Osama bin Laden

Osama bin Laden is dead, and I feel sick. My Facebook News Feed is flooded with jubilation and celebration of murder.

Three specific events in my life were brought vividly to mind again tonight: the first destructive fire I ever witnessed, the collapse of the ceilings in my house, and the fire and collapse that resulted from hijacked planes crashing into the Twin Towers.

I assume I was pretty young when I witnessed that first destructive fire. It was a pumpkin patch. Everything was ablaze, and it horrified me. My dreams turned to blazing nightmares after that. I could not escape the fear that my house might, too, become engulfed in flames. I still fear fires. Every time I see black smoke rising into the sky, I feel that terrified young child crying inside me. I cried a lot.

The ceiling first fell above my parents' bed at 5AM. It was June, our roof was off for construction, and it had unexpectedly started raining. So my parents were up all night mopping and dealing with leaks everywhere. Once the ceiling fell, they woke my sister and I up and had us both move to the bottom bunk of our bunk bed. The ceiling above our bed fell just after we had gone to school. I was probably around six-years-old.

Nearly ten years ago, I was once again awoken to witness a building collapse, but this one was also on fire. I remember staring at the television screen in horror. I remember watching the second plane crash into the second tower. I remember all of the images, the stories, the terrifying reality my nine-year-old mind could not comprehend. I remember the rumours that L. A., my home, would be next. I remember the language of fear and hate which filled every mouth.

The "terrorist attacks" on 11 September, 2001 were everything I could barely even dream of fearing made real. The days that followed are a blurry haze. My teachers all struggled and failed to help me and my classmates make sense of all of it. It didn't make sense. How could anyone hate so much? I met hate for the first time the day those towers collapsed.

Osama bin Laden is dead, and I feel nothing but that same empty, meaningless haze that surrounded me ten years ago. A man has been murdered, and people have taken to the streets to rejoice. Blood has been shed once again. I don't know how to process this. I want to know that bin Laden wasn't actually human, so I could feel relief, but relief doesn't come. I want to know that this is the end, the conclusion, of the horror we witnessed ten years ago, but no idea has died today, only a man. And more than anything, I just want to know that there is another solution, a solution that does not require bloodshed. I want to know that peace and love really can win, and I want to know that I am not the only one foolish enough to feel empty rather than joyous.