SjayWanders

Peace Is My Language

Today, I went on a walk and stripped down a thought that’s been sitting heavy on my chest for the past couple of weeks.

The India–Pakistan war.

I’m not a political person. Or maybe I used to be. Maybe I had preferences, biases, inherited opinions. But the more I learned, the more I unlearned. And now? I’m just… human.

What I can’t un-feel is the grief.

I think of the women—those who were left behind when their loved ones were executed for failing to be born differently. I visited the valley once, long ago. And now when I see the news, I don’t see borders or sides—I see my father’s face.

What if it was him?

They spared the women, yes. But to live this? Over and over again? I don’t know if that’s mercy or cruelty. I honestly don’t know what to do with that kind of pain.

The Day Rage Became Reflection

I walked into my workplace the next day and saw someone—kind, warm, ordinary—who shared the same faith as “the enemy.”

And for a split second, my mind… flinched.

It scared me.

I felt rage, like I wanted India to retaliate. I wanted something brutal. I wanted justice.

But rage is a flame—it burns fast and consumes everything in its way. And when it cooled, when breath returned to my body, something else entered the room: sense.

What is this?
Killing in the name of religion?
Whose idea was that?
Is that God?

Tenants, Not Owners

God—whatever or whoever you believe in—did not put us on this earth to draw lines and plant flags and bleed borders.

We are not owners of this land. We are renters.
Temporary tenants, just passing through.

We’re not here to conquer.
We’re here to feel.
To witness.
To live.
To love.
To grieve.

I’m Just One Person

I know I’m just one citizen.
I know wars and governments and geopolitics stretch far beyond my understanding.
But this I know:

Peace is my language.

I speak grief. I speak humanity. I speak questions that don’t have answers.

And the divine?
The divine is far bigger than any of us can comprehend.

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