I been having some weird thoughts lately. about space and time. Where and when you are define who you are. You don’t believe me? It’s cool, I like to deny it too, but I am here in a quiet suburb, using technology, with food in the fridge, a car I drive, a degree I went into debt for, but my life, this material life, contained in this space is a thousand times better than those who are running away from the war in East of Congo.
I can easily imagine their fear, their loss, their hunger, thirst, confusion and strong belief that God and the entire world has forsaken them because I used to be one of them. 12 years ago, and yet it feels like yesterday.
Time: there’s a 10 hours difference between where I live and Congo, everything I do is 10 hours late to them. It takes 3 days to get there and a couple of grands.
BUT as much as I want to say that I share their pain and suffering, I know I can’t. Even if I was to go there, I wouldn’t be any different than these NGO workers, who bring a drop to an empty bucket and return to their comfy homes after awhile to tell their brave tales in the midst of misery.
I know I have changed. This space and time in America have changed me. It’s not just material comfort, it’s also the fact that I can talk about 5 to 10 years plan. I love it. I hate it.
I have come to the realization that yes all I want is to bring a drop in the bucket. I don’t care if that drop is enough or all that’s needed, but I believe that one drop is all it takes sometimes. I know myself to be cursed with idealism, so I cure myself with news from around the world and despite whatever is going on, one life saved is worth a 3 day trip and a couple of grands.