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Beneath the same sky Beneath the same sky
by Lilian Badani
2015-11-17 09:03:30
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Just try to remember this human feeling in front of a pleasurable surprise. That moment the telephone rings and on the other end comes a loving voice you haven’t heard for a long time. The moment you open the shutters; facing a sunny day after days of continuous rain. You feel surprise when a butterfly is tickling your arm while sitting unconcerned on a bench at the park. The moment you meet in the street - by pure chance - an old love and that after many years. The moment your national football team won the championship the very last minute before the final whistle and that with one goal. The moment he asked you to meet him for a drink after a long unbearable silence...

Just try to remember your reaction in front of all these small and pleasant surprises... Try to recall the last time you met your best friends for a beer. The last time dawdling shopping at Ermou Street, giggling and gossiping with your girlfriend. Remember that Christmas at Syntagma Square, the first time your son called you "mom" while sitting on the wooden horse of a wriggling carousel. All these people around you and you were standing dumb; laughing and crying at the same time, by both surprise and emotion. Remember that morning you didn’t finally miss your flight by chance when you were going to see your daughter. Remember that evening, after having so much fun at the cinema when you continued with your friends to a “rakadiko” partying till dawn. The night you both went to the lighthouse just for a cigarette and it was the first time he looked deep into your eyes. Remember then how different the colours of the sea felt. Remember that Friday he suddenly leaned and kissed you. How startled you were; you returned home and you wanted to dance alone all night in front the mirror, wild of joy…

lil01_400And now imagine... I’m not going to ask you much, just an image... Imagine yourself running in panic on Ermou Street that has become a battlefield; spurred, panicky and trampled by hundreds of others with no way out. Imagine Syntagma Square the target of psychopath murderers and the carousel with your little boy in flames like a burning bush. Imagine the plane exploding in the mid-air and never see your daughter again. Think of yourself trapped in the cinema or in the yard, hostage at gunpoint; that without an emergency exit. Imagine... Imagine leaving your child to go out for the evening and never come back home, to you, alive... Imagine never see your dearest friend again, a friend who lived permanently abroad; just like you will never see again your cousin who newlywed, went for a trip to Istanbul and never met the unborn baby she was carrying in her womb. Imagine... all the beer bottles in pieces, your friends in blood, your best friend dead in your arms and next to her, him, leaving his last breath in front of your eyes...

Can you imagine all that? Can you somehow see this image even for a little bit? You don’t want to, do you? This moment you wish it would never have crossed your mind. It makes sense. I don’t like it either... So let me tell you how I feel. I don’t care who they are, how many they are and where they come from. I don’t care where their land is, what language they speak and which God they believe. I don’t even care who sends them, how mentally disturbed they are and which is the perversion they want to satisfy. It doesn’t make any difference to me if they have murdered unjustly their neighbour or if they come from one continent or another. It also doesn’t matter to me whether their flag is white, red, blue, green or yellow. Colours exist to paint life and not death. And I mean life for all the people. For the entire planet.

Terrorism is another form of war. With the same sounds, the same images, the same scenes and the same consequences like every other war. Dozens, hundreds, thousands prematurely, unexpectedly lost lives of innocent people. Supposedly elaborating into designing life these people become victims to undisclosed conspiracies and murderous plans.

Terrorism is not susceptible to colours, flags, religions, nationalities. It is itself coated with the shades of war, death, horror, terror, muteness. Mandated heretics, murderers, do not belong in any colour from the palette of peace and life hold. Not even black colour!...

 


     
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Gordana Mudri2015-11-17 10:20:32
It can happen to anyone of us at any time. And every innocent victim is a victim. Terrorism sow fear and create an atmosphere of hate in people around us, in people we think we know who they are.
I underwrite every word you've written because I do not want to live in fear and I want to feel free to walk the streets of my city, of your city and any city on the planet. In the colors of life. Beneath the same sky.


yannis2015-11-25 17:09:52
nicely written, but the best part is "Colours exist to paint life and not death."


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