click. click. drone.




"I’m mad as hell, and I won’t take it anymore!"

Newscasters, journalists, and radio announcers; I am completely anesthetized to their monotonous tone that nothing is tragic to me any longer. 

This is no fucking Hindenburg disaster. There is no reason to be alarmed.  These unfortunate situations are just prompt announcements. Lets switch from subject to matter; murder to rape, kidnappings to suicide without taking a moment to think about what just happened.  Because the truth is, all these things are temporary.  It’s not really happening; to us who are not affected at least.

Tragedy is being given the finger while you’re stuck in traffic.  The catastrophe is waiting in a single-file-line and having the barista hand you an iced soy-latte instead of your regular blended-latte.  Disaster is that parking ticket you refuse to pay with your disposable income.

The tragedy is that watching the news, reading about it on the Internet, and listening to the radio killed the slightest bit of emotion for me.  I am completely numb to whatever tragedy does not relate to me. I hear way too much of it driving to and from work.  There is no longer any substance here.

Believe me, this is going somewhere.

My older sister, Linda just returned from her trip to Cambodia.  She was there coordinating for a plastic surgery clinic.

They were there for the sole purpose of mending what they could for children born with cleft palates, an extra finger; anything we consider abnormal. 

She messaged me throughout her trip and I would read everything briefly.  Yes, these things made me feel uncomfortable; but it wasn’t anything I considered tragic. 

Linda wrote about a three-year-old boy.  I read it briefly, planted it into my brain, and moved on.  Wasn’t something I considered alarming.  

These things happen.

It wasn’t until last night that she showed me all the photographs.  This little boy she wrote about was this shirtless, quiet, obedient being name Ly Math. His right profile is stretched over his shoulder and immovable. His eye socket exposed, his mouth wide open, no facial expression can cue you into how he’s feeling.

She writes about how began to cry silently as heavy drops of tears pour out of his open socket and down his cheeks and to his chest.  And yet there were no signs of pain or fear from his facial expression. 

He quietly asks if he was going to die.

This was a three-year-old.

I’m 22 and I have nothing to say for myself.  My main concern on a day-to-day basis is “what hat should I wear”, “does this color compliment my skin tone”, and “does this skirt define me?”. 

I have nothing to fight for.

22 years and I’ve become my social security number.  My life story can be told through the contents of my wallet. 

And somewhere out there is a three-year-old who’s living day-to-day wondering if he’ll see the next.

Here lies the tragedy.

He gets a fever of 100+ on the day of surgery therefore, nothing can be done to help his situation. 

I wish I could say I love God, but these things come to surface.


Anonymous said...

this is the best post from you yet. well done.

Anonymous said...

beautiful post. thanks for giving me a wake up call too.

Anonymous said...

i was in tears reading this, all the injustice in the world, all the hurt and pain. ugh.

Aimless Dreamer said...

I have thought of this three times in my life. It makes me question a lot of things. The tears running down his chest is the saddest thing.

△▾christine▴▽ said...

This was a very touching post. It's almost as though we live in a bubble, immune to real pain and tragedy, the real kind you are referring to. Beside the story of that unfortunate boy, the part that got to me is when you said you fight for nothing, that you're just a social security number.

Ronnie Barrows said...

Absolutely share your sentiment on the subject of desensitization. I wish there was a solution, because even as the concern and awareness hits and brings it into reality, it's only a matter of time before we slip back into our own self-obsessions.

meesheo said...

i miss posts like these.

siarawho said...

Bravo to you thinking about bringing up things people usually don't like to talk about. My heart breaks for this boy, and everyone else who suffers like him.

Carmela said...

I just happened upon this blog and I am glad that, through whatever random series of events, I got here. This was lovely and heartbreaking, all at the same time, and wonderfully told by you. I don't have a blog myself, and I never really post comments on blogs, but this one really touched me and I couldn't pass it without some kind of acknowledgment. You've written this with heart. For what it's worth, I'll have you know that you've found yourself another silent follower.

Anonymous said...

I'm curious about your ending. So sad, so sad.

We pity the little boy and cry tradegy, lost hope. But does this little boy not need love more? To be celebrated and enjoyed. Every person needs this. And then for those blssed with means to sacrifice of themselves, like your sister.

But we will only pity in this horrid world God made.

Here lies the tragedy.