And today I read a newspaper article about China. And the earthquake in China. And how it killed lots and lots of people.
Lots and lots of students too...
So I felt sort of sad and went to my bed and slept for a while.
And afterwards I went to do my chemistry, before proceeding to go onto Devart. Initially it was to check up on Zinc Hydroxide, but then I came across this little story on the front page, titled "Uncle Danny". I read it.
And then I smiled.
Still, all the above seemed somewhat artificial, doesn't it? I mean: I can feel pity and remorse, and I can feel sadness for the survivors/victims of the earthquake.
I can feel admiration and delight from reading a well-crafted story. I can feel pride from knowing the world has a good author out there.
And yet...none of these really compare, emotionally and perhaps mentally speaking, to my own problems.
Why are humans such selfish bastards?
Or at least, why am I?
Our own problems shall forever overshadow the problems of others. Because they are our own. Commonsense? Definately. Yet society does not seem to preach this way.
We are supposed to be able to "empathise" with others. Feel for others. Bring joy to others. Yet in the end, are we merely gunning for ourselves?
I regret and am somewhat ashamed that I have difficultly emphathising with people. I have wallowed in the depths of emoness to try and grasp the essence of it, yet somehow I still fall short. Me thinks I shall never be able to understand the suffering of the millions in Africa, the pain of a rejected child, or the despair the suicidal student has felt.
I tried to feel it. Nearly took myself out in the process. And still I feel hollow inside.
On the other side of things: the workers, the studious. Admiration is something I always held for these people. The drive and motivation: the sheer "its-just-something-we-gotta-do" mentality towards work; its amazing. I tried too, to become like them. I gain insight into their spirit, their passion and fire. The fuel of creativity and genius that propels these tireless innovators and thinkers towards their goal.
And still, once again, I fall short.
I cannot feel their passion. Their love for the subject, for the world, for its people. I cannot understand their ideas the same way they grasp a topic: Instinctively, all-encompassing and thirsty. Thirsty, in fact, for more knowledge. This drive I observe: Perhaps its an overstatement. Workers never show their inner passion that outwardly. Yet it is there, I suppose. A need and desire; a love for what they do.
Why can I not find this love?
And so my problem is presented, the problem greater than the starving millions, the olympic gold, the endless destruction of cities, the 3rd best school in the world.
In my selfish eyes, I ask: Where do I belong?
What, in this world of light and shadow, of suffering and pain-
What in sweet God's name can I do?