from Invisible: A Memoir
by Hugues de Montalembert
I lost my friends along with my sight.
My girlfriend at that time refused to see me.
Some people can't cope with it - that's all.
But I didn't think much about it at the time.
I was too absorbed in my fight to go back to life to take care of that. It didn't depress me; I was too busy elsewhere.
I had a very good friend who couldn't come to the hospital. He said: I will see you, but after - when you have left the hospital.
People don't like tragedy.
. . . .
The fact that I lost my sight is very spectacular, but there are things that are much more terrible.
The other day I took a taxi.
The driver was a little Cambodian guy, and in a very nice way he said, What happened to you? Is it just that you are sick but your vision will come back, no?
And I said, For the moment, it's permanent.
And he said, Oh I cannot express my emotion toward what happened to you.
I said, That's very kind of you, but you know, it's very nice because of course you can see what happened to me and you can give me your compassion but you know there are so many people much more wounded than me, and you see nothing and they don't receive any compassion.
And the guy was silent for a moment, then he said, Monsieur, I understand very well what you say because my wife and my children were killed in front of me in Cambodia.
In 1978 French painter and photographer Hugues de Montalembert returned to his New York City apartment one night to find burglars at work. One threw paint thinner into his face, blinding him.
Between 1975 and 1979 the Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 1.5 million people, one fifth of the population of Cambodia.
by Hugues de Montalembert
I lost my friends along with my sight.
My girlfriend at that time refused to see me.
Some people can't cope with it - that's all.
But I didn't think much about it at the time.
I was too absorbed in my fight to go back to life to take care of that. It didn't depress me; I was too busy elsewhere.
I had a very good friend who couldn't come to the hospital. He said: I will see you, but after - when you have left the hospital.
People don't like tragedy.
. . . .
The fact that I lost my sight is very spectacular, but there are things that are much more terrible.
The other day I took a taxi.
The driver was a little Cambodian guy, and in a very nice way he said, What happened to you? Is it just that you are sick but your vision will come back, no?
And I said, For the moment, it's permanent.
And he said, Oh I cannot express my emotion toward what happened to you.
I said, That's very kind of you, but you know, it's very nice because of course you can see what happened to me and you can give me your compassion but you know there are so many people much more wounded than me, and you see nothing and they don't receive any compassion.
And the guy was silent for a moment, then he said, Monsieur, I understand very well what you say because my wife and my children were killed in front of me in Cambodia.
In 1978 French painter and photographer Hugues de Montalembert returned to his New York City apartment one night to find burglars at work. One threw paint thinner into his face, blinding him.
Between 1975 and 1979 the Khmer Rouge killed an estimated 1.5 million people, one fifth of the population of Cambodia.
