I can decompartmentalize. I think it’s survivor’s instinct. Know the facts and not feel. But I’ve been trying to work on that. Trying to feel every emotion. Trying to see how my body gets affected by sadness, happiness, anger, joy, bliss.
This morning while eating breakfast. Scrambled eggs, veggie sausage patties, spelt english muffin and kuchela I broke down while reading. I read the NY Times online. I read about the children in Gaza who could not stand up when found. The children who were side by side with their mothers’ corpses. And I broke seeing that image run past my mind. It ran slowing. I smelled it. Tasted it. Heard it. Felt it. I wanted to hold them. Carry them. Kiss their foreheads and their tears.
I want to go to Gaza. This year. This summer. The best I can give is myself.
Please, remember the people of Gaza, the people who have people in Gaza, please remember that we all have to help each other. Somehow. Please.