If we aren’t working towards peace, what are we working towards then?
If we aren’t fighting for our children, and I mean all of our children, what are we fighting for then?
I feel ashamed because I can’t turn on the TV and watch the news clips of victims being pulled from rubble, mothers screaming as they hold their dead babies. I can’t read all of the Instagram posts that share stories of those who have perished, dreams no more.
Does that make me heartless? That I make the privileged choice not to subject myself to the images of death and destruction? That I make the choice to not expose myself to those scenes? Because if I do it too much, they will become normal to my system. And then I truly will be heartless.
And can I live in a body that finds death and destruction normal?
Do I want to live in a body that finds that normal?
I already live in a world that it is normal. Where the hurt inside has callused hearts so much that they can no longer feel. Where emotions are only elicited through stronger and stronger impetus.
There seems to be a fine line between the heartless and the heartful. One tragedy too many can bring you to the other side. From the outside, they may look similar, and I think it just means we are more similar than we are alike.
