4 June 2015

Some say that humans are strangely self-centered, but I don't find it strange at all; we are the focal point out of which we view the world; of course we are the center. We go through our lives as if we are the main character of the only novel that truly matters, and as if every event is about us. What we forget is that everyone else is living their own story right alongside us, and often, the aftermath we're forced to deal with has little to do with us and everything to do with them. 

I stood on the prow of a ship today and watched as a swarm of jellyfish disappeared beneath our wooden vessel. What happened to them after, I wonder? Were their delicate bodies crushed against the lacquered hull? Were they swept aside and disoriented in the torrent of water that we displaced? Was the price of our transportation their lives?

How often, I wonder, do we as humans determine that our end goal is worth someone else's pain? Similarly, how often to we find ourselves crushed and tossed aside by the furious progression of someone else's story?