Funny how things matter most to us if they’re close to home.

Hundreds of Palestinians dead in Gaza. Yes, I’m severely annoyed by that.

The UK’s DRIP legislation is an attack on personal privacy. That sure grinds my gears.

Then 298 people die when MH17 crashes in a Ukrainian field. 193 of them are Dutch. 80 are children, and 100 are AIDS researchers.

And I realise that Kübler-Ross model may not be entirely bollocks after all.

My anger was immediate and animalistic, like a vibrant roar in my skull. Primal instincts demanded blood for blood, and I experienced a ferocious sense of frustration that no one was being punished, no one was being made to hurt because of all this.

The anger has, blissfully, subsided, its utterly self-defeating  bloodlust evaporating. It left a gaping void which is slowly being filled, one photo at a time, by aimless grief.

I knew no one on board MH17. I have no right to experience this loss so profoundly. And yet I do.

Sitting here, 500 miles from Eindhoven, I feel more intensely Dutch than I ever have.

It’ll be a while before I reach the ‘acceptance’ stage. If I ever do.