I woke up. Stretched. Heat up water for indokopi.
A shell exploded in Gaza. A family of 7 that were crouching around a pot of porridge that little brother secretly stoled from the looted grocery shop in this hard time did not get to taste it. A dog later came to lick it off the broken bricks, dusts of bones, porridge taste of human blood.
I brought the cup of kopi to my computer, connect to the internet, greet my colleagues on our irc chat, smile at my friends’ status on facebook.
A 17 years-old solider nervously point his AK47 at the head of the old monk somewhere in the jungle of Burma. ‘You don’t have to do this.’ says the old monk quietly. ‘you can go home, to your mother.’ Mother, the boy thought, mother died of illness when he was 5, an illness where money could have cured… I will not be poor! The click of the trigger.
I got off from my desk. Took a stroll to the nearby shops. Bought char kueh teow for lunch. Admire the big trees by the road on the stroll back.
Covered head to toe, she had enough explosives underneath her burqa, to blow up the entire hotel in India/Pakistan/Bali (insert the most recent bombing). As she sips her last cup of coffee, she thought to herself, how different would life be if her husband wasn’t killed by Americans in Iraq…they would have money, they would go for holiday in hotels like this, they would make babies. In a room upstairs, a couple heaved gently into each other’s arms after an intense lovemaking, look into each other’s eyes and thought, you are all I want, I can die now.
I make some calls, to organize a workshop for producers of critical films on how to distribute video online effectively. Films that might have to do with wars and conflicts, rights and violations, justice and equality. That need to be shared with more people. So we would understand, and maybe, help to prevent. Maybe, because I am not really sure what role I play in relation to the people above, how we are connected, in war, in love. I just know that I will try to live my life each day, as best as I can, to love you.
A border patrol officer heard wood creaking behind her, turn and point her gun at the man and the girl. The little girl can’t be more than 10, she look frighten…of the man. ‘You are crossing the border to Malaysia. Identify yourself and what are you doing with the girl?’ she ask the man. ‘don’t shoot us, we are refugees, she is my niece!’ at this, the girl shook her head. ‘shut up!’ he hit the girl. Bang. A gunshot. He fell to the ground, holding his left leg, screaming. The girl ran to her and hug her so tight, tears are soaking through her uniform. ‘hush…it’s ok now, you’re safe.’