I'm thinking about the banality, the fragility, the beauty and the heartache, the good and the not so good, all packaged together in the randomness of life. I'm asking myself questions like "are we punished in one life for the acts of a previous life? Is there such a thing as fate, or karma?"
All these thoughts, and so many more questions with no answers have lived with me since I was the unfortunate recipient of the wrath of a suicide bomber. Equally I have recently been confronted by seeing all these "thoughts" played out before my very eyes through the brilliance of theatre and a piece simply called Thursday.
It was a "normal" Thursday morning in July, a typical London summer with light rain. There was nothing remarkable about that morning ... except, and what a breath taking word "except" has become. One could go slowly insane in the replaying of every moment, every action or non-action that led to me being in that carriage on that morning at that time.
For every day that has passed I have searched for and aimed to create my "new" normal – equally the days that are filled with the banal and the unremarkable are some of the most celebrated days I have had.
"It" happened on a Thursday, it could have been a Wednesday or a Friday – it could have been someone else standing in my place, but it wasn't.
I have been grateful and appreciative to have my life every day.
