Dear Remi,
Currently playing: “Fix You” by Coldplay.
Each morning, I awaken with a heavy question weighing on my mind: Laura, what fresh tragedy will the world reveal today?
Is it another act of gender-based violence, fueled by a man’s bruised pride unable to accept rejection? Or perhaps it’s the increasingly restrictive immigration laws in Western countries, crushing the aspirations of international students who journey far with hope as their companion?
Having lived 27 years, one might assume I’d have grown accustomed to this relentless cruelty. The world’s harshness predates my existence. Shouldn’t the peace promised by Christ be enough to quell these horrors or calm my anxious heart when the news breaks? Shouldn’t my soul have steadied by now, hardened to the endless cycle of sorrow?
Yet, I remain unsettled. I suspect I never will become numb.
You see, I am an advocate. While some shy away from the label “activist,” wary of its negative connotations on social media-where activists are often caricatured as noisy, demanding, and ultimately ineffective-I see no real distinction between advocates and activists. We share the same goals, fight for similar reforms, and envision a more just world. And yes, like anyone, we are vulnerable to compromise because we are human.
There are moments when I ask myself: Why not just focus on my own happiness? Why not create a small sanctuary of peace, away from the turmoil? Wouldn’t life be easier if I simply looked the other way?
Maybe. But detachment is a strength I lack. I admire those who can scroll past heartbreaking news without flinching. I imagine the serenity of viewing headlines with a hollow heart and vacant eyes. To be unaffected, untouched-that would be a kind of power.
But I don’t possess that luxury. Advocacy is not just my vocation; it is my lifeline. It helps me navigate the overwhelming emotions stirred by witnessing human suffering and injustice.
This coping mechanism, however, is double-edged. Some days, it feels like both a burden and a gift-to give selflessly to humanity without expecting anything in return, yet to be so sensitive that every injustice threatens to engulf me. But Remi, if I abandoned this path, who would I become?
I fear the person who turns away, who succumbs to indifference. To live yet feel nothing seems a fate worse than death. Perhaps this is the paradox: advocacy unsettles me, yet it also sustains me.
So here I stand-restless, fatigued, hopeful, broken, and healing all at once. A body shaken by the weight of injustice, yet a spirit unwilling to cease the fight. Remi, to preserve my sanity, I embraced the very thing that disturbs my peace. Within this tension-between despair and hope, silence and outcry-I continue to exist.
Today marks my first year as an advocate, Remi. I have gained much wisdom, yet many uncertainties remain. The world’s burden is immense, the work unending, but my heart remains open.
Will you join me on this journey, Remi?
***
Photo credit: Mart Production via Pexels
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