I think I’m
not the only one feeling this weird trapped feeling today, feeling sick and
overwhelmed but unable to stop reading, reblogging. Trying to understand when
there is nothing to understand.
I live in
the middle of it. 19 people died in front of the bar I go drinking twice a
week, and my friend the barmaid was hidden behind the bar for two hours. One of
my best friend lives rue Bichat and heard the gunfire from his window. I know a
family trapped in stade de France. I should have been drinking in Republique at
8PM yesterday, where they started shooting.
Yeah I get
it. We are freaking out.
stop spreading only the bad stuff. Stop the pictures and videos of bodies in
the street, of yelling and blood. Stop talking about refugee’s hate, and
about the people that yelled in the street the number of the code to their flat
when victims where running everywhere to bring them to safety. The man that
opened the window of his flat to victims of the Bataclan stranded on the roof.
the man that went back to help a stranger pregnant woman, and the kid that was
carried to safety by a total stranger worried he could be trampled by the
the social media, the hashtag #porteouverte to get people out of the street and
#voyageavecmoi to help people afraid to travel alone because of their
the taxis that stayed in the street, bringing people home for free all night,
and the bus drivers that helped evacuate the Bataclan.
crowding the blood centers, so much that Paris now has to send them back home.
in their home, terrified and in shock, and only waiting for the possibility to
crowd the street and show them that we are afraid but not broken, and together.
handfuls of people that will take out of this tragedy all the bad lessons, the
don’t talk about them. Talk about the fraternity and the love of the scared,
scarred, ones in Paris. Because we are so many, and we won’t give up