Northern Ireland for the children of the ceasefire is a country of unfulfilled promises. We were supposed to never know the life our parents lived through. Our parents won’t tell us that our friends uncle killed our uncle, or vice versa. We are raised by, educated by and employed by adults living with differing levels of PTSD. No one is unscathed. My poem explores this unique upbringing, filled with silences, family members never spoken of. As an adult now, like many of us, I watch the news from a different country, wear my accent with shame and sorrow. I ask myself why someone so like me has been killed by people so like me? Why is this still happening? Why didn’t we get what we were promised?