This side of the screen
On the eve of my daughter’s 4th month birthday, hell broke loose 8,800 kilometers away.
As my household reflected on 118 days of blissful babblings and unbridled joy, 44 million people began the first of an untold number of days of panic and chaos.
Such is the juxtaposition of everyday life. And, these days, both sides are separated by a screen.
As one watches from their couch, the other loses their home.
As two journalists speak, one is in a studio while the other is in a war zone.
As one seeks to destroy democracy, the other is bringing humanity together.
Everywhere you look, the contrast gets clearer and seems nearer. And it’s become more challenging to close one’s eyes, stay affixed to and within one’s shoes, and not imagine what it might be like to be in others’.
It’s become so uncomfortable to go about one’s day without checking in on strangers, so far away and removed from our reality, hoping, praying, and giving so they might live to survive one more day, somehow.
And maybe that uncomfortable feeling is the silver lining in all of it.
Maybe it’s a reminder that we can and should care. Maybe this is how we can tell that what we see on the screen is nothing but a reflection. Maybe this is how we can learn to be there for each other even when hope runs thin.
Maybe this is how humanity wins.
So, while we sit on this side of the screen, let’s remain hopeful for those on the other side.
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