The Pain of the Street

One of my favorite books of all time is "The Busy Life of Bees", but not for the obvious reasons of why this book was a best seller. I remembered a side-kick character in the book, May Boatwright who was a frail woman with the greatest intentions in the world. She was seen as sick, with a mental disorder, manic depressive, and unstable. She carried the weight of the world's sufferings on her shoulder. She felt every pain, agony, and suffering her peers felt. She would sing when she was depressed, and had her very own "wailing wall" to pay tribute to the people who have suffered in this torrential world. She was considered, abnormal. She eventually took her life as she could not bear the pain that was surrounding the world.

Why is it abnormal to feel the pain that the world feels? Why is it normal to be detached from the world's sufferings. Just because it has nothing to do with our personal life, does that really mean that we are over reacting when we feel rage towards injustice, and agony to watch children and people suffer at the hands of inequality? Success is measured by money and fame, and not good deeds. What a sick world this place is.

In many ways, May Boatwright was my favorite character because I understood how she felt. The helplessness of not being able to do more for the ones who were suffering. The physical pain that felt so real, so deep when you can do nothing to help another person cope with their struggle. As K* was telling me about her social outreach yesterday with the street kids of KL, I wondered, how do I sleep at night knowing that there's nothing that I am doing to help these children. How do the nation of this country go on enjoying their daily comforts of a clean warm bed, knowing they're children out there, living for the day, living for the moment. Well, I didn't sleep that night, nor the night after, at least not in peace..

I want to let you in on a little secret. Amidst our hustle and bustled lives, we walk past people in need every day without even realising the ones in pain, are extending an arm to beg for a thread of our charity, or a second chance. In the heart of KL, where socialites and yuppies feed their weekly need to party, lies a group of kids who have been surviving the only way they know how, being at the mercy of drug syndicates. These kids come from broken homes, some kids don't even remember where they came from. Some kids are preparing for motherhood, fostering a new generation the only way they know how, to continue living in abandoned projects, burrowing holes in the grounds to keep away from local authorities and larger syndicates who might force them into more venomous trades than they are already in. These kids are not only matted by dirt, they have lines on their face, any teenager should not have. They will eventually become what we call "social garbage". They are Malaysians.

For the many people out there who do not know know of this. It might come as an initial shock, but this will eventually become another one of the world's woes that they would shrug off their conscience. For the people who work in the social work line, they say, what's being done for them, is all that can be done for now. For other people who are aware of these predicaments, they say, but the kids are incorrigible and are too damaged to be saved. For the social welfare and local authorities who are weeding out the kids and sending them to rehabilitation centres and social welfare home where their stay has an expiry, they say, there's too many out there, we're doing our best, we lack resources, all in the name of just arresting (note: not rescuing) them to fill in their quotas.

As we, the everyday people, think about prince charmings, that new bright shiny car, our future houses with white picket fences, and the deciding on the right time to churn out more children to live in this world, we never really stop to think twice do we? What about giving second chances? There's nothing wrong with wanting material stuff and yet allocating some space in your life to make a difference in someone else's who is in need.

So here I am, feeling a fraction of what May Boatwright felt, using this blog as my wailing wall, and singing along to sad tunes on the radio while I drive so that I can relieve some sort of pain. Am i weird to feel the pain of strangers unrelated to me? Maybe.. For what's worth, I'd rather live a life caring, than a life ignoring....