Even though these were five different individuals, we couldn't help but see them as one. Their silhouette looked like heads stuck on a fluffy cloud. (Again, very observant.)
It's easy for us to imagine the Garissa University victims like that. A bunch of obscure faces and names we never knew. Cut-out heads glued on a fluffy cloud with #147notjustanumber scribbled on it and we can stick some bottle cap wheels on its sides and push it off the sky.
But my dear, they were so much more than that.
They were living breathing human beings.
They were sentient and conscious.
They had fingers and toes.
They ate their breakfast in the morning and dinner at night. Like you & I.
They had a mother who sent them care packages of fruits, vegetables and Indomie noodles.
A father who called every so often to make sure they were alright in that stern-but-loving way that fathers do.
A boy probably liked someone, he was summoning up the guts to ask her out on a date because he just had to spend time with her.
He enjoyed her company.
He enjoyed watching her blush, the corners of her mouth slightly turned up, every time his arm brushed against hers.
She would have said yes, if he'd have asked.
Maybe a girl had just aced her CAT.
She had studied very hard for it and it counted for a significant part of her grade.
She was gonna go out with her friends that night to celebrate.
She was going to wear that gorgeous LBD her aunt got her from Woolworths a few months ago.
Red lipstick.
All it takes is a small twist of fate and any one of these 147 girls and boys could have easily been your brother; tousling your hair and yelling at the TV screen whenever Chelsea scored a goal.
Your sister; taking too long to get dressed when you're already 20 minutes late and making you soup when you're ill.
His primary school desk mate.
Her childhood crush.
So no, 147 is not just a number. It's 147 daydreamers.
147 desires.
147 fears.
147 hopes and dreams and ambitions.
147 laughter.
...147 beautiful hearts,
minds,
and souls.
Dead. Gone.
