If Everyone Cared

I’m lying in the park, gazing up at the soft spread of branches above me. The willow tree is hiding me from everyone, its soft frond of leaves swaying like a dancer in the soft breeze. A gentle peeping lulls up and down, with the faint clinking from the stream leading to the duck-pond, further away. I can feel my heart beating so softly, so fragilely. A simple movement. I draw a slow breath as a lap of cool air washes gently around me, caressing my face and fluttering a strand of my hair. And even as I lie here, on a cool summers day with nothing but the wind and the leaves, I can’t stop my mind from thinking. Here are my reflections, fast, simple, and biting.1

If everyone cared, we wouldn’t be this way. Stop. Stand still. Take a look around you. What is wrong with our society? Look at it! Don’t look at all the shiny faces, the botoxed foreheads, the perfectly permed hair. Look at the hard hearts, the frowning smiles, and the steely love.2

Honestly, walk down a street sometime. Is there a beggar sat there, curled on the ground, waiting for a few drops of warmth to penetrate these concrete hearts and dip into our lined pockets? Most of us don’t even see them. We choose to look right on past, as though they didn’t exist… because they mark our failure, our lack of competence, that we cannot, for all our cleverness, reap enough generosity from this world to feed our people. We can grow the food just fine. Our problem is that we take more than we need, and then throw it away.3

Yes, society is fucked. But most people know that. Most people actually can see that our world is wrong. Yes, there’s good here. There’s stars that shine, hearts that love. But look at what we’ve done. Think about it. Every day we hear stories. Murders, rapes, abuse. So many now that they barely shock us. The most horrific things don’t draw a tear. We say ‘yes, it’s terrible’ and move on with our life, while out there, people’s worlds are torn apart. Sure, if we know them, it’s different. It hurts then. But until we have met them, laughed with them, cried with them, they are just people. Just some of millions in a messed up world where nothing and no one is safe.4

Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? Murder. This crime is one showing more and more frequently. It should sicken the soul. Instead, we nod sympathetically, shudder inside, and walk away, pretending it can’t exist, pushing it away. We don’t do anything. Yes, killers are caught, locked away, keeping society safe, but nothing is done for them. We have ‘rehabilitation centres’. Who honestly changes from going in there, and coming out? How can you change when the world treats you as some stupid deranged maniac, with no more right to a decent life than a cockroach.5

What we don’t notice is that behind those killing eyes and the frightening face, is another person. When was the last time you stopped to consider what childhood friends a serial killer might have had? What girlfriends/boyfriends? Where did they grow up? What happened to them to give them this passion, this hate for life? We just think ‘they’re sick. There’s something wrong with their minds.’ and drop the subject. We distance them. Nobody wants to think how they might have grown up, what they might have gone through. It hurts me to think that for every man and woman who becomes something society deems as ‘wrong’, there is a life. There is a world taken away. 6

You cannot simply step back and blame them for what happened. It doesn’t work. Once, they were a child, nervous on their first day of school, or a little kid crying over a scraped knee. So take a closer look at them and see a person, not just a murderer. Care. Make a difference. It’s our fault they are like that. For every person, every face, there is a world, dreams, hopes, and life. So next time you see someone getting bullied at school, or punched, or beaten up, care. I’m not asking you to go intervene. But once they are alone, crying, whether inside or out, go over and make that difference. Show them a bit of beauty and make them feel like they are worthy of existence. Make them feel precious. You never know. You may be saving the life of just one person, or you might save millions. All in return for a few minutes of your time. Make that difference and show them true beauty.7

Rapes. This is a sickening and painful subject. It’s also an extremely uncomfortable one. For a woman or man to suffer that, it is breaking to the soul. Sex was made to be a loving conduct, something strong and powerful, and not a dirty use for gratification. Rape, to the victim, is horrific. No word is powerful enough to describe it. The hate to the raper is so strong. They are taking from you your most private, personal self, and taking it by force, with no care for your pain, your hurt. People probably feel equally strongly about rape as murder, or maybe more so.8

So why does it still happen? I know what people would answer: ‘because there’s still sickos out there who make it happen’… yes, it’s true. So what do we do? Lock them up? Shut them away so they can’t hurt society anymore? It would seem the obvious solution but… think about their worlds. I know. What kind of person thinks about the mind of someone who has just committed a crime like rape? They committed the crime, they deserve the consequences. But what consequences? Some would say ‘remove them from our society’…. I’m sorry, but I cannot agree. Don’t get me wrong here. I do not support rape in any way at all. It is horrific. But, like everyone, these people have an equal chance to life. They deserve better than being ruled by the simple passions of their minds. They deserve the opportunity that we have. Who says they can’t be great? Who says they can’t discover something, rescue someone, save a life or more? It is not a crime to exist. Their crimes, their actions, cannot condemn them forever.9

Abuse… my least favourite topic. I find this the hardest to deal with. Child abuse in particular. How can you justify hitting your child? How can you stand there, watching them writhe on the floor, knowing the pain you’re putting them through, knowing all you have done to them? You bring them to this world, you owe them love. I’m not saying you have to turn them into Prince’s and Princess’s, but would a little love cost you the world? If they knew, if they even had any idea how much it hurts to be told by your own parents that you aren’t worth a thought, could they ever do it? It makes me sick, it really does. And yet, even parents who do this live among us. We don’t even know. The amount of children who grow up through this abuse… some escape, but imagine the damage it causes them. I wish I could hear a parent’s account of what justifies what they do. Why do they do it????????? Anger? I don’t understand. And the worst of it is; the child will feel incompetent, stupid, clumsy, anything their parents tell them they are. With that in their hearts, the failure, the hate, what will they grow up to be? Just pray to god that they will know that it isn’t them, and it’s not their fault. I wish only that I could tell them what they are really worth, and show them that.10

I’m really tired of all these thoughts. The willow continues to sway, gentle and steady, untouched by anything. It’s not invincible, but it is strong, and beautiful. I hope it stays here for a long time, shading this spot, keeping it a safe sanctuary for all who seek the comfort of it’s boughs.11

All I can hope is that someday our world will change, and will get better. All I can do is try my best to make people’s worlds better, and show them how they shine. So, until I come back, I bid the willow farewell, touching my face to its rough bark and then pushing aside its soft curtain of sheltering leaves.12

As I walk back up the main path towards the park gates, I hear footsteps, slapping hard as feet run fast. The wind catches my hair as I spin around, just in time to see the fronds of the willow sway back into place. It could just have been the wind stirring them, but a stifled sob comes from within. I hesitate, then glance at my watch. I should be at home, doing chores. I should be working. My feet pause uncertainly, faltering on the stone, uncertain. The cracks in the concrete peep up at me, a reminder that even the strongest thing must crack eventually. Then the hesitation is gone, and my feet turn back to the tree. Today will be a day where I make someone glad to live. Today, and from now on, I will care. And one day, so will everyone. Then, there will be no more tears.