Close to home
My sister called last evening, from Australia, to make sure everyone was okay. The Australian news had apparently reported casualties in Singapore. I'd heard about an earthquake in Indonesia on the news earlier in the afternoon, but I'd also been scrambling to get things together for yesterday night's steamboat; it never occurred to me that whilst I was taking a shower, getting ready for church, the fourth biggest quake of the century was also taking place.
The death toll has passed 16,000 as we speak, and the thing about death tolls is that the only way they can go is up. I had to blink my eyes a couple of time, looking at the numbers. And for a while, no tears even came, as my mind rushed to fathom what that meant.
The disasters are striking closer to home, and the heart hurts more, for these we call our neighbours. I cannot quite imagine how and why we were spared, I can only be thankful that I can write these words and cry these tears. We could have no complaints even if we were hit, you know? After all, what is it that sets apart the person who is mourning for the loss of his whole family, and the person who is snug in bed after a seafood feast the night before? Virtue of location of birth?
In the midst of being both grieved and thankful, my heart also feels an almost-guilt -- that whilst so many are burying their loved ones, mine are still just a touch away, a phone call away; that whilst so many are helpless and homeless, my only worry on hand is to plan for next semester's modules.
I'm not entitled to all these luxuries that I take for granted, and somehow, they have not been taken away from me. And perhaps what I feel most guilty for, is that it took the lives of so many to remind me of how rich I am.
The death toll has passed 16,000 as we speak, and the thing about death tolls is that the only way they can go is up. I had to blink my eyes a couple of time, looking at the numbers. And for a while, no tears even came, as my mind rushed to fathom what that meant.
The disasters are striking closer to home, and the heart hurts more, for these we call our neighbours. I cannot quite imagine how and why we were spared, I can only be thankful that I can write these words and cry these tears. We could have no complaints even if we were hit, you know? After all, what is it that sets apart the person who is mourning for the loss of his whole family, and the person who is snug in bed after a seafood feast the night before? Virtue of location of birth?
In the midst of being both grieved and thankful, my heart also feels an almost-guilt -- that whilst so many are burying their loved ones, mine are still just a touch away, a phone call away; that whilst so many are helpless and homeless, my only worry on hand is to plan for next semester's modules.
I'm not entitled to all these luxuries that I take for granted, and somehow, they have not been taken away from me. And perhaps what I feel most guilty for, is that it took the lives of so many to remind me of how rich I am.
posted by Laughingcow at 5:56 pm
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