Maybe I'm dumb. Maybe I'm naive. But even after over a hundred people were killed - people who live in the culture I grew up in, people who speak the same language I grew up speaking before I even learned English - I can't find it in me to hate their murderers. I hate that people were killed, I hate that people have taken religion and twisted it so badly that it includes violence. But I really can't find it in me to hate the person that did it.

Because when i think of whoever that person is, I think of the moments they had with their friends, laughing the way I do at school. I think of the nights they stayed up late studying to achieve in school. I think of the person they once smiled at that made their day, the charity they once gave, their sense of humor, their talents, their parents, their friends. Whoever they are, they're someone's son or daughter, sister or brother, grandson or granddaughter, husband or wife, or friend.

And I feel guilty for not hating those people, because I hate their actions, I really really do. But I can't hate them. They're a person. So am I. And I believe more than anything that there are no bad people, just bad circumstances. How do we know what torture they went through? How do we know who encouraged them and told them this was the most selfless thing to do? How many times have we thought we were acting right but weren't?

So maybe I'm wrong and naive, but what I feel now, when the country that really influenced my life is hurting, is disappointment. Like I can't believe someone could voluntarily hurt so many people, and how I know that there is so much good in whoever did this. I'm disappointed and I'm sad, but I'll never be angry, and God forbid, I'll never be able to say I hate that person.