That moment slowed right down. A split second, a handful at most, stretched out endlessly, repeated and analysed over and over and over again.
An everyday tourist trip, a non-event excursion, nothing to give a second thought to; the end of a day trip, a Buddhist temple, a boat trip, picnic lunch included. Nothing to it. But it’s become so huge, so significant. The every-day turned into the never-day.
Hours and hours and hours spent thinking, imagining, rethinking, reimagining, trying to piece together the confusion, the conflicting rumours, the speculation, the unknown.
The collective energy that’s been sunk into those few, precise, decisive, earth shattering, life taking, life changing, moments on Friday 26 February 2016.
The mental efforts from everyone who loved and adored them, straining despairingly towards them and to those few moments in time. Trying to understand what happened, trying to prevent it happening by aimlessly circling back in time. Willing to be there instead of them.
Two precious bright lights. Three bright lights, all gone out.
And 6 months after (Week 24) we still know nothing about the moment and the seconds that led to their deaths. Vietnam, now more than ever, seems a million miles away, cast adrift.