Kiana

On Friday night, there was a terrorist attack in Davao, the city where I live. The bombing took place at a night market adjacent to my university. A lot of lives were lost, mostly masseuses who were just trying to make a living that night.

I’m sitting here trying to make sense of what just happened, if ever I can make sense of it. A lot of speculation is being thrown all over news channels as to what larger motive was behind the attack, but I know that whoever planned it and whatever the reason was, it is not justifiable by saying it was a means to an end. Taking an innocent life is not a logical means to an end that could be achieved through discourse.

The strain and paranoia caused by the attack is felt in the veins of my city. Usually, on Saturdays, everyone fills up the city streets, but on the day following the Friday night incident, the streets were devoid of people and vehicles. Everyone is inside their houses watching the news and probably trying to make sense of what happened and mourning the loss and injury of the 81 victims.

I can’t imagine how people in war-stricken countries live like this every day, to fear for your every move in a place you once considered safe and dearly called home. Now my city, the comfort basket that cradles me and tucks me in whenever I’m lonely, will never be the same again. No matter the repairs, or how many military and police troops are on guard, or how many prayers are sent, it will never be the same again. ♦