Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. Suddenly, they become the bleached bones of a story.

(The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy)

Tell Me What You See

Often, I have to fight the urge to give them everything that I have on my person because I feel guilty for having so much while they have close to none. But as I walk on, amidst fields so impossibly green that everything else is dimmed in my eyes, I realize how close that borders to condescension. Because they’re happy. Some may say that that’s because they don’t know what lies beyond and maybe to a certain extent, that’s true. But it doesn’t change the fact that barefoot in the mud, with nothing but a wide emerald expanse before them, they’re happy, even if just for a while even if it’s in a way that we can’t quite comprehend.

And maybe that’s more than some of us can ever hope to have.

[Edit 17/02/10: I think “even if just for a while” is the wrong phrase to use. Misleading.]

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