Bonus Blog: the thoughts with which you were previously threatened

My recent thoughts on mortality, and humans in general. Do not be discouraged by the overall downer tone of this post! Be informed, be moved, be aware, be grateful for what we have.

In the Recoleta cemetery: As I walk through the rows and rows of grandiose sepulchers, I wonder. Why bother so much after you're dead? Money is for those living life, in my mind, not to be used for self-glorification (ever), especially not when you're gone. I pull out a granola bar, another sure reminder of mortality. :) Look, that grave's door has all the glass broken. Despite our best efforts, nothing lasts.

On the streets: People without any shelter. People who lie there, faces covered, in silence from people, in roaring volume of the city. No wonder they're often mumbling--who else do they have to talk to?

In the villas: Oh boy. The girls and one of their mothers are telling a story, I'll tune in. They say that this morning (Friday), a tiny baby was found in the garbage heaps. They say that it was covered all over in blood, with a misshapen face. M says, oh, an abortion. All these girls--ages 4-12--were there, and are now telling the details of the story. Also, as we walked around picking up the children for class, one young man spent a good amount of time just looking at me. One point, as he walked past, I'm pretty sure he mumbled "F me." In English. Life is short, for him in that villa even more so. He'll take enjoyment any way he can.

In the subte station: I swipe my card, and head down the steps after some man. He's really running, and I cannot figure out why; no one's chasing him, there's no train to make down there yet. I'm drawing a blank. He seats himself on one of the benches, I seat myself a bit later on the other bench, farther away. As I watch, he turns away and fiddles in his backpack. Soon he bends forward over the seat next to him and I can see him inhale deeply. Then he arranges something again with a credit card, and inhales again. Then he is back to sitting up, and sniffling.

How sad, hopeless, awful, scarring, and bitter does life have to get before you're sitting in wait for the subte, getting high as you wait for the train to come?