In a few days it'll be a month since Wesley died. He was brutally killed in Monrovia on 6 September.
I am writing these words from Monrovia. In one day, my life completely changed.
I do not even have words to describe or relate what actually happened and, what it signifies for me. I go around saying, my worst fears came true. I should have never gone to London, the killer city where the last time I was at university my best friend died. I feel like I have lost everything. I have lost the love of my life, the joy of my life. I feel like half of me is gone. I feel like saying life really does stink, it's random and totally unfair. It reaffirms everything I went through emotionally, philosophically, religiously the last time I lost someone so tragically. I feel like shouting obscenities at this non-existent Being. And boy, the religious platitudes and patronising get on my nerves. I know people mean well and this is the only way people deal with grief and loss. This is the contextual framework to find Meaning. Just give me a religion which says, 'life stinks, life is full of suffering, and we all suffer and die.' But please don't tell me it is for the best or it was his time or it's part of God's plan. I mean, that just makes me wish I could have died too or my plane crashed. And 'life goes on.' Of course it goes on. I haven't killed myself yet so yes, it does go on. I'll be fine, probably even start to thrive at some point but I'll never understand or accept it. So what's the quality of that life? What's the point of fucking me over like that? What's the point of driving me over the edge? Or anyone else who would take it so personally as I would. I don't have and will never have cosmic greatness to accept and make sense of it. I never did with my friend and never will with this. I will never yield to an entity which expects me to accept this, not question it and continue to worship His Holy Ass and His Ways. Just please dish me out a nihilistic faith. Please keep ga ga to yourself.
I am still in shock, in a kind of numbness and emptiness that has sucked out any soul or spirit I may have.
There is something so final about death. On top of it, I have to deal with the idea that my Wesley Jaan, whom I loved so madly and utterly, from the top of his head to his toes, from his delicious dark complexity to his most overwhelming sweetness and gentleness, was taken so violently from me. I go mad thinking about his last moments. I kill myself thinking about it. That they killed him so mercilessly and that he left this life like that. That he was fighting for his life.
I know he's gone. He's nowhere to be seen. I even went to see his body. I've seen his body been preserved and dressed up for a chapel service. I have seen people weep at his cremation. I have been with the pandit to collect the ashes. But I feel so numb. I want to cry and I can't cry. I want him to come through the door. I want him in the lonely hours at night and especially when I wake up. I wake up and know instantly - it's the first thought that comes into my head - it's a morning, a day, a life without Wesley.