Monday, June 27, 2016

The Clash

I'm sitting in the pavilion. It's a cement, skeleton structure on our compound, kind of in the middle of where most of the houses are. It's open and airy and cement-like. This is where most of our potlucks or celebrations take place. But most of the time, it's quite, empty, and open. Like right now. It's Sunday afternoon. I'm sitting here reading; I don't know where everyone else is.

It's beautiful right now. It's rainy season, so it's green. Everything is green, almost. There is bright, fresh grass growing, and mango trees around. Their green leaves and branches hang down to the ground. The weather is beautiful at the moment, as well. The sky is partially clear and blue, partially filled with fluffy white clouds. It's hot, but not too hot.

I can hear pigeons cooing. It's calm, beautiful, and peaceful. But I can also hear someone wailing over at the hospital.

People here don't usually wail for no reason; likely someone died.

How can the world be simultaneously so beautiful and so full of pain?

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