April 14th, 2008


Leaving is not brave. Nor exciting.

Give the creature his due: His monosyllabic dismissal of what the American citizenry (now) thinks of his and his imperialism-loving buddies’ stinking war succinctly expresses the NeoCon mindset. Like any in-charge bunch, they’re wholly impressed with themselves: they’re the ones with the smarts, they’re the ones with the balls, they’re the forward thinkers before whom we rabble should gratefully prostrate ourselves for being saved from silly ideas like, say, giving peace a chance.

It’s almost too much for me to bear. Sorry, it is too much for me to bear. Thus, my decision in May 2005 to flee and now — finally — after a methodical three-year process, I bid good riddance to living under a fascistic government as surreally soulless as it is innately insane.

Friends say, "You must be excited!"

Not really. Tired is more like it. It’s been a lot of grinding. I assume excited comes later.

Really, though, what I mainly am is sad. Sad I felt compelled to leave my native country after it became painfully clear my opinion (read: "vote") made zero impact on the whole rotten shebang.

"It’s brave what you’re doing," friends also say.

That’s kind, but I don’t feel brave. What I do feel is wildly lucky to be able to leave a country whose actions disgust me.

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