TEARS have poured like a relentless torrent, my heart splintered into irreparable fragments, and a profound and relentless sadness engulfs me. Each day becomes an insurmountable struggle as guilt, hopelessness and despair weigh me down, rendering even the simplest of tasks unbearable.
It leaves me with no recourse but to wield the formidable strength of storytelling, illuminating the plight of a forsaken people, abandoned in plain sight as the world watches their deaths in HD and 4K. The world hates me, and I don’t understand why.
I write this letter not just as a 33-year-old unmarried woman, but as a journalist and a human being who has witnessed the consequences of division and oppression. I grew up in a democracy, but what was once an apartheid state where an entire people were oppressed purely because of the colour of their skin. Yet, as I look at the world today, it pains me to see the continued repression and oppression of Muslims across the globe, from China to Palestine, and even in so-called progressive democracies like France.
