Sometimes, in the midst of an ordinary task, I am suddenly seized with longing for my life, the way it was on January 11th. That was a time when over 230,000 more people lived in Port-au-Prince - and their lives may have been hard, but they were full lives, lives of people who were surviving and thriving, and they were cut short without warning, and they left behind many who grieve for them. That was a time when I didn't know anything about the Richter scale, or about the USGS website where you can monitor aftershocks or about what it's like to watch people I know on CNN. It was a time before countless families had been torn apart, countless limbs lost, countless recurrent nightmares born. It was a time before every empty space in Port-au-Prince had become a tent city.
Sometimes I wish so much that none of it had ever happened that the wishing almost takes my breath away.
10 hours ago