Sometimes I wake up hating.
I hate how wide my hips are, how my legs will never be longer, how I’ll look ridiculous in a swimsuit, how my skin isn’t glossy clear, how I need to work for the things I want, how I can’t just shop my days away, how I have worries, how I’m away from my family, how I don’t want to do my own laundry, how I need to study all the time, how other people have it better, and how the universe is just so unfair.
And then I start to think.
What about the girl who lost her mother to cancer a few months ago? All she could see were the bruises, smell the medicine, breathe in the stench of a waning human life. All the security and peace she ever knew blown up in an instant, where death meets life. Her world will never be the same again.
What about that boy who tries and tries so hard every day and still can’t manage that perfect 4.0? He knows if he doesn’t he has to quit school because his family can’t afford to keep him here.
What about that woman at the desk who can’t fit into her jeans because her waistline keeps expanding? A diabetic condition. Imagine how she must hate life for infecting her like this.
What about that middle aged man who’s in a menial job, and knows he can never give his family the luxury they want? Because he never had the opportunity to work or study. He feels powerless, hopeless.
And then what about the people who view the world in different ways? Who never could see colour, or light, or shiny new toys. The ones who can’t hear, and will never know what too much noise sounds like; they’ll never have a favourite band or play the guitar. And the ones who’s minds are just wired different? The ones in “special” schools with lesser opportunities.
I can work, I can hit the gym, I can eat healthy, I can shop.
I can see, I can feel, I can breathe, I can hear, I can laugh, I can love, I can comprehend.