Toerke

All of a sudden you’ve had it. You’re fed up. People approaching you, watching you. “Hasj? Opium? Smoke?”, “Please ma’m lookie, no buy only lookie” or “me no food”. All of a sudden you want to turn your head and snare at the dealer boy “Do I look like a junkie to you?”, at the wrinkled saleswoman “No I do not want to look at your old silver” or at the beggar baby “Does your king not feed you then?”. Everybody nods namaste. Everybody wants something.

You are the cash cow, the millionaire. You should be happy and consider yourself lucky. Instead you feel frustrated and uncomfortable. You were born in the first world, have a nice state-sponsored holiday in the third world and her hungry eyes irritate you. It is a black spot in your vie en rose. Slowly the statistics, the news reports and the classes world history that you took sink into every fiber of your feeling. You were born in the wealthy west and you are in the minority. You are prosperity and living the bright side of the road.

All of sudden you’ve had it. You’re fed up. You get up, look into the mirror and ask yourself “Would you want to trade places?”. Your bright side clouds up and a tear of rain drops onto your feet. The silent response to a retorical question.