Dead. Dying. Death.
Before I do something dangerous like take a tiny airplane (or helicopter) somewhere remote, say brazen things to generals, or simply live in a very remote location I always ask myself, "would I die for this?" I wonder if my friends who have died asked themselves the same thing. I don't know.
I still think about the man who told me I had to come back to South Sudan. I told him I didn't think I would go back and he confidently said I would and had to. I still think about the man who told me, "there are so many fish." when I told him Omar dumped me. He wanted to show me his home but we never got the chance. I still think about the very tiny twin baby who just couldn't handle the infection and died, leaving the other twin to struggle. I also remember a lot of people who didn't die but probably wanted to. The mother who told me she kept going after some of her children had died because what else was she to do? All she knew how to do was keep going. And then the people who still had hope but I could tell they had to fight to keep it. Those were the ones I wanted to take with me. Those were the people I felt like I abandoned. But all I knew how to do was keep going.
It is a bit lame of me to think of these things so often. Because really, what can I do? I am just one person and I am not revolutionary, particularly intelligent, more passionate than most, or anything else extraordinary. But I still think about these people all the time.
And sometimes, even when the answer is, "No, I would not die for this." I do it anyways.
Before I do something dangerous like take a tiny airplane (or helicopter) somewhere remote, say brazen things to generals, or simply live in a very remote location I always ask myself, "would I die for this?" I wonder if my friends who have died asked themselves the same thing. I don't know.
I still think about the man who told me I had to come back to South Sudan. I told him I didn't think I would go back and he confidently said I would and had to. I still think about the man who told me, "there are so many fish." when I told him Omar dumped me. He wanted to show me his home but we never got the chance. I still think about the very tiny twin baby who just couldn't handle the infection and died, leaving the other twin to struggle. I also remember a lot of people who didn't die but probably wanted to. The mother who told me she kept going after some of her children had died because what else was she to do? All she knew how to do was keep going. And then the people who still had hope but I could tell they had to fight to keep it. Those were the ones I wanted to take with me. Those were the people I felt like I abandoned. But all I knew how to do was keep going.
It is a bit lame of me to think of these things so often. Because really, what can I do? I am just one person and I am not revolutionary, particularly intelligent, more passionate than most, or anything else extraordinary. But I still think about these people all the time.
And sometimes, even when the answer is, "No, I would not die for this." I do it anyways.
1 comment:
So sad... but thanks for sharing this post. Great content and you written very well. Keep it up.
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