Not Much

Influenced by an overwhelming tide of nostalgia, I decided to delve into the archives of the past. Today is the anniversary of the night when our house had been burgled. Seriously.

Ever since that night when my parents, my brother, my sister and I came home to a closed, yet unlocked door, I have persistently asked myself this one question: What's to stop a complete stranger from breaking into your house and robbing not only your personal belongings, but also the security that you have in your home? Your house alarm? Their innate, yet suppressed morality and conscience? I highly think not.

Not much protects us from crime.

Our neighbours, the people to whom I occasionally give a polite, yet indifferent nod when I meet them on my way to the bus top, were also targeted by the thief. Or thieves, who knows. 

Ironically, in a way only fate can create, this burglary turned out to eventually over-compensate us for those that we had lost. Not only have my family made new close acquaintances, but I also have been re-compensated by the insurance company for the laptop that was unceremoniously taken from me.