Filed under: Writing | Tags: assistance, bovet, bovet primary school, broken, caitlin, dead, death, determination, do something, dr. bob, education, family, friends, God, gowanda high school, grieving, help, impulse, impulsive, kaffir boy, killed, love, mark mathabane, miriam's song, more, read, read in, reading, ready, south africa, spontaneous
I cannot stand it.
I am having an “I just can’t stand it anymore!” moment.
I can’t stand being here while the TV blares sports and my house is solid and warm and I am clean and educated while tiny children who are malnourished and diseased with no family or guidance are dying somewhere with no one to teach them or love them.
I can’t stand that I can’t tell anyone my Read In plan because I’m scared it’s a bad idea.
I can’t stand that after a week and a half of sunning myself in God’s love, I can feel it’s glow start to fade. It’s because I’m not doing anything.
I know, cerebrally, that duh, he’s still there, and still cares. Still loves me, and everyone else. But I can’t feel it, and I can’t stand that.
I also can’t stand that, in addition to malnourished kids, my love-starved cousin is living like a typical American teenager (aka wildly) because she’s under the mistaken impression that everyone understands. That she should live, and not care, because everyone’s chill with it.
I’m not chill with it.
I can’t stand that she does reckless things without a thought for anyone else. Selfishly, I can’t stand that she would put herself in situations where she could die and I’d never see her again. She could destroy her own future. Her own brothers already did a really excellent job of that for themselves. What the hell. What great examples. And her poor mother. And grandma. And Michelle, who looks up to her. Where would they be? Broken, grieving.
Personally, I know it would shatter me to know that if I got myself killed doing something stupid, my family and friends would be hurt because of it. I wouldn’t want to cause them pain, so I wouldn’t do anything dumb. I have trouble even thinking about doing impulsive things: that’s why I’m no fun. I don’t want to jeopardize my future or nudge my family’s expectations for me into a rampant tumble.
Then again, we’re very different people, my cousin and I. She actually lives. I sit at home or work at school and think or write about living. My mind clouds dreamily with that faraway prospect of one day having fun, one day doing something exciting and worthwhile.
That’s why I’m always scared. That’s why I don’t do anything spur-of-the-moment.
That may be why my actions on behalf of the Read In plan are so hesitant, because I’m not used to things– namely, my ideas– being so spontaneously ready to go. It feels like there should be more to it, but inwardly I know there’s not. It’s all there, and ready to be presented to someone (Dr. Bob, possibly/probably) who can give me the proper permission and authority to drive it to completion and fruition.
I just hope that this fear will burn off as determination blazes in. It is not right for me to sit here, with assistance easily a fingertip’s reach away, and not do anything.
I can’t stand that I’m so weak and pathetic. I can’t stand that I’m not taking action.
I can’t stand that I’m letting my own personal faults and fears keep me from giving something to this broken, bruised little world.
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