Hate. There must be something about it that we keep falling prey to it. Maybe it is easier to hate than to find solutions or to ask questions about its origin in the first place. Maybe it’s easier to hate than to forgive. It’s easier than forgetting the pain and the scars it might have left.
I am staring down at the events of the past few days and there is little I can do other than to hate. Hate those who don’t mind killing a few hundred just to prove their points. Their rather insignificant points. Hate those people who like playing God in this imperfect world.
I wonder if they ever thought about what those few people they killed might have meant to this world. They were meant to be the future of this world, of their countries, their societies, and their families. They were the scientists and doctors. They were the artists and thinkers of the future. They were the architects of their own destinies. Even if they weren’t of these highly regarded professions, they were the citizens of the future and I for one firmly believe that everyone has a right to it.
When did life become so cheap? Who gave these maniacs the right to kill? How do they manage to snatch it away from us? Don’t they have people they love and cherish? Whom they would hate to see dead or in pain? How then do they still keep murdering those loved by others?
When did the borders of countries become so rigid? So much so that humanity refuses to exchange conversations between them. Has religion taught us to kill in its wake? Wasn’t it created to give people hope for the future and to bring about love and faith? And if it wasn’t, then I would like to know which religion propagates murder.
If what goes around really does come around, why aren’t these people being punished for their sins? Why do they still get to play God? How are they still walking this land free?
Hate is not misplaced sometimes. I have questions of I have no way of getting answers to. The anguish of being helpless fuels my hate even more.
My land is burning and I am too, with it.
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