The stench of piss and feces hangs low in the air. A boy, no older than us, crawls on the filthy floor, scrubbing it’s surface with a determination that can only be survival.
As he looks at up, his eyes tell a different story; one of desperation, sorrow and pain. Handing him what remains of our breakfast, I am overwhelmed with the harsh reality that has just looked deep within my soul.
I stare blankly through the bars of the train window, trying to comprehend what to think or feel. I feel ashamed, incomprehensibly consumed by guilt. A guilt that whispers stories that are not fair for me to torture myself with. Another voice enters my mind. You deserve this, it is your responsibility to know. You cannot hide. Are you a coward? The voice hisses at me, it’s harsh words echoing inside my head. I have everything, but I still cannot help the millions who live without. What kind of person does that make me?
Sadness fills my heart as I think to all the times I have felt hard done by, to the occasions where I have wanted more. I didn’t know and I still don’t, but at least now I see a little.