I’m in a room full of bones and skulls collected from mass graves, with the names of victims being read in a thick French accent over the speaker above. The lights are dim, almost too dark to write this, but I cant risk forgetting this moment. Standing in front of the bones, I felt my bones and my muscles begin to ache. My first thought was that I must be getting sick, out of habit really, but realized quickly that my body was reacting to this moment, to this tragedy. It’s hard not to feel this with every part of my being.
I’m rotating between feelings of sadness, despair, anger, disgust, empathy, vengeance, motivation… I could go on all day with the changing faces of my emotional state. While listening to the stories, the hardest parts were the memories of the kind moments that were experienced before losing everything. Final meals, parent’s sacrifices, kindness from strangers - that on many occasions led to their own deaths. Those are the stories that move my heart the most. Those moments of love in the face of cruelty.
I am also filled with this feeling of guilt that weighs heavely on me. Guilt that the world didn’t come to help. Guilt that I feel so much anger towards the people who didn’t come, knowing it was going to happen, and those that made this happen. Guilt that I am trying to feel better, when I wasn’t the one who went through it. I want to hide my reaction, feeling as if I don’t have the right to be this upset in front of survivors. I know it may not be rational to feel guilt for empathy, but it’s where I am right now. It’s part of the moment I’m faced with.
The voice continues to name victims with no repeat. There is more to see, and I need to keep on…
I’m rotating between feelings of sadness, despair, anger, disgust, empathy, vengeance, motivation… I could go on all day with the changing faces of my emotional state. While listening to the stories, the hardest parts were the memories of the kind moments that were experienced before losing everything. Final meals, parent’s sacrifices, kindness from strangers - that on many occasions led to their own deaths. Those are the stories that move my heart the most. Those moments of love in the face of cruelty.
I am also filled with this feeling of guilt that weighs heavely on me. Guilt that the world didn’t come to help. Guilt that I feel so much anger towards the people who didn’t come, knowing it was going to happen, and those that made this happen. Guilt that I am trying to feel better, when I wasn’t the one who went through it. I want to hide my reaction, feeling as if I don’t have the right to be this upset in front of survivors. I know it may not be rational to feel guilt for empathy, but it’s where I am right now. It’s part of the moment I’m faced with.
The voice continues to name victims with no repeat. There is more to see, and I need to keep on…
