Once upon a time there was a young girl who wanted so badly to be herself. She rebelled against styles, trends, and anything else that made her look or feel like everyone else. She stayed strong in her struggles…ran away to NYC, smoked cigarettes, did anything but the expected and then woke up one day in her forties and realized that she had not accomplished…anything…Anything worth talking about besides her two beautiful children.
So that now, middle aged woman struggled with what was right. Should she fight against the norm or follow the stream using her energy for other ventures?
One night she was in the line to pay for her groceries when she overheard a man of colour yell at an older white couple. “Just be polite!” He shouted. And she cried. She had spent so long worrying about blending in, losing her identity that she had forgotten about everyone else. All those who had no opportunity to even consider their identities. Those who were told who they were, what they should do, who they should serve and where they should look. And she cried again. She felt overwhelming sadness for everyone. For every individual who would never understand they were an individual. She cried for her children who could look forward to many struggles of identity that would never ever match up to the struggles that at least one quarter of the world faced every day. Her kids would experience loneliness, and heartbreak and being left out but by the grace of God they would never know hunger, or slavery, or genital mutilation. But others will. And she cried again. She will try to raise funds for diseases, or sponsor a child in Africa or offer her home and food to others around her but she was afraid she would never make enough difference to those in the world who really needed….someone. Someone that could be her. But perhaps, if she teaches her children enough…teaches them about love, and compassion and …kindness…then maybe…just maybe…she will have made a difference.