Fuck You, That’s Why – The Aftermath Of Boston Marathon Bombing
“Why are you in town?”, friends from Boston have been wondering for the past week.
“Are you running the race?”
“Are you here for work? “
I am here because I do not care about the world events. As a rule. And no, I’m not alone. “Kiev is in flames and I don’t care”, writes Alain de Botton in the Philosopher’s Daily Mail.
Recent developments in Ukraine affected thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Yet, millions shrugged, said “That sucks”, and moved on with their lives. Bit into a donut. A tortilla. A naan.
It is “not because you are bad”, de Botton goes on to defend our donut-chewing lot, “but because you are somewhere else. You can’t take it on board. This isn’t your struggle; you’re needed elsewhere on subjects, while they’re tiny in the grand scheme of things, matter a lot within your context”.
The world events do not concern us. They do not concern me. Until they do. Sooner or later, the reality comes knocking on your door. On my door. We better be ready.
A year ago, I wasn’t ready. And the Boston marathon bombings didn’t just knock on my door, they blew the door off its hinges. And I’ve had a tight black ball of hate in the middle of my chest ever since.
And so I am in Boston, one of the gawkers, tourists, spectators. This will be the most emotional finish line this race has even seen. But I’d take pavement soaked in tears over pavement soaked in blood any day.
I am here…
… to rebel. … to protest. … to tap into the collective grief. … to drown the hurt in the sound of running shoes pounding the pavement.
In less than 24 hours, thousands of runners will be running. Again.
This is the ultimate Easter. And I don’t know about “Him”, but WE have risen.