There Exists Inspiration in All Things

The burning asphalt bubbled up under the weight of a blistering sun. This slab of concrete, with cracks and potholes that reminded me of the moon, separated worlds as different as East and West Berlin before the wall fell, but this time, a couple of steps were all that was needed to take me from one world to the other. On one side, an oasis, a tropical paradise, brimming with wealth, comfort, and luxury. On the other side, a painful reality, an orphanage and foster home for girls. I was fully immersed in painful reality, and yet, my glances across the asphalt were not of anger or longing, but of confusion as to how these worlds could coincide.
My shoes touched the edge of the road as I peered across at the walking bikinis and pearly white smiles that crinkled upwards with no regard for this reality or me.
In these moments, I was part of this orphanage, just another person on the other side of the road, not a concern for someone in paradise.
This small island, alone in a vast ocean, struggling to stay afloat, somehow supported multiple lives, multiple worlds, and no one but me seemed very concerned about it.
I turned, went up the front steps into the orphanage and was met by cries of glee from girls of all ages. Beautiful, shining faces looked up at me with anticipation.
Luxury to these girls was nothing more than playing a torn, worn board game, pieces missing, rules long forgotten.
A small hand grasped mine and dragged me forward to a table where a game was already in progress.
A pair of dice was thrust in front of my face, and I was chastised thoroughly for not immediately understanding what was happening in this game of chance.
The cool, smooth plastic of the dice slipped across my palm, through my fingers, and fell with certainty to the board beneath. As they settled firmly into their spot, finding relief in their momentary stability, the girl next to me cried out with glee, winning a game she had made up in her mind, a game I still struggled to understand. I was more than willing to hand this win over to her, this girl with the taught braids that fell to her shoulders, this girl who asked for nothing more than a friendly face to roll some die with her. This was her world, not mine.
How did I end up here?
I have more things in common with the people across the cratered street, and yet I am here, with this girl, seeing through her eyes, hearing her cries of joy, and knowing her pain. I do not know how I ended up here, but I am so very glad that I did.