I wish the palms of my hand were big enough to create shelters for those who have no home to call their own. I wish my voice were loud enough to speak for those whose voices have been silenced, whose rights trampled, whose dreams crushed.
I wish I had pockets deep enough to assist in living.
I wish I had stories of courage with which to share with people — reminders that they, too, can. They, too, will. I wish I had more wisdom, more knowledge. I wish I had enough bravery to stand for them, and enough charisma to call on people to do the same.
After all, wasn’t it simply by some sheer luck in the universe that I’m here, that they’re there, that I’m safe, that they’re seeking to find a home? Some dent in creation? Some wrinkle in time?
Isn’t it simply just our misbelief that we are all separated by borders (really imagined ones) which makes us think we shouldn’t be bothered? We shouldn’t care?
And so while I wait to be braver, I hope what I do is enough. And that I never stop fighting for the light, for what’s right.
And then someday, maybe the world will be a bright place again.
N.B. I’ll write more thoroughly about the UNHCR experience soon.
Of perpetual finds 