在斯里蘭卡發生恐怖攻擊的這天，我在塞拉耶佛安頓下來了。
小公寓位在老城區旁邊的山丘上，無論工作還是購物，下山、上山、上山、下山成了生活日常。進城的路上是一片白色墓碑，嵌在半山腰，很美，也很悲傷。至於那些浮在白色的紀念牆上的死難者名字，即使在陽光照射下，也毫無溫度。南斯拉夫內戰最末期，超過8000名穆斯林男子一夕被殺害，至於那些在戰爭期間死的人們，無論幾面紀念牆都不夠填寫。人們說在這裡，戰爭還沒結束，只是暫停罷了。但生活在同一個國家的波士尼亞人，無論宗教和種族，左鄰右舍，真能再拿起武器相互屠殺嗎？
說不可能好像太天真了，這裡和外面的世界一樣，人類在對彼此的暴行上，從來沒有極限。
I lived in a small hillside community bordering the old town of Sarajevo. Every day, I walked past a cemetery where thousands of Bosnians who died in the Yugoslav War are buried. Vertical tombstones shrouded half the hillside in white, reminding people of the genocide that took place here. There were others in elsewhere in the world, and there will be another genocide, another terrorist attack, another hate killing; then another grave, another cemetery, and another monument, with or without the names of those who died. How could a passerby not pause and wonder why humans never stop killing each other?
