Wound closed

Last Tuesday, I've met my friend Sonia and I've given her the postcard I wrote for her in Frankfurt, on March 11th. March 11th is among the worst days of my life. That day, it was expected to be just a great day at work, it was the first time I was attending a meeting abroad, in Frankfurt am Main, in the European Central Bank. I think distance made the day even harder.

The postcard for Sonia was written on March 10th in the evening, but as I didn't have time, I preferred to wait until the next day to find a post-office. But in the morning I heard something in the news and I couldn't. And in the evening, I tried but I couldn't. I had to come back to the hotel, in front of the TV to know what had happened that morning.

One of the trains involved in the bombings were the train I used to take when I went to university (from 1996 to 2000). I had taken that train for four years and I think I've studied half of my degree there. For me, it was like a bomb at home. I had even thought in the consecuences of an explosion in Atocha station, because it was so crowded that I feared some sick mind could have the same thought as me and put it into practice. Unfortunately, I was right.

That bomb made something I've tried never to do: change my routine. I will never let terrorist decide what I can do. I should have looked for a post office and sent the postcard, but I couldn't. But now, once the postcard is in Sonia's hands, the wound is closed.

But beyond my misfortune is the tragedy of the 191 killed and many more wounded. I never forget them, as well as I never forgive how politicians tend to use their pain for their own purposes. They're heros, victims of the madness of fanatics.

Ah, by the way, last Tuesday I couldn't meet Sonia, something unexpected happened and we had to postpone the date...