Please Spare the Children

Picasso's Child with a Dove

It's 4:30 in the morning. Hub has left the house more than an hour ago to join his mistress office. There's going to be a general strike in Italy and Directors have been called to join the office at 3am to avoid being locked out and also to help prevent things from getting out of hand.

I could enter into a discussion about the right to strike, whether when the economy is not doing well you should still have the right to ask for more, or whether one should strike just to not be taken for granted etc, but I will not today. Suffice that the Hub has to work even more on a day when others have decided not to work at all.

I couldn't sleep no more. Probably due to the heavy dinner we had before we went to bed. But probably also due to the malaise that I have been living through ever since my Jewish friend Vanessa sent me 3 photos yesterday. Of an 8 year-old boy in Iran having his arm crushed by a car as punishment for having been caught stealing bread in a market. I am so depressed. I can't get it out of my head.

I am not a Christian. Though I believe that one God or more must exist somewhere. And one thing I've learnt to do in my 4 years in a Methodist school is pray. Not the let-me-strike-loto kind of prayer that leaves you feeling stupid and guilty after, but the kind of prayer that allows you to give voice and order to the myriad of feelings, hopes, worries and thoughts somewhere inside yourself.

I prayed for strength. For peace and wisdom. I asked that if children are and have to be born, to please spare them from (more) suffering, to please give them a chance in life.

I will not enter into a discussion about Islamic Laws, about judging children like adults for (certain) crimes, about poverty and ruling Governments' (ir)responsibilities, child labour, child prostitution, civil and other wars, the huge income gap in the world, capitalism, climate change and how it worsens poor countries' capacity to deal with natural catastrophies, brèf, about all the mal that grown-ups have wrought and continue to inflict on our children...

Though God knows that my parents' embarrassment has always been my being a quarrelsome child, picking verbal fights with my elders; the sometimes heated discussions I've had with my peers at the Faculty (Political Science); my Hub's uneasiness when I enter into debates with dinner guests and start to scream at the dinner table. No, I've no control over my tongue. I've always spoken my mind and hope I always will.

But entering into such discussions right now will not give me peace. Help me to sleep. I need strength to continue living. I need to hug my children, know that they are safe and happy, and not feel guilty about cocooning them when the world out there can be so harsh on so many other children of their age. I need help and guidance especially for Eldest Son, that I be given/granted the wisdom and the strength to be a better mother, to be able to help him as I have not been able to because I am such an impatient, demanding and unforgiving person.

I do not know if my prayer will be answered. But it is a relief to be able to give voice. To spit it out. Put them on the table. All these are not new. They have been gnawing at me for as long as I've known about them, but now and then pictures like the ones I've received yesterday stop me from sleeping. And I need to stop, take stock of my thoughts and ask for the strength to continue with my life in the face of my impuissance vis-à-vis all the evil and injustice in this world. For only when I am at peace with myself can I be at peace with the rest of the world. Be able to face my children when they wake up. Remember that no matter how stupid, naughty or painful they may be, I love them and need to protect them and give them their chance in life like I hope and pray that all those other suffering children out there would be given theirs too.

Many of you know how to pray better than I do. Please do so.