Thursday, May 30, 2013

An Ode

On March 22, in Denver, Colorado, two young boys were hit and killed by a passing SUV. I don't like the news, but my girlfriend watches it. She watches it so that she can hear about horrible stories like this. From time to time she tells me about a tragedy that happened, and it makes me sad, but I still try to cut myself off from the reality of it. I am weak, and I choose to ignore these things because I cut myself off from how terrible this world can sometimes be. However, after she told me their story, something about it stuck in my mind. These two boys were born in Myanmar, and lived in refugee camps in Thailand before coming to the US in 2009. I realize that I take a lot for granted. I realize that I can't even conceive of the hardships that people have to face, every day. I think about how life must have been for these two boys, growing up in a refugee camp in Thailand. At some point their mother was able to move to the United States, and although she ended up in a poorer neighborhood, maybe she and her children will have a chance at a better life. Then one day, that all ends. Generally, I can push harsh truths like these out of my mind. I forget about them, as I often do with such things. But whenever I am biking home from school, and I turn right on 14th from Yosemite, I see the little shrine that someone built for those two boys. The shrine that people walk by, often without even knowing what it means. A table. Flowers, which are wilted now. A sign that says "pray for the children." And I am reminded all over again.