I was on vacation abroad and came home last Tuesday. It had been a pleasant trip, away from the madness that passes as my life here. But (yes, it was coming), at the airport, I met with an older couple I know. Turns out, a very dear friend of mine got robbed at gun point in the middle of the night during my trip. My enthousiasm at going home started to wan. I got on the plane feeling a little low.
As I was being driven home, my father called on the cell phone. "They" were burning down a major downtown market and, as usual, shooting up the streets. I knew then that my vacation was truly over.
But (here's another one) I hadn't heard it all. Oh, no! I went to lunch last Saturday with another friend. And she started telling me about her insomnia. And things that had happened in the month I wasn't there. About the robberies, the shootings. And about this young woman who was kidnapped. And rapped by her four abductors. And about her suicide the day after her return home (against $5000 US, all they could afford). She hadn't told her husband a word about her detention. Would he really want to know?
I went home that afternoon and cried. And didn't leave the house againthat week-end.
Ignorance is bliss, said the song. I wish I were so blessed...
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