Hi. Just bear
with me for a little bit.
I have eczema.
For those of you who don’t, you could perhaps boast to be of greater health
than I. Contrarily, you will never know the sweet, tingling satisfaction that a
few seconds of furious scratching can bring.
Nor shall you
feel the infuriating and incessant aftershock of this quick fix.
I have climbed Mt
Kilimanjaro. For those of you who haven’t, your intestinal tracts have probably
been denied the unique experience of 5000 metre food poisoning. To others who
have stood on the raised fist of Africa, perhaps you have a better perspective
of what kind of ‘mountain’ Martin Luther King foresaw.
And also have a
photograph of a young white man staring down at an entire war-torn,
disease-stricken black population.
I have donated my
time, money and effort to charitable causes. For those of you who won’t, what
right do you have to damn the unlucky and unfortunate by harbouring your
capitalist earnings, further straining the already frayed chords that are
trying to pull humanity together? However, if you have also given yourself to a
benefit greater than your own existence, I commend you for your contemporary
sacrifice.
And wonder if you
made a difference, or saw a receipt for the positive change you helped to implement.
I have had a
relatively comfortable, and at times – ashamedly – lazy, life. For those of you
who have not been afforded or blessed, depending of what grasp of ‘divine
intervention’ you hold, with such circumstances, I lament your conceivably undeserving
situation.
But is that where
my sincerity ceases?
How sorry am I?
Sorry enough to
trade? For if we are endeavouring towards human equality, would that not simply
be seen as breaking even? A life for a life? Neither a profit nor a loss. Just
stagnancy.
I am not
operating under the false pretences that your thoughts have thus far been
misguided spectres within your skull, and these words shall inject celeritous
organisation into their flight. My flaws are obtuse and to assume a position of
superiority on an anonymous majority is arrogance I have not earned.
What I am hoping
is to incept a few more questions into that chaos in your head, adding to your
confusion. Pushing it to the point where you too cannot stand ‘not knowing.’
I am pained. I am
irritated and I am confused. And I don’t know where to start.
If we have a
greater purpose, if our lives are inextricably fated or destined to take a
course, why do we have instinct? Why are we inherently curious? Why are we
continually shocked by the starkness of our species, of the hostility of our
leaders, and the brutality of our environment?
I want to feel
more than I am expected to. I want to know more than I am comfortable knowing.
I want to see change happen on my watch. On our watch. I want the uniqueness of
our identities, personalities, our relationships to become the only difference
between us.
I know that there
may be far more appropriate forums in which to air my frustrations. But we are
the travelers. We are the new-age nomads, moving not where our flock takes us,
neither where the climate forces us. I speak to those of you inspired by
selfless intrigue and ambassadorial motivations. Those who cross borders hoping
to find answers on the other side.
To those who are
looking for something else.
Something more.
Something less.
Something
missing.
Something to
believe.
We are an army of
unrivalled proportions. We doggedly hang on to the belief that we missed
something important. That humanity’s history doesn’t rest in the ground, in the
stars or in turned pages.
History is a
glorious tapestry, slowly weaved by omnipresent fingers, guided by our decisions
and indecisions, our luck – good and bad -, our divinities and mortality. And although
it decays faster than we’d like, rotting at a rate that escapes our
comprehension, we remember what speaks to us.
The marks made by
great men and women. The disasters. The mistakes. The triumphs. The unexpected.
They echo our fears and hopes. We project ourselves from the light that their
memory emanates.
Nobody is content
to live in shadows and that is why we search. For a way through the darkness,
hoping and wishing that our luminous grail does exist.
We can be lead to
believe that change will come naturally. Marx saw it as inevitable. Obama too.
A hopeful chorus echoes far, and fades. Slowly but eventually, engulfed by the
wind.
But what if the
message carries far enough, and that final soft uttering graces the ears of the
right person? Someone brave enough, or hurt enough, to realise the abstract. To
materialise what we have only sung or dreamt of.
I want to be that
person. You want to be that person.
We all do.
And that is how
hope becomes change, and change becomes permanent. Not by offloading our ideals
on someone we nominate as more worthy or capable, but by searching for the way
in which we can marry our cause with our search.
You have been
told to leave only footprints and take only photos. We are not tourists. Nor
are we pedestrians.
So. Do you have
an idea?
