It fell on me like a stack of books in the wake of today’s tragic news. Something I had been avoiding for some time. Every evening, after work, I come home to an empty house. Bereft of friends and family, I fill my house with artificial dialogue and white noise from television or radio.
Out here, so far from the people I love, all I have is my work. I spend long hours at the office, I bring work home, I think about work in the weekends (telling myself I’m planning my week), and I socialise with people from work. The only reason I’m here at all is for work.
Today I found out I lost a brother. A sudden passing while on holiday, a group tour hiking in Nepal. A man falls while living a free life knowing he has done well for himself and is truly happy. My day darkens because I am alone in this place and no family or friends with whom to take comfort. All I have is my work here, work which brings no real joy or satisfaction.
And so I ask, where is the real tragedy?