being slaughtered back home. I-am-ashamed!