I can understand people who marched in a silent march in Rotterdam today. I can understand that you want to sign the condolence register. I can even imagine going to his house to see the crowd waiting and putting down flowers, letters, pictures and posters, though I have to stretch my imagination. But no, I can't imagine crying.
Don't think I'm hard. I'm no toughie at all. I cried when Gerda told me it was over. I cried when I left and had to leave her and little Laura behind. I nearly cried when we won the championship a week ago. I saw plenty of grown men cry that day and didn't think it was weird at all. I even had tears in my eyes at the end of 'Cool runnings', a movie I saw for the second time. The moment these Jamaican bobsleighers pick up their sleigh, as they want to finish regardless, touched me big time. However, no tears for a murdered politician I never liked. I'm shocked. Stunned. Speechless. Clueless. Amazed. Wounded. I feel my country is going a wrong direction. I feel democracy has taken a big blow. Freedom of speech is being murdered. Which is bad enough to cry, come to think of it.