Will I cry when I hear news of Nelson Mandela’s passing? It’s something I’ve wondered often these past few weeks.
Continents away from my homeland, I sense the welling of collective grief; the sadness of a nation almost in mourning; a people teetering on the brink of sorrow.
8932 kilometres from the country of my birth, I feel it too: that prickly emotion, that strange anguish of impending loss.
In a quiet corner of Bangkok’s backpacker ghetto, I am humbled by gratitude for the life of freedom that I now live. For borders that have been opened; for the fences that have been broken. For the world that is now at my feet.
Ngiyabonga, Tata. May you roam forever free.