Finally Free

Pyongyang Airport – Afternoon:

Kathleen is being arrested at the customs for no reason. She has no luggage except for the small handbag she held during the whole flight from Dubai. She was just passing by Pyongyang for some photo shooting before flying again to Beijing. That would be her last stop before going back home to Phoenix Arizona.

For thirteen years she had been working in journalism. And she excelled in it. Often criticized in the United States for showing the true positive sides of the world the Americans always wanted to hide.

Kathleen wasn’t even allowed to make a single phone call. She was thrown into a small truck which led her to a female prison on an terrible rainy day.

This was more of a terrorist kidnapping than a police arrest. Kathleen wasn’t charged for any crime. She was sure nothing was in her handbag. The only hardware she had was her camera, and not much photos were taken except for some desert sites in the United Arab Emirates.

The only thing Kathleen could think about was that she had been the victim of a long and crucial dual between countries. Between the United States and North Korea. She was an American stepping into an enemy zone. But then she thought that she was a reporter and dozens of them, Americans, fly to Pyongyang on a monthly basis.

That’s it. Kathleen was in prison. Not in any prison. In Pyongyang. No news. She had no clue of what was happening outside her room. Obviously her family had done some contacts, the American news had broadcasted it, the story became a huge headline around the world, but Kathleen felt that she had been forgotten.

Four years had passed and Kathleen was still in the Pyongyang prison. Life had no meaning anymore. Hope had vanished and therefore she was living the day just to live it. And if she did not, she wouldn’t mind.

By that time the Americans had reached an agreement with the North Koreans. Kathleen was to be released in exchange for taking away some American missiles which were placed in Afghanistan and others in Japan. Two of the largest American bases in the Eastern region. Of course all the negotiations took place through a third party: Russia mainly and under the international umbrella of the United Nations.

Kathleen went outside for her everyday walk. She was exhausted and extremely down. She could barely feel her body. She was slowly looking around but really not seeing what was out there. Pictures and sounds meant nothing anymore. Life was starting to close its curtains.

All the international channels were starting to cover the news conference during which the American ambassador to the United Nations was to announce the release of Kathleen from the North Korean prison. Channels from all around the world were covering it. In all languages.

Kathleen was standing there, somewhere in the middle of the large court where the prisoners could walk. She was looking straight at the fences which lead outside the prison. They were heavily done and there was a guard each few meters. So everybody knew there was no way out.

But still, Kathleen started to run. Going faster and faster with every step. All the other prisoners were watching. The guards were shouting. With every new step Kathleen ran, the guards were shouting louder. They were preparing the guns. Kathleen was running towards freedom. Here, she had a smile on her face.

The American ambassador spoke for about five minutes explaining the details of the negotiations that took place. Finally he said that the world is again experiencing the defeat of the evil and the freedom of the innocent.

Kathleen was five meters away from the closed fence when all the guards opened fire. The smile was still on her face when she laid down on the ground.

She was finally free.

The Walk

Hisham was walking alone in the old streets of Baghdad. Admiring every single detail, from old houses and buildings to retail shops and groceries.

This time all seemed beautiful.

Hisham was seeing things as if he had never seen them before. Colors were more colored. Sounds were clearer and nicer. He was wondering where all of this was the day before.

Had he changed? No. Had the city changed? Not that quickly. But he could see.

On that day life wore its nicest dress. Hisham was a happy man in a beautiful city. A perfect combination. A dream.

Wandering from one place to another was something Hisham loved to do during that day. Baghdad hadn’t looked that nice for years. It was so peaceful. No one was talking to him and he felt like not talking to anyone as well. He was enjoying the moment.

A basket of oranges appeared to him at a distance. The color was so attractive that he had to cross the road and go straight toward it. He wasn’t hungry. It was just the perfect color that called him. Once he was near the small fruit market, Hisham walked toward the oranges and picked up one. He was holding it using both his hands. It was so close to his eyes that people could think he was crazy. But he wasn’t. He was looking at the orange and wondering how he could have never realized how beautiful it was. How he could have never appreciated life for its smallest details.

He was wondering.

Suddenly … BANG … in a matter of a second …

Huge explosion in the small Baghdad fruit market. Black smoke covered the whole area. Not a single person could have survived the blast. Men, women and children. All were laying around dead. The sound of the explosion was extremely loud.

A catastrophe.

Hisham was still standing there with his orange. Dead bodies all around him. Yes. He wasn’t among them. He was confused. How could the blast have not killed him? Or at least throw him away and cause him injuries? Total confusion.

Then. He realized.

Hisham was killed the day before in another Baghdad explosion two blocks away. He just wanted to take a last walk around the city he loved so much.

Everything had seemed so beautiful.

Like A Dream

Life will always miss some flavor.

Whether some salt, sugar or pepper. You name it.

I once mentioned life being like a box of chocolate. We never know what we’re going to get (When You Thought Forrest Was Dumb).

Well. It is. Sometimes it feels like someone, from up there, is dropping some salt, sugar or pepper. When we’re happy? Here you go. A drop of pepper to cut your happiness short. When you’re sad? Here you go. A drop of sugar to make it sweet.

Does it last? It depends on how much was dropped.

I once believed. And I still believe.

I believe that imperialism still exists. Great people have come around to defeat it. Some were able to shake it but eventually failed. A drop of pepper was dropped on them. Who dropped it? Imperialists. Those who like their tea very sweet.

Where are those people who believe that the fighting strategy should change? Where are those believers? Where are those visionaries?

I think they’re just a few left around.

I guess you started to know me by now. I don’t believe in violence. I don’t believe in multiple fronts. I believe in unity, in economics, in development, in long-term strategies. I believe in a critical path that should be set and worked upon.

Yes. I believe and still believe. But who am I? A dreamer with no actions. Yet.

Others dreamt and set the pace for others to believe and see. Martin Luther King was one of them. Let’s remember his words:

“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

I say:

“Believing and having dreams are free of charge. Why not pick them up from the shelves and use them. We never know where they will lead us. That’s the least we can do. Maybe those dreams will get so strong to a point where we rise up and scream. That’s when others will hear. That's when they will fear us. Maybe they will drop some pepper. Maybe it will come straight on us. Maybe not. But at least we would have tried.

Yes. It starts with a dream. And if we achieve?

It will be so beautiful that it will still feel like a dream.