The mystery of life…

(This short piece, I wrote in my diary on October 29)

On September 29, I went back to the university after three years. It was once again beginning of my student life. The university campus is well known to me as I have already studied here. But after three years, everything seemed to be new to me. I looked for some familiar faces. But alas! All I could recognize was the receptionist of our university. I went to the auditorium for the orientation program. I sat there quietly. The hour-long program seemed to be never ending. At the end of the program, we were taken to our respective class room.  I went to the class room silently and occupied a place in the middle of the class room. Then came a boy and sat next to me. We exchanged a few words. The professor came and gave an introduction on the course.  When the bell rang, I said goodbye to the boy who sat next to me and came back to my residence quietly.

Today is October 29. Exactly one month passed that we began our classes. We had a daylong seminar in the department. At the end of the seminar, we decided to spend some relaxed time together. Oh, I forget to mention that by now we became friends. We know each other's names and little bit of background. We went to the three fountains (in Rome) and had ice-cream. We had a lot of fun together. But today we could not leave quietly. We said good bye to each other.

As I was walking back to my residence, many thoughts were coming to my mind. Just a month ago, we were unknown to each other. Now we became part of each other’s life. What a mystery of life! Life is such short. It is better to enjoy every single moment. It is better to get involved in other's life and get enriched our life. After all life is a celebration. It depends on each one of us of how we take part in this celebration…

A few words while traveling...

I pen this text as I travel by train in Italy. There are lot of people around me and of course most of them are Italians. Italian people are very friendly and they get into conversation easily. They like to speak to foreigners who speak Italian. Of course they keep on saying, 'you speak very good Italian' and once you speak good Italian they do not say anything. In the past, While traveling in Italy I came to know many people. But today I do not feel like getting into any conversation with anyone. Don't ask me why!
Just before getting into the train, I was having a chat with an Italian friend. In the course of our conversation, she told me that she was scared of Bangladesh. But realising that she was talking to a Bangladeshi, she corrected herself and said, oh I was just making a fun. I know my friend was not making a fun and she was serious. She has obvious reason to do so. Recently We have killed nine Italians and some other foreigners in a cafe in Gulshan, Dhaka.
As I proceed in writing, I feel sad, angry with myself. I am angry because we killed those people who came to help us. I am sad because we could protect them in our country. They taught us what it is to be human.
I don't blame anyone. I do not want to make any judgment. I wish and pray that these 'spoilt son' of our nation could think for a minute the contribution of the forgniers in building our nation.
I have nothing to say. In silence, at the most I can murmur that we are sorry!