When it’s more than You Can Bear

I usually go through the latest news before writing a new post; if there’s something I’m especially interested in, I define what my thoughts are regarding that fact or event, and then I consider the possibility of hurting somebody’s susceptibility. If the news passes those tests, only then I deem it bloggable.

Today, it was not an exception. I revised the most important events of these last couple of weeks and I decided that once again I would post something we can all agree on. Bullying must stop. You may think “of course, that’s something obvious”, but some other people regard bullying as an issue to which much importance should not be given; alleging that we would be making a mountain out of a molehill, and that the percentage of people who suffer from bullying is too small, thence inconsequential. Then I ask myself, is a 14 year-old kid’s life neglectable? I think not. Nobody’s is. Then, why was he left to die? Jamey Rodemeyer committed suicide. In a way, he was bullied to death; and like him, many others have been and will be bullied unless people’s minds start changing.

And when I say start changing, I don’t mean start tolerating (though is the least some people could do), I mean to start celebrating differences. How difficult is it to see the human being behind a distinctive feature or trait? How difficult is it to accept that in the end we are all equals? With the title of this post I wanted to reflect the inability to put down into words the impotence that produces in me when things like this occur. It’s the twenty first century people!

Sadly enough, it’s too late for Jamey. No words could alleviate his parent’s grief, that’s for sure. Though his mom seems to have found a consolation:

We're convinced he had a purpose on this planet, and it was to touch as many people as he could. [...] I think that was my son's #1 mission in life, why he was put here a short time, was to get that point out. And if I have to carry that for him, I will.

          

They say time’s a healer.

Jamey’s tumblr: http://hausofjamey.tumblr.com/

A blog worth reading: http://www.blogher.com/when-it-doesnt-get-better-more-bullying-another-suicide?page=full

One of a Kind

As the sunshine enters through the window panes, the alarm clock tells you that it is time to get up. Nothing seems to be out of place today, everything’s still, utterly still. While you’re having breakfast, you turn the TV on- as you do every morning- to see the latest news and today's weather forecast, hoping it’ll be a bright sunny day. Strangely enough, all live channels are showing nothing today. After a bit of channel surfing you stop on one of those channels which show exotic plants and animals you’ve never seen before. This time, they are talking about the Geochelone elephantopus abingdoni or Pinta tortoises in common language. What is it special about these giant tortoises, you wonder. Well, besides reaching weights of more than 400 kg, lengths of over 1.8 meters and having a life span of at least 170 years in captivity, there is something that makes Pinta tortoises even more unusual, singular and unique. There is only one specimen left. Lonesome George, as he is worldwide known, is the last of the abingdoni subspecies of Galápagos tortoise. Can you see how exceptional he is now? Vain attempts of matting him with females of other subspecies have been made since the 1970s. It is believed that he already is 100 years old or so but he keeps fit, he should be able to procreate yet.

http://daughterearth.com/blog/2008/10/lonesome-george/

Back to your reality, you realize that you haven’t seen your mother yet, for she is usually up at this time. Fear to become a Lonesome takes over your mind; you let the cup of coffee fall off your hand and go running to your parents’ room. There’s no body there, everything’s ordered, but your parents and your brother are not at home, and the car’s in the garage; where are they? By now you are already agitated, and you eyes are watery; when you reach the front door and unlock it, the first tear starts to roll down you cheek. No signs of civilized life around you while you are shouting your mother’s name in the middle of the street. You would dread to be the last of your species. In the safety of your little room, you frantically look for your mobile phone; it doesn’t work. An overwhelming nausea invades your body, and then you faint.

When you finally open your eyes, your mother’s tender sight is the first thing you see. They have been out with your brother doing some shopping, and as there was a problem with the sewer, they didn’t go by car this time; the street was closed. Afterward, you remember that you didn’t pay the phone bill, and your mother tells you that she will miss the soup-opera because there are some problems with the terrestrial broadcasting. You feel relieved. You won’t have to mate with a subspecies, a chimpanzee maybe?

Your day develops with normality. Lonesome George is kilometers away from you. There are people taking care of him. You don’t have to worry. You don’t even allow yourself a moment to stop and think how he feels. After all he’s a primitive reptile. The last of his kind. Who’s knocking the door?

If you want to know more about George check this link; http://www.tortoisetrust.org/articles/george.html