One day, I heard that somewhere, far away from here, people were imprisoned, then raped, tortured and dragged around on leashes like animals without any justification. The pictures I saw showed me an evil I had never imagined before. I felt pain and anger, but I knew I could change nothing, so I told the pain to go away, and told the anger to shut up. I told the sense of injustice I felt to be quiet, because that was somewhere else, far away from here- it was what we leave behind before coming here.

The next day, I heard that a group of kids, somewhere far away from here, were stopped at a checkpoint on their way to school. Well-trained soldiers could only communicate with these kids by pointing guns at them, so the kids had to sit on the sidewalk and have their class right there. It made me want to cry, but I told the tears to go back.

On another day, I saw photos of a family who lived far away from here. They were sitting n a beach, enjoying an outing, when suddenly they were attacked, their bodies were torn to pieces, their heads were cut from their bodies…all except one little girl, who cried endlessly, because she was holding in her arms her baby twin brothers, whose lives had been stolen even before they had properly begun. I jumped up, I turned away from the screen, I closed my eyes, I shook my head, I wanted some way out…but I sat down again, because there was nothing I could do.

On yet another day, I saw that somewhere, far away, little children had no food to eat and no clean water to drink. They were sick- dying- their bellies inflated as if to point out some sick irony in their plight. They came from a place whose earth was rich, but even their piece of earth had been raped, and only they had been left on it to rot. But this time, there were no tears, no anger and no pain. I didn’t want to drown in my own helplessness. I didn’t want to choke on my own weakness, this time, I didn’t want to leave any room in my heart for the suffering someone else was going through.

This time, I changed the channel before the pictures had their effect on me, this time, I ignore that newspaper article, this time, I switched on my Playstation, this time I turned up my music, this time, I give in to the pleasurable distractions designed to make me forget, so that those dying kids would rot even out of my memory. This time I followed the mirage that pulled me from reality and took me to a hollow daydream. This time, I closed my eyes to the world around me, unaware that soon cruelty would knock on my door and take me from the daydream and into my worst nightmare. This time, I killed my conscience, and became a zombie- walking and talking, but rotting with the stench of death…………………………………………………………………………
Then the world shook again.

I was shocked back into life. Why did I not care that my equal in humanity was being slaughtered, simply because it was out of my sight? Why did I care more for how many dollars I saved that week than for how many children died in some corner of the Earth? How could I see people consumed and pillaged by fire, but myself take a tentative step back, afraid that even a small spark of that fire may land at my feet? Why did I so much love to be deceived, why did I love so much to stay in my cocoon and fear whatever came from outside of it? Why could I not sift through the lies to see the truth? Why was I so weak, why was I a prisoner of golden chains?
If I stand alone I will change nothing.
If we all stand together, we can change anything.
Yet, everyone cannot stand together, unless I myself stand up- the frustrating paradox did have a solution.
My tears can change the world, my pain can move the blind hearts that strangle this planet, my love and compassion can overcome the greed and hatred that divide the world into oppressor and oppressed.
My freedom must come from within, but soar to the world without, and carry with it those around me and those who will come after me. My voice must be heard and my burning desire for justice must not be put out. The volume of tragedy must not bury me in a heap of despair, the blatancy of the oppression must not make me doubt the truth, the off-hand reporting of death counts must not dull my sensitivity. My conscience must not die, for then…the world will die.