Why Jesus Had to... and I Could Never

The whole concept of forgiveness is indeed something supernatural. I truely don't think I could forgive the man who blew himself up out of religious spite and struck my family dead because they believe that their Islam is better than my family's Islam, or just because my family was born into a different blood line. I don't understand the world that Afghanistan is right now: full of hate, full of murder, so empty of anything meaningful or merciful.

My sweet and possibly highly naiive character cannot comprehend how so many women and children, unwanted in China for their only fault of being female, are deposited like so much trash into the unrelenting blender of slavery and prostitution. I may not be capable of forgiving my family for leaving me to a fate that ends with my heart, my body, and my mind turning into a bloody useless mush.

Furthermore, I cannot fathom a world that can justify its living standards - living beyond its income so that they can have three cars, when our daily starbucks could save several lives.

I wonder what the average middle-class citizen of wherever thinks when he or she hears that FIFTEEN MILLION CHILDREN - just children - die every year of hunger. Hunger.

This is not a guilt trip, this is a fact. The fact is that children are dying, and if every American cafe-junkie or, on a much larger scale, European smokers would work out their budgets to include the life of a child, or three... well, the result would be a better world.

I believe in a better world, but I begin to lose faith in people - myself included. What can I do besides get pissed off? I mean, besides what I already do.