A tragic news woke me up today – the place where we used to live in, the place where I took my first steps, uttered my first word – was burned to the ground. Though we haven’t lived there for more than six years, I am feeling a pain that I can’t explain. When I saw what was left, I had to hold back tears as the memories of all those almost thirty years I spent there flashed in my thoughts.
I look at my old neighbors’ faces and we all have that unspoken pain. My cousins who are still living in that place are trying their best to smile and we are all consoling each other, telling each other that at least no one was hurt. Even people who have not lived there like us went to check and without words, we all know that we all feel the same.
It was as if pieces of us have burned down with those houses.
But in spite of the tragedy, my heart was touched by seeing how the community has become like a family. People from neighboring streets brought food. People are asking and checking on everyone. People who are not aware that we have moved out asks us if we are okay. All of them thanking God that no one was hurt, that everyone is alive. Though moving on is still unimaginable, we are all assured that it will happen.