Somehow, it was inevitable. A troubled soul, who perhaps only found peace in her untimely death. The news of Amy Winehouse's death is not a surprise, but it is still shocking. So young, so talented, so raw, so real, so fragile, so lost. Gone too soon - as often the best of those rare birds are. We'd watched as her buxom, curvacious healthy body became ravaged and skinny; when the heart she wore on her sleeve was broken time and again; when her ballet pumps were smeared with blood and her eye make-up streaked her pale face, all the while no one could help. It was as if her path of self destruction was so great that there was never going to be another way out.
There was something so honest about her. From her caricature beehive and rouged lips, to her sailor tattoos and husky narf london accent, she was truly original. Unpredictable, edgy and straight talking she clearly knew her own mind - she was no one's plastic pop puppet. And what a voice. It soared and took our hearts with it. It took us back to an era of smokey bars, cigarette girls and jazz bands. She felt every word, poured soul into every line. Such potential, now lost. May she rest in peace, finally.
One of the only english speaking channels in our air conditioned room, is SKY news. Having a 7 month old who can't be outside in the searing sun, means we spend a lot of time in our room - in shifts, between catching some rays and dipping in the ocean. For the past 2 days Husband and I have watched the ever repeating news of the tragic events in Norway, unable to comprehend how such evil exists in this world. How a human being can look another in the eye and kill them, stone dead. An innocent, someone who is pleading for their life.
I am haunted by the images in my head conjured up from reading accounts by some of the young people who managed to survive the massacre on Utoya island. It is the stuff of horror films - terror we can only imagine: How one guy played dead by lying ontop of his dead friends as the gunman walked past - so close he could feel the warmth of the gun and hear his breathing. His ability to act so well saved his life I think of the poor kids running for their lives - their hideous dilemmas - do they stop to help the injured or save themselves? Try and swim to freedom or stay and hide, hoping not to be found. One survivor talked of texting her Mother and then her Mum called her back, sobbing. She was hiding, praying to be safe. Imagine being that parent, not knowing if your child had been found and killed or managed to escape? It doesn't bear thinking about. All those wasted lives - cut so cruelly short. Such a small, gentle country, steeped in uncomprehendable grief. All because of one freak and his twisted beliefs. Apparently Oslo is so quiet. The silence one of deep respect to those affected by this tragedy and one of utter confusion at how such an atrocity occured. I can't get my head around it at all. I guess nobody ever will.