but what about those cannot afford happiness. those whose beds are stone benches and who have nothing to carry in their hands. i see them everywhere. mud caked clothes and grey feet. sleeping in the corner of the bustling street. singing and shaking cups and sitting at the same spot every day, their very existence an imploration to the eyeless people who pass them without a single glance.
only a few streets away, marching bands play. semana santa. a national celebration. but what is music and religion for those who have nothing. one i meet has a guitar and a sad looking dog and startlingly silver eyes. another hunches in a shadow as laughter and babble of talk ring out in the night surrounding him. beggars limp past restaurants with the rich aroma of food wafting across the street; two worlds rubbing against each other in a tight cobble path — one of sweet wines, chocolate soups, and pork dishes, one in which people drift from place to place, across seas, money and well being taken for granted; where everything is lit by candle and flourescent ceiling lights, and designer bags swing from manicured hands and content is worn like an every-day makeup.
then is another world that most of us have not stepped into, one where hope leaks into the drain and voices disappear in the air; umbrellas with holes and bottles of stale water; one of a crumbled future and broken guitar strings and coins that tumble loosely into a trembling cup. what can be done. why is there an invisible wall — why do we ignore it, why do we not break it down, is it because we don't want to bleed our knuckles; for what reason do we reserve our kindness, our generousity? refusing to help a swiss woman with a little girl getting their car unstuck, declining the suggestion of donating to cancer patients, looking away from the old man in rags with a leg in a tourniquet, asking for the money you would be spending on a bag of chips later on.
we all enter this world the same way but how differently we live our lives. what i am asking is, how can you not care. how can you walk by without an acute feeling of guilt and loathing for the cruel ways of the world, and how you are a part of it in a way. to you it may not matter. the lives of the deprived may not impact your own. but does it hurt to hand away a bit of money, a small segment of the love i know everyone carries inside them. open your eyes. make a difference. for what reason do you not help those who are in need and ask for it. it doesn't matter it's not your business you don't care but you can change someone's life. but you just don't care. but there are too many malnourished souls in this world. but i guess we are too busy living our own life and chasing materialistic goals that we do not have time to stop, and give a helping hand to those who struggle. all i am saying is that not everyone can find happiness. not when they are not equipped with the essentials.
please, let's always try to help each other whenever we can; even something small makes a difference. care enough to be more than a marbled statue, and unlatch your lips from each other . . . let's try to look around us without a veiled vision, and recognise not just the beauty in a city, the grandness and the art, but the ugliness hiding in the corners too — and do something to improve it, be someone who gives. be conscious. that is all i am suggesting.
