There have been such big clouds of negativity swarming over us lately due to the world’s blatant mess, with people talking about it, people writing about it, people singing about it and now nobody can forget about it, or so we’d like to think. We shouldn’t forget it. We probably shouldn’t even consider it, a terrible sense of shame would haunt us; for why would we get the right to outlive tragedy when tragedy had forbidden unfortunate others from doing so? The eternal internal conflict: realize you’re lucky to be alive, but don’t live just yet, it’s rude.
No. This is what they want. This is the havoc they aim to create. They kill, you cry, you move on…and they slowly but surely win. We are human, we are built to deal with the worst, live through death and our miserable condition of powerless ghosts roaming a rotting planet; but to be human isn’t to stand idly as corpses amass in forgotten corners of our minds. To live is to fight; we live on, because they can’t.
As I am writing this sentence, hundreds are dying; a few hungry children have just run out of food, an unemployed man has been shot for not paying the rent, a family have drowned after their car has been thrown off a bridge by a drunken truck driver, a refugee has been manhandled for having a daesh-looking beard whatever that is… The world is dying and I’m in front of my screen, comfortable and safe, watching it all crumble to pieces, helpless. Or am I? Are we all really bystanders with no power? Can’t we banish greed so as to feed, warm and heal the less fortunate only “less” because we claimed more? Can’t we lend a hand or give a hug to the drunk drowning his sorrows away? Can’t we promote brotherhood and help eliminate prejudice and mad misconstrued stereotypes? Can’t we really do anything, or is it just a comforting lie we repeat to ourselves in order not to shake our stale routine of pale luxuries?
As a kid, my parents often found me crying in my room, sometimes calmly, others hysterically. Wondering why, they’d always get the same answer: people are dying everywhere and there’s nothing I can do to help it. I was terrified of life’s most basic truth, and no monster hiding under the bed could top the horrible feeling this provoked: my fiend was one that had no face, one I could not fight.
Today, I don’t feel much different, but with each passing day I become more aware that we all expire at our own pace, from reasons often with no face, sometimes even from demons once angels fallen from grace. However, now I know we are all actors in this farce of a life, we all have a part we can choose to play out or ignore. Our planet is wounded, in more ways than one, and in a twisted manner of thinking, I hope its wounds will some day soon be the trigger that wakes us all from this numbed state of being. This planet is in dire need of love, but everyone’s too busy pointing fingers and spreading hate. If we all stood together, the bastards wouldn’t so easily blast us apart, no matter how many pieces they made of our bodies. Someday, we will all wake, and the bombs will bring us together.