When do objects and places begin to have meaning? I had never heard of Belarus until a few months ago when I met someone from there. I am usually not good about keeping up with news, but I actually made an effort to read about the elections in Belarus when they happened. It is why we love our rose. It is why we love our fox.
"He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend, and now he is unique in all the world." -- The Little Prince
Yet it is not enough.
The idea of Belarus was suddenly appealing because there was a story, a family left behind. For the same reason North Korea is shrouded in mystery and sadness, for the same reason why South Korea caught my interest when only when placed beside North Korea.
A struggle is beautiful exquisite pain. I have mentioned that sad thoughts should be as valued as happy thoughts, and I stand by that. But when it comes to appeal, there is more mystery for me in pain. It is truer to say that there is equal meaning, or lack of, in happiness and sadness. But sadness just seems more poetic.
It would probably trouble them to know why I am fascinated by them, fascinated by their lives.
Is that why I feel less for people coming from happy places, like the utopia I belong to?
I could never have become a politician. I confuse politics with social work. To me, a leader is one who cares for his people, who was elected to represent them. But when I was trying to help my leader help others more effectively, I was told that we are not social workers. Another politician told me that people forget easily.
I would have dedicated my life to helping the nameless faceless person I never knew, except I kind of gave up. Because he was nameless and faceless, I never knew who I was living for. It really makes more sense to live for myself, for the moment. Even though I'm wondering about the person I never knew.
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