đQuito, Ecuador 3/25/22
“Should we make our dicks touch?” A guy asked his friends, who were all circled together, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.
“Too soon, man,” one responded.
They were standing beside a dented bus as three firemen worked to cut down a tree that had been destroyed in the accident.
Too soon indeed.
I was in bed when I heard the crash and the screams. I jolted up and rushed to the balcony–the screaming was agonizing. A woman was trapped between where the bus had crashed into the back of a truck, her legs crushed.
People were shouting, trying to shove the bus back up the hill.
My legs were shaking. Not just because of the horrible scene unfolding in front of me, but because it brought me back to my own bus accident, seven years prior.
I was 15. The same age as the boy who died. The bus had rolled over on a turn, crushing him. He didn’t die instantly.
Was I about to witness another human die? Another person crushed by a bus? I couldn’t breathe.
The man in the truck somehow revved up the tree just enough to get the woman loose. They carried her away and laid her on the ground. Her wails echoed through the dark street.
She passed unconscious just before the ambulance arrived. Another woman hovered over her, trying to smack her awake. She came to with another cry.
The relief her ambulance rescue brought me was immeasurable. But there I stood, long after the fact, watching as bystanders talked and laughed as if it hadn’t just happened. I felt like throwing up.
đQuito, Ecuador 3/26/22
Humans are freaking resilient.
Yes, they are fragile as hell. But damn arenât we resilent?
How we rebuild after wars. How we fall in love again after getting our hearts broken. How we keep trying even after failing a million times.
If thereâs one thing we donât do, itâs give up.
Perhaps itâs just not in human nature to give up. Maybe itâs part of the âanimalâ in us that screams for survival. Or maybe we just underestimate ourselves.
After walking out of my hostel this morning, I expected to see remnants from the accident the night before.
The pool of blood. The empty plots of land where the trees had been. Pieces of metal scattered around.
But there was nothing. And in the two empty plots of land, two baby trees had already been planted.
I was astounded. When had the city had time to plant two new trees within such a short frame of time?
Something about it brought me great relief. It was as if the city had already decided to move on from the tragedy.
I don’t know how long we should mourn loss. I think some people mourn forever. Others never quite get around to it.
It’s just another question without an answer. There are so many questions without answers.
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