What to think when you’re thinking about Brussels

When you’re thinking about the Brussels bombers (the Lahore bombers, the Ankara bombers, the Paris and London bombers. All the bombers), just remember: that’s all they’ve got. That’s all they are.

They’re dumb weapons. At best, coordinators of dumb weapons. Sad kids and the groomers of sad kids. That’s it.

And the rest of us — I mean everyone, all the non-weapons — we’re almost infinitely more than that.

We’re complicated, curious, friendly, messy, imaginative, helpful, vain. Inventive, different, honest and provocative. Funny, outgoing, introverted, grand, naive, lively, wise. We’re grown-up, childish, musical, a-bit-the-worse-for-wear, mixed-up, lost, found, supportive, creative, genuine, eccentric, shocking, sensitive, measured, sober, generous and surprising.

We’re making, building, improving, inventing, transforming and recycling. We’re in bloody space, at the South Pole, under the ocean, out for a walk, in the office, up a tree, down the pub. Big-hearted, authentic, never knowingly undersold, glamorous, grounded, intelligent, freaky, steady, flakey, cheeky, assertive, out-there, loving and cautiously optimistic. We’re courageous, nervous, tentative, anxious, happy and sad.

We’re basically fucking amazing.

Not the weapons, though. They’re just weapons.

I’m a trustee at the amazing Poppy Academy Trust, a social media editor in radio, a poet and a volunteer at Watford Refugees.

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