Why should I be sitting here in my bedroom that is over twice the size of Yikram's house?
I'm getting a queen-size mattress this week. So why should Yikram's mother have to send three of her children to live with family four hours away because they don't even have a bed the size of a twin.
I don't understand. I hate it. It's not fair that I have multiple flushing toilets when they share one squatty potty with the whole block.
It isn't fair that I have the chance for an education when in my heart's home across the world, a woman is selling plastic water jugs to earn money that won't even cover the rent, much less send a child to school.
I'm sick of it. I'm sick and tired of being comfortable in first-world America and my breaking heart is affirming that. My heart is screaming "why?!" I'm weeping at the injustice and wondering just where is the hope?! Where is the fairness in this broken mess of a world? And why isn't anyone doing anything?!
But you know what else wasn't fair? It wasn't fair for Me to be nailed between two pieces of splintered wood. To those that loved Me, it didn't seem fair for Me to be openly scorned and rejected for crimes I didn't commit.
