Wake me up when September Ends

September 11 has come and gone. I did not mourn for the people who were killed. I did not know them, nor did I really care. This apathy stems not from my disillusionment with America, but is more of a case of, “Tak tahu, maka tak cinta,” or in English, “How can you love something you don’t know?”

There is something more heinous that happened though. Rape and murder, especially of innocents and civilians, is something I abhor. Today, on September 16, 1982, about 700-3,500 (depending on whose accounts you’re listening to) Palestinians and Lebanese were murdered in refugee camps. No one seems to remember them nor care about that now.

I’m not going to talk about who’s responsible for this, or who should take responsible or such. All I will say is that you should think carefully when you think about just one side of the story. Because at the heart of it all, we want to believe in absolutes so that the world does not change.

September is depressing.

In memory of all those who died in Sabra and Shatila Massacre.