I just finished watching Lincoln Heights. It's this thing of a black police cop and his family and the issues in their neighborhood and all such stuff. When something just hit my mind. How it feels like to save lives of others risking your own life. That's one thing. And how it feels to risk your life to kill others. Just two different scenarios. And two different people. Two different ways the world may remember them, you know.
How you think of others and not your own very family, because its your job in nit? You save. You just do that, remember your family for once and then off you go doing your job. I had my cousin do that. And it was so so sad. And the world just remembers him in a very different way. The other day I was walking into my kitchen and I just had this in mind of how it felt to be a suicide bomber and how I guess I had to blog about it.
Of course, I don't blog much anymore. Next morning, Rija D. felt the same. Now, come on, feel that. Feel as if you have the key to your death and a hundreds more, in just your hand. What do you do, pulling that trigger gets just one shot. Pressing that button, makes your head fly miles away. But, you gotta do what your brain's been told to. No families, no respect, nothing no more. That's not life. That definitely, isn't life. I've just live 17 years and trust me, I know that much at the very least.
What more, you're just dead, and you just committed suicide. Oh, too bad. The world hates you. And its sad. You just took away so many people with you because you fucking thought the so wrong thing. I feel sorry for you, man. I truly do.