a moment of silence

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when the bomb hit, i was sitting in front of my computer. Typing away my article, but it was a definite sound, you can't miss it. Even people 15 km away could still hear it. My first guess was a tire explosion, but that couldn't be right. The second guess was a car burned up and it's gas tank exploded.

Guess i'm not to far off on that second try.

As people try to find out what just happen, mostly they're just curious, wondering what happen. Then the news start trickling in, from SMS and instant messaging. The first one states the Plaza 89 was hit, then the second one was Pasar Festival. The third one was the Australian Embassy.

I already knew what to expect, particularly since the sound could be heard from so far away. It was definitely a stronger blast than the Marriot's. The first air coverage was from ANTV, probably since they have (had?) an office at Plaza 89. You could hear panic and confusion in the backgroumd, alarms sound off etc.

I kept working on my article, but my attention was somewhere else. I saw the people in my office started to crowd the monitors of their PC, trying to get a glimpse of what had happened.

I feel very disturbed by this, even resented it.

Is that what we have become, curious spectators waiting by the line? The death of others became a mere spectacle for others? So inconsiderate, so disrespectful. And these are people i call friends?

My mind starts rationalizing their actions. Sure, they were curious, even i was curious. And people have their own way to deal with grief or loss. But as i sat still working on my PC, i stole several glances.

There was nothing but glee in their eyes. The kind of glee you expect from a child watching something in awe. There was no thought of the dead/slain, of dignity, of respect.

I loathe that look, that attitude.

Thinking that it will never happen to them. Watching, detached.

Because i knew what it was like, to be in that situation. Death, you can smell it. If fear was like a punch in your gut, death was like a vile taste you can't escape. It's like choking on your own vomit.

Bitter. 'Getir'.

As i finally moved to see what i most feared, the only words i could utter was "Unlucky bastards."

Then i started to think of some of my friends, who worked/lived near Kuningan. Wondering if they are okay. I have no way of contacting them, so i was quite relieved not seeing their names on the victim's list (later on).

I looked at my 'so called' friends now. Not one word of "Oh God", or signs of regret, of loss, of sorry. Some even joked, laughed. Again, my mind tried to reason, but my anger won in the end. How can they? But i kept it inside, adding it to my resolve. And said,

"don't joke about it. It's not funny, and it's disrespectful to the victims and their memories."

Then it hit me. I understand now.

I understand why some people choose to fight, even if it's a lost cause or when the odds are all against them. Even if it meant certain death for you. Your heart began to crystalize, your thoughts clear.

You fight because you believe in something. You believe that this terrible disaster should not happen to anyone again, never again. You vowed so those after you would never feel that hurt, pain, anguish. The feeling of loss and hopelessness.

I fight because i need it. Because i need to know that i have done what was humanly possible. And i believe that all life is precious,even the ones you don't know or care about.

If that makes me different and 'maladjusted' so be it.