Are you thirsty?

When you see the Save Sudan shirts around campus, you think “oh, that’s a good cause.” It’s a mighty good thing we Punahou students are doing something to help those in Africa. Spread the word. Donate money. But then, I pick up this current issue of Time that I just got out of the mailbox. The pictures, for one of the first times, aren’t the part of the feature that hit me. It was the way the journalist framed the issue of genocide and overall fighting in Darfur, or anywhere is Africa for that matter, that really hit me. He didn’t nee to use the word “genocide” in his introduction. We all know. I think the issue claimed a feeling of danger instead of pity. In lame man’s terms, I got really scared reading it.

“How to Prevent the Next Darfur. Step one: Get serious about climate change”

Everyone disregards the fact that problems exists here, in Darfur, as a result of the lack of resources. No food, no arable land, and no water. No, allow me to rephrase that. Limited food, limited arable land, and very limited supply of water. How can you expect there to be any peace? Hunger breeds contempt. Farmers and non-farmers are unable to work in collaboration when there is not enough land to share and crop. Forget about the daunting numbers (200,000 people killed in the past 4 years and 2.5 million more refugees). Not to sound shallow, but we hear it all the time. We think, “whoa” but we need to take it one step further.

“Environmental skeptics, including the Bush Administration, dispute the more dire predictions about climate change.” Interesting. Now we’re arguing about whether the climate change will get worse. What about now?

Is it not enough to see that the environmental condition they are in now is already killing them? One farmer at a time, one family at a time. Those people couldn’t care less about global warming. We’re talking about their day to day meals and for god’s sake, water.

Nature

Below, people scattered. Cars roamed, palm trees swayed, and the sun glistened. I searched for a familiar face, or house, but everything was unfamiliar. From up here, everything shrunk. Either that, or I grew bigger. I was detached from the world below me, but I didn't feel lonely at all. For some reason, a change of perspective helped me to relax and put petty issues aside.

I stepped back for a moment. Then I reminded myself that, standing atop civilization's mountain, this wasn't the top. I slowly gazed up into the clouds, into the never-ending roof. I guess that's the way with things like this, you never really reach the extreme, top or bottom, of anything. You keep going.

(Maybe doing this in present tense woud sound better. Let's try.)

Below, people scatter. Cars roam, palm trees sway, and the sun glistens. I attempt to search for a familiar face, or house, but all I see is unfamiliar. From up here, everything shrinks. Either that, or I grow bigger. I am detached from the world below me, but I don't feel lonely at all. For some reason, a change of perspective helps me to relax and put petty issues aside.

I step back for a moment. Then I remind myself that, standing atop civilization's mountain, this isn't the top. I slowly gaze up into the clouds, into the never-ending roof. I guess that's the way with something like this; you never reach the extreme, top of bottom. You always keep going.

Thump

(from journal)

If a tree falls to the ground, and no one hears, it there a sound?

I really like the sound of this quote because not only does it sound a little strange, it paints a clear image in your head. It makes me ask questions. Does it even matter that the tree fell, if no one is there to see it? Do things only happen, do you only do things, if someone else will see it? On a more spiritual level (hehe), can you hear/sense something that happened if you weren't there?

This quote envisions expectations, actions, and adds a musical tone to the concept. When I imagine the quote, I hear a thump, and then a reverbrating echo into the forest. A cloud of dirt puffs up and then settles down, as if never even have lift off the ground. The tree is taken away, year by year, by nature. It's gone and no one even knew of its exsistence.