10 years and the butterfly still flies
10 years ago, I wrote this https://medium.com/@pixxelboy/how-i-missed-my-rendez-vous-with-death-and-terror-36b506414c94
In a nutshell, I describe in a very brutal and unpolished way how lucky I’ve been to have missed my solo gig night to the Bataclan.
This morning, I wrote the first version of this post, and deleted it. Lost it. I even told a friend “nah, I won’t write it again, it was coming out of the blue, and I don’t feel like trying to mimic the first version again”. But I couldn’t NOT say something after all.
Every year since that post, I cannot stop asking myself extremely stupid and selfish questions: would I have been able to make a difference ? Out of the tens of victims, could I have helped ? Would I have died on the floor of the venue ? …
So many questions.
But only one has found an answer: I’m lucky that the butterfly effect hit me hard that day. Weeks earlier, I did not plan to move. Days earlier, I did not plan to move alone, from the 3rd floor to the first. Hours earlier, I did not plan to take a bath to rest before going to the gig. Minutes earlier, I did not plan to zone out and miss the concert.
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I cannot stop thinking about this awful night. I kept my ticket. I didn’t frame it, it’s not a trophy of any kind. It’s been covered by dust, coffee stains, nicotine, and all these questions I will never get an answer.
Yet today, thanks to this butterfly, I’ve been able to see my two kids grow. One is now 16, and he has taken so much from me. He’s smart, quirky, a little bit on the spectrum, passionate yet lazy. The second, 12, has taken so much from his mother. Funny, social, smiling, energetic, chirpy. Both, are beautiful little boys that I am thankful I’ve been there for.
I wish, some day, I feel like I’m worth the chance I’ve been given that night, unlike the 92 victims of this hateful attack. Today, I feel grateful I’m here, but quite unworthy. I wish I was closer to my family, my brother and step-sister, my nieces, most specifically. My two sons, obviously. Who I’ve tried really hard to connect with, to create memories. I’ve never really understood a lot about human relations, and I don’t think I’ll ever, but I really wish I could be someone they’ll remember in a loving way. This isn’t the case. Sadly.
I’m really sorry I don’t feel like I’ve squeezed the shit out of the opportunity to live I was given that night. I swear, I’m trying my best. Even if sometimes, my best is reallllllyyyy low and bad.
I hope one day I can look into another direction when November 13th comes. Maybe you did. I hope you’re looking somewhere where you can make a difference.
Fluctuat Nec Mergitur, they say.
Ps: as for the last post, I did not prepare this, I will not proof-read it. I like things to come out as they come, raw, with mistakes and most importantly with as much heart and soul. Please bare with me if there are typos, or if my english does’nt come across so good.
Pps: I’m still, 10 years later, living in that flat I moved in that day. I wish I could move out now, but I haven’t seen a rent raise in 10 years. So, nevermind…
