Bricks and Stones

I'm not really one to blog about politics, because it's the one place I actually stick both hands into my brain and try to fish out the things I'm afraid to say out loud. So, I won't exactly blog about politics, I will talk about the revolution though.

Ever since people start dying after the 25th of January, I've thought only of how their family and friends must've felt when they heard the news. I imagined what it would've been like for my mother if it was me who died when I was there on the 25th. And my mother didn't even know I was there, so someone would've just called her and said that I was killed in the protests. I died for my country. And she wouldn't really care, she would just think of how I lied to her, she wouldn't believe what anyone said and run looking for me in zamalek where I said I would be. I can Imagine that, that's what I know. I can see that, I've heard stories and I've seen families cry over the people they've lost.

however, I have not seen what the person who died was thinking when they died.

I have to admit that I can't get myself to put myself in the shoes of the martyrs, so I will stop here until I can.