Tuesday Bloody Tuesday

When I was in college, a roommate of mine introduced me to the music of U2. One song of theirs that instantly intrigued and captivated my attention was ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday’ and I looked up its origins. Absent mindedly I used to imagine other such titles based on the rest of the days of the week.

On the 16th of December 2014, Pakistan got its own version.

Two days ago I would have come up with some statement full of bravado and resilience. Two days from now I will in all likelihood be sprouting venom against these barbarians projecting their band of religion.

Today is not that day.

I have had my legs shot out from under me. I have had the wind knocked out of me. I have had the blood drained from my body.

I have failed.

I am tired.

I am lost.

As a Muslim, Pakistani, Father, Brother, Husband, Son; take your pick.

I let this happen.

You let this happen.

We let this happen.

There are those among us who have already started pointing fingers at some party’s ‘dharna’s’ or another’s inability to govern. There are those who have already started the age-old mantra of us being victims of our military’s doctrines. There is always the usual us-being-the-pawns-in-a-greater-game and of course our neighbor state that always has evil designs on us.

I know all the arguments. I have heard all the conspiracy theories countless times.

They are all true.

They are all false.

So what?

What are you going to do about it?

Black

I’m not going to blame the government, the forces that be. This one, I am keeping for myself. This one is all on me. There is no fate, no religious punishment, no global conspiracy in this.

All. On. Me.

Today I am unable to look myself in the mirror. The face that leers back at me is grotesque. It is numb. It is cold. I may profess to be a Muslim but what that may mean, I have long since forgotten, in my heart of hearts, I know that I never knew what Islam is.

Will this ever end?

I would’nt hold my breath.

I know will get over this in a day, max a week.

And this will happen again.

I’m just hating myself for knowing that I’m used to all this and for that part of me that is secretly grateful that I’m still away from all this, for now.

Having worked in a national level counter terrorist organization that never got off the ground owing to the inflated egos and turf wars of our leaders, I am no longer as naïve and idealistic as I was when I decided to serve my country.

I now know myself.

I  am not resilient, I am cold, numb. I am opportunistic. I am a terrorist. Not the one that wields a gun and straps on a vest. A much more harmful one. One that talks, and talks and then gets on with his life. I hold a soft spot for killers, because I feel I can discriminate bloodshed. I feel I can justify some of it.

How do I come back from this?

I  don’t.

Where do I go from here?

Downwards, and onwards in my journey towards my personal hell.