It’s ironic to me, that the same day we discussed the word utopia in global class, also became the same day that will now be remembered as a very sad and tragic event. Utopia is the word for an ideal world. The events of that day would never take place in an ideal world. That day started with as much promise as any other. No one expected that day to take such a horrific turn. That day was yesterday, April 15,2013. The day we talked about the word utopia in global class and the same day there were bombings at the Boston Marathon. And irony strikes again, the marathon’s theme was 26 miles for the 26 people. 26 people too many that were lost on yet another day that started like any other. It is a shame that the same marathon that was supposed to be a memorial to those lost at Sandy Hook became another tragic event that someone will be memorializing.



As I watched the news this morning, I fought back tears. I was fighting like a boxer in the ring. Both the boxer and I didn’t personally know whom we were fighting. Our opponent had done to us no wrong or good. But, we were still fighting. I don’t live in Boston. I don’t know anyone who lives or has lived in Boston. I don’t know any of the victims. But I was still fighting. Fighting against that feeling you get when you are about to cry. Fighting against how your body starts to tingle and you feel like you’re staring and in a daze.

I can’t exactly explain why I felt that feeling then or why I feel it now as I write this. Perhaps it was because, though I knew not of these people affected in Boston, we still had common bond. We were all Americans. We all had made homage to the colors of red, white, and blue. We all had seen our country go through tragedies, move on from tragedies (or at least put them aside and try to go on with out lives), and we had hoped and prayed that a tragedy like the last would never happen again. I also believe that when we heard of how there were bombings at the Boston Marathon, a little bit of our hope had died. Our prayers had seemed to be in vain, even if for a nanosecond. We all thought and remembered. We thought and remembered how much we have been through as a country, and many of us offered up more prayers. We prayed the same way we always had. We prayed for the victims and their families. We prayed that God would protect these tragedies from happening to you and me. We prayed that one day our country would have peace.

Like every other morning, I turned off the news, put on my backpack, and walked to the foot of my driveway at 7:15. This morning though, it was different. I didn’t turn off the TV because I had to go. I turned it off because I couldn’t bear to watch another video, see another picture, or hear another interview. It was too much. I heard of a boy named Martin Richard. He was standing at the finish line to give his dad a hug. As I write this, Martin Richard, an eight-year-old boy, is dead. Due to whatever malice mind thought of this whole attack, Martin Richard, an eight-year-old boy, is dead. My own brother just turned ten a few weeks ago, two years older than Martin. I see my brother and think of how much he has going for him. The long road he has ahead of him. His life, a composition book, full of empty pages. My brother has the same opportunities that Martin had, and yet they were taken away from Martin. It seems as though he was given a piece of loose-leaf. He wrote on a line, maybe he wrote on two or three. But that piece of paper was crumpled up and thrown away, even though there were many more lines that were perfect for writing on. I like to use metaphors, but I must learn that life is not actually one. Martin didn’t write on a piece of paper in reality. He didn’t crumple it up and throw it away. He didn’t tear a new sheet out of his notebook and start over. But instead, he lived a life that ended too soon and unlike paper, there are not plenty of chances to life going around.

My bus pulls up to the curve; I get on, ride to school, take a quiz in my first period Biology class, and then go to my global class. My global teacher is my favorite teacher this year. She’s honest, upfront, and is not afraid of how what she says will sound to others. She wants her students to succeed and gives them every tool necessary so that they may. She initiates the class everyday with a prayer, and today’s class is no different. She says of course we are praying for the city of Boston. She says some other things that I don’t catch since I’m recollecting this morning. Recollecting Martin Richard and my brother, whom I had not long ago sent a text wishing him luck on his state test. I came back just in time to hear something that make me think. My teacher says, “I want to fight back. And even though I know, as a good Christian woman, I shouldn’t. I’m finding it hard to forgive.” One step at time, I’m going to take what she said. Break each point down, like it is in my mind. My mind the food processor that grinds the large pieces into smaller ones. I want to fight back. Me too, but how? The only solution I have come to is joining the military when I get out of college. But how can I help now? How can I protect myself, my family, and my fellow Americans at 14 years old? How can I fight back today? I want to fight back today. I want to fight now. I thought we were already fighting. I even thought that we had already won. The day we killed Osama Bin Laden, I thought that was our victory. Apparently, it was a victory, but it was only a victory, and we still need several more victories to win the war itself. I thought we had won or a least that we were winning and ahead. Apparently, we were not. Today as I watch a video of what happened in Boston, I think to myself, how foolish and naive I could have been to think we were winners? For how could we win a war that hasn’t even begun?

The thought of our own Americans- not North Korea, not Al-Queda, or anyone else, attacking this soil is foreign to our minds. But very well it could have been the case. It was the case in Columbine. It was the case in Sandy Hook. And yes those are different from bombings, but they all had the same result. Results that were deaths, pain, sorrow, and tragedy. Other wise said by Feli Kuti as sorrow, tears, and blood. No specific religion, race, or creed is necessary for being a terrorist. For all we know right now the person who did this could have been blond haired blue eyed, chocolate skinned with eyes to match, pale white with jet black hair, toffee colored, Christian, Jewish, hates Obama!! THAT DOESN’T MATTTER THOOUGH! What matters is that there were victims. It matters that Martin Richard, an eight-year-old boy is dead, a two year old is in the hospital for head trauma, an eleven year old is seriously injured, and there are dozens who have lost limbs. That’s what matters.

To begin fighting, I think we all have to come to the realization that anyone could have done this. We need to wake up and see that terrorists are people who sometimes look like you and me. It’s not religion, race, or creed that differentiate them for us, it is their state of mind. Any sick minded, unGodfearing , demonic person could have done this. I pray that this person gets punished to the fullest extent of the law. That’s where the next thing comes in.

I know as a Christian woman, I shouldn’t. I have been in the Church forever. I have been a member of the same church forever. I believe that I am trying to live a holy life. So days like today, when I feel like taking a firearm and finding the person that did this, make me feel like I’m not a Christian. Days like when Osama Bin Laden was killed, and I rejoiced by smiling and cheering, make me feel like I’m not a Christian. Jesus died on the cross for my sins. As he old hymn says, “ Was it for crimes that I had done, he groaned upon the tree? Amazing pity, Grace unknown, and love beyond degree.” I have heard constantly that Jesus paid the ultimate price for forgiveness, and that’s why we shouldn’t find it hard to forgive others. That’s why right now, I don’t feel like a Christian. I’m finding it hard to forgive. My global teacher is finding hard to forgive, I am finding it hard to forgive, and believe many of us are finding it hard to forgive. How do you forgive someone who caused such a tragic event? How do you not feel hate in your heart for this person? It is hard. I don’t think I can forgive this person. Maybe with time, prayer, and God’s help I can. But me who has no association with Boston at all is finding it hard to forgive. What about Martin’s dad? What about the person who lost their legs? What about the person who will now have PTSD and never leave their house? What about them? How will they forgive?

My global teacher says something else. She says that she feels bad for us because are the next generation of kids. The same generation of kids that are growing up having to deal with all this stuff. I don’t how I feel about being the next generation. I guess I should feel bad for myself and scared, but I don’t think that’s how I feel. I feel just like I want to fight back. I don’t just want to sit there and say, “ Well, Woe is me. The world’s such a horrible place and there is nothing you can do about it.” I think that is a very false statement. Yes, the world is a tough place. But it still has some hope. Nothing can change unless something is trying to change it. Change can’t happen without growth, maturity, and room for acceptance. I am the next generation and I realize that. More than ever did I realize that when those same words came out of my global teacher’s mouth and when the news showed a picture of Martin Richard. Every generation has to fight for the next. I am the next generation and I will have to fight for the generation that comes after me. My generation could be the generation that turns the world around. We could be the generation that brings forth peace, justice, and order. I could be part of the generation that helps prevent any tragedies like the too many I have seen in my short fourteen years of life, from happening every again. We could be the protectors. Protect our brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews, grandsons, and great-granddaughters from the feeling of sorrow, pain, and tragedy that we have felt. I want with all my heart to be that superwoman. The one who flies in and protects everyone. Saves the whole world time and time again. But, is yearning to be a superwoman just a demonstration of my still being a naïve little child or it the courage and strength that comes from growing into a virtuous women?

My global teacher goes on to teach us our lesson and go over our homework. The lesson is on the Reformation of the Catholic Church during the Renaissance. After global I go to homeroom, then English, chorus, theology, and finally free. Free is my favorite time of the day. I get to just chill out, take a breather, and not feel stressed about anything. Today, I go to the cafeteria to eat lunch. I’m not a fan of the cafeteria. It’s too loud and they just changed the lights making it too bright. But, I think again of Martin. Martin probably would have loved to sit in a cafeteria like this one and joke around with his third-grade classmates. I see a few people I know. We go get lunch together and then sit down. Today I have been finding it hard not to daze. I have been dazing all day, just going off into my own world and thinking a lot. I’ve never been a great conversationalist but today, I’m struggling even more. I don’t know why things that have nothing to do with me affect my life so much. Sometimes, I just want to be that normal, nonchalant teenager; that’s self centered and only cares about themselves. But that’s not me.

I pull out my black marble notebook with white stripes. I know that what I’m about to do will give me some peace of mind. Maybe it will stop my dazing stare and the steady trembling of my leg under the table. I pull out my pen and turn to a new page. Another metaphor for life, turn the page and start new. Once you finish writing on one page, you turn to the next for a new opportunity. I write the word utopia at the top of the page. It’s the first word that comes to my mind. I think about how life would be if utopia wasn’t just a word for an ideal world by it was a synonym was the happy, peaceful lives everyone was currently living. In a world where utopia is just a word, yesterday should have been the day we learned the meaning of irony in English class. Many things about yesterday’s events were ironic to me. But irony is often used to add comedy. It’s often used as a coincidental thing. The irony is that yesterday’s events were not at all comical and what happened was not a coincidence. Unless comedy is now a synonym for grief, sorrow, and tragedy. So maybe irony is not the right word for how I’m reeling at this moment. Maybe the perfect word for that won’t be found. But, here is what I do know. Yesterday should have been a different day. A day that had no irony (or insert better word). A day in which we all lived happy lives and nothing sad happened. Today should have been the day when I opened my dictionary to the word utopia and under the synonyms was listed life in 2013 and forever more.