I hate HOMOPHOBIA
I hate SEGREGATION
I hate WAR
I hate BULLIES
I hate AGEISM
I hate DISABLEISM
I hate LINGUICISM
I hate SEXISM
I hate TRANSPHOBIA
I hate EMPLOYMENT DISCRIMINATION
I hate RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION
I hate RACIAL SEGREGATION
I hate SLAVERY
I hate STEREOTYPING
I hate PREJUDICE
I hate GENOCIDE
I hate ADULTISM
I hate CHILD ABUSE
I hate WOMAN ABUSE
I hate POVERTY
I hate ALCOHOLISM
I hate UNEMPLOYMENT
I hate PEER PRESSURE
I hate CONSCRIPTION
I hate DRUG ABUSE
I hate IGNORANCE
I hate a lot of things... but does that make me a bad person?
But gradually, you will learn. You will learn how to hold it and marvel its body, so mechanical yet so full of life. You will learn to load it, hearing the bullets of knowledge click past your ears. The noise will scare you at first, and doubt will assail your thoughts. Are you really good enough to wield it?
Eventually you learn to cock the gun. The readiness, the excitement that bubbles from the gun makes you smile. At last, you are in control. Your teacher then asks you to point at the target. A boy grins at you. You recoil; you can't shoot a child, surely. Then the child transforms. It becomes square-ish, box-like; it becomes a TV. Propaganda blares out from suited leaders, deluding hundreds of poor, illiterate people clinging to hope rather than fact.
Your teacher steps in and utters the word.
You sit Buddha-style
Like a beggar’s cup
On a cold Brooklyn sidewalk.
The passersby stuff coins in you
Like a karma slot machine;
They measure their generosity
Against your God-bless-you's.
Raised, reared, reviled in Texas —
That’s where you'll return to;
Less welcome than a polished
Thief dry-drifting through
You are a blood-warm stain on the sidewalk;
Bitter as wormwood, pale as pigeon
Shit, dirty like a soiled rubber, pleading
Like an empty coffee cup
Today it had caught a carrion scent on the breeze, sweetish, cloying: the smell of rot. It was a hope, and the fox was limping towards it as quickly as its meager strength would allow. Surely it could find something to scavenge from a kill so old.
But as it followed the scent, and at last slipped through a line of dense bushes into a clearing, it found not a wasting cadaver, not the remnants of some other creature's hunt, but a camp – a man's camp – with a greasy fire and a row of iron cages with thick bars. The man himself sat beside the fire, whittling from a piece of bone. His skin and tattere
Eat up all your food, even the vegetables.
Do you know how many kids who would die for your plate?
Do not even think you are leaving the table.
At this rate, you can forget about going out with your mates.
But mamma even if I ate all my dinner they will still be starving.
Eating all this food would not change that.
If they were here right now, I would have no problem with halving.
At least then it would feel like I gave back.
Son, you do not understand me.
Do you know how lucky you are to live the life you lead?
To be able to refuse food so candidly.
When these are things that kids in Africa desperately need.
No buts because you have always had it this way,
You do not realise how good you have got it.
You have no idea what it is like to wake up each and every day
In poverty with no possible way to escape from it.
You have no idea what it is like to wake up to no running water,
Living like a pauper with a crying 6 month year old daughter.
You have no idea what it
The call was directed at my mother midway between the second and third floor in our apartment complex. Four of us stood on the freshly cleaned stairs. Mother, myself, the cleaning lady, and her little daughter.
Could you please spare some cooking oil?
It had to be one of the rare times I heard shame in someone's voice. The shame of having to ask burdened her immensely. She clasped her hands as she looked at us, and rushed to justify after a moment of silence.
I want to cook for the kids. It's been a week and I couldn't get paid to buy some.
I never knew words needed so much power to come out. She tried to shrug her nervous tone with a smile, but couldn't quite manage to. Instead she looked down.
I didn't wait mother. She taught me better, I knew better. There was much sorrow in a single question, and not the kind of sorrow a mother should be uttering in front of a child. I still heard bits and pieces of their conve