3 days ago it was Gilad Shalit’s birthday…

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3 days ago, she was out, with some friends. She spent a great evening, laughing, drinking.

There was, in a bar in Haeundae, a stand up comedy show, where some of her friends were performing. They were making jokes about those little things that happens in their everyday life, about the human stupidity, about the world in general.

And she was laughing. She couldn’t stop.

3 days ago, she was out, with some friends. She spent a great evening, laughing, drinking.

There was, in a bar in Haeundae, a stand up comedy show, where some of her friends were performing. They were making jokes about those little things that happens in their everyday life, about the human stupidity, about the world in general.

And she was laughing. She couldn’t stop.

The night was beautiful, the weather was hot, and the alcohol didn’t stop filling the glasses. She finished her night talking with some newly found friends in a casino around some breakfast. She was exhausted but happy.

They were talking about everything, their countries, their lives, then suddenly his name popped up in the conversation; Gilad Shalit.

 Locked up for a bit more than 4 years now, he is being treated unfairly and can’t have access to the outside, and decent treatment. Nobody knows where he really is. He is alone and kept as a hostage by some people who want nothing but destruction and war.

He is just a kid, (he was only 19 when he was kidnapped) and he didn’t deserve this,  but was just at the wrong place at the wrong moment. Those people  (the members of the Hamas and other sister organisations) should be ashamed of their actions. They don’t want peace, they don’t think about other people as human beings if not they wouldn’t treat Gilad that way.

It was a saturday evening, like any other one in Busan, and Gilad’s name came to her mind,and she couldn’ t help but feel anger and rage.

An other evening, and somewhere in the Gaza strip a kid was alone in his cell, and nothing seemed to be possible to save him.

It was the 28th of August, his birthday. He should be out, free. The only pictures that should be taken of him, should be those taken in front of a cake surrounded by friends and family. But there was nothing she could do, even though she wanted to go out there, in that piece of land  called a strip and shout at all those people who let that horrible thing happened and who justify it with some political demagogic speach. They were making her sick. She wanted them dead.

That’s all she had: anger. This useless feeling. 

It was the 28th of August, she was having a good evening with her friends. She wished she had thought about him longer than 10 minutes that day.

A bit late but still,  from the other side of the world, Happy birthday Gilad.



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