An empty juice glass rests on my desk, post-its with random notes lie haphazardously stuck on each other, a pink rose--given out to promote breast cancer awareness--leans toward me in a friendly fashion, sounds of mellow jazz float from my headset filling my office with sounds of years gone by as my sister smiles at me from Kensington Gardens in a wood-framed picture; and out of my window a gloomy view of office buildings set against a cold and gray sky makes me happy that I´m not that flag shivering on top of the hotel tower--
Such is the setting on this Monday morning, a morning that has brought sadness to my heart as I read the daily newspaper: mudslides in Guatemala have converted entire villages into graveyards and in Pakistan, India, and Afghanistan, the death tolls from Saturday´s earthquake keep rising to tens of thousands. These are only the headliners today, I´m certain that suffering is not limited to these places, nor do I expect it to be. The forces that cause chaos and pain are rampant--today Kashmir, yesterday Thailand, and tomorrow...? Somehow the gray sky seems appropriate in mourning, in commiseration.
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A friend of mine is currently stranded in her Guatemalan hostel due to the mudslides. She says there is little power, no water, and the bridge has been washed out, but the birds are still singing. It is shameful, but the knowledge that she is safe makes the news that hundreds are dead less poignant. Instead of feeling guilty I am trying to connect the impersonal pictures I see on the news with the smiling face of my friend. This makes it seem more real and directs my thoughts and prayers.
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