When
I was a little girl, I felt like I was on top of the world when my parents took
me to the big city. All the tall buildings, the bright, flashing lights, the
sound of honking taxis gave me this feeling of eminence, like everything in the
world was happening right here, at this very time and place. And it was all
happening around me.
Thirty
years later, this feeling ceased to exist. Somewhere along the long and winding
road of my life, I was plucked from the center of the world, and thrown into
the heavy flow of it. Here, I was drowning, struggling to stay alive and keep
my head up and out of the rushing waters. Everything in my life flew by me
without much notice, let alone attention to detail. I didn’t meet many people,
for all the ones I saw were just like me; struggling, letting everything float
right by them. No matter where I
looked, I saw living memories of what life was like before. Just when a flicker
of hope would ignite, the current would rush by and blow it right out. There
was no hope, no possibilities of security and happiness, only the surging water of the world. This is the feeling of indigence.
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