A blackened ear, ripped from someone's head. A toe, gruesomely not attached to someone's feet. Intestines, loosely lying in a gory heap, with its unfortunate owner nowhere in sight. A charred hand. A piece of hairy scalp. By and by, rolling in the debris of disaster. Pieces of meat, marinated for the dining pleasure of Death. I can involuntarily imagine the images my Balinese trainee described to me. Images of the Bali bombings. I was to train him a few days ago (oh yeah, I'm working with Fullerton now) and I asked him was he around when the bombing occurred. Well, not only was he around, he was one of the many volunteers, trying to make sense of the senseless by cleaning up the bombed areas, collecting and carrying dead bodies and sweeping dirst, dust, splinters, broken glass and ,oh yes, body parts. Did he get his hands messy with blood, I asked. Hardly, I was told. The victims' blood was fried, the bodies were burnt black and the stench of burnt flesh was nauseating. People were gathered and scattered all over, Caucasians, Asians and Balinese alike, crying. The local media appealed for volunteers for not many can stomach the emotional trauma that their tasks inflicted thus the turnover was high. After awhile, many just stood to one side, crying.....my trainee was one of the stronger ones. He helped to clear the bodies and lined them up with his gloved hands and a strong resolve. If I had to go through such an ordeal, I would forget the me that I am and shall be forever haunted by the visuals and physicals I encountered. I stood there, awe-struck as I listened to his gory recollections. For all that he has experienced, the rape of his homeland, the things he had to see and the aftermath which he and his fellow Balinese had to shoulder, he has moved on. I look at him and he has a cheery disposition with a positive attitude of life, looking forward to complete his diploma once his stint in Fullerton ends. And I admired him. For I gripe and groan over the littlest things that peeve me or pain me and people elsewhere, somewhere, have gone through much, much worse and they still think there is going to be a sunrise soon. And both of us, were standing in the same place, two days ago, him with more optimism than me. He encouraged me to visit Bali. He told me not to be afraid. He wants everyone not to be afraid. The peacefulness of Bali never went away, he said. And he wants to tell this to the world. And he smiled. And I just stood there, swathed in shame of my inappreciation of my life and wrapped in wonder of his appreciation of his.