800 people trying to leave their horrible lives by boat. If that’s what you can call it. Life. It makes me sad to think of them: mothers, brothers, sons and daughters. Those terrifying last minutes somehow full of hope, because that’s all they had. And now it’s gone.
And damn those people just around my corner having a party because of this and brag about it on social media. I just can’t believe it. I have to stop reading it or even think about it because it makes me furious. Literally sick to my stomach. And Aleve won’t help. The unhumanity of humans is beyond my comprehension.
I’m no saint. I’m not rowing a boat trying to find or help those people. I’m no volunteer of charities ringing doors to raise money. I never traveled to developing countries to offer a helping hand in orphan homes.
What i do is try to be aware of what’s happening in the world. I try to donate money to different kind of charities every month. I try to buy honest products. I try to raise J to be a tolerant and reflective person with this world knowledge on top (or in the back) of my mind.
But above all i try to realize how lucky i am that my parents escaped their not so safe but well-known homes on a small boat risking their lives for a better future. For us. All they had was a name, a humongous bag of traumatic life experience and hope.
I’m no saint. But they are.