War Zone

  
The world is a war zone, and we’re just people in it. We are creatures of habit. Turn on the news. Look at the faces of the people on the screen. You don’t know them. You don’t know what’s going on in the world. You sigh and look at the body count, shrugging. At least it’s not you. At least this is all happening somewhere else. Yet some moments stop your heart beating for a while. You see something that pertains to you, a statistic that’s different from the rest. You see that your family resides in the part of the world that is getting attacked right at this moment, same city, within a couple miles. You just visited there recently. You put your hand over your mouth, giving a scream that’s as silent as the television. You call to them heart breaking, happy to know that they’re alive. And then your eyes go back to the statistics, thanking God that the number is a number that does not pertain to you today. And then you realize how cruelly indifferent you’ve been. Those numbers have never been numbers at all. They were people. They’ve always been people. 
-Keeping Indonesia in my thoughts and heart. Wishing the world to have peace. Being an idealist. Paying no heed to the screeching pessimist inside.