Of bubbles and bombs.
In the Botanical Gardens of Adelaide, we chanced upon some white chairs neatly arranged and a table set just to one side. This was obviously the setting for a wedding.
It was a quieter area, out of the way a bit. Around the corner, there was a large marquee with people and beverages and music. Spritely adolescents sashayed with silver trays of delicious-looking morsels. The sound of conversation and laughter rose and fell. For a few precious moments, you could believe that everywhere and everything was as it should be. The world was a sweet and fragrant place to be.
But the news on the screen that morning had been pessimistic. Russia and Ukraine were still not at peace. People were fleeing everything they had known and everyone they loved, just for the chance to live. ’Reconciliation’ was still an elusive dream.
The two realities seemed to be at odds with each other even as I tried to hold them in loving tension. I was aware of both great love with a fantastic party while on the very same planet, death and destruction stomped all over my hopes and crushed them heartlessly into the rubble.
I thought of that custom now where people blow bubbles instead of throwing paper confetti. Bubbles in Adelaide and bombs in Ukraine. Give any sane person a choice between these two and they will always choose bubbles over bombs. Champagne over muddy drinking water, food over meagre rations. We must always choose relentless love instead of rebellion and revenge.
The oasis in the Botanical Gardens, where two people would say ‘Yes’ to bubbles and No’ to bombs. Where they chose to write selfless blank cheques with their life to each other, instead of choosing to write each other off. There is hope, I thought. We must always choose bubbles, not bombs.