Some days I feel utterly useless. It’s on those days where I want to help the world with one touch. It’s only when the scene sets in and documentary is shut off that I’m brought back to the surroundings of my small feet and small hands. I don’t blame my petite body for my lack of get-out-there-and-do-something mentality, but I do blame my distraction.

I get distracted by my own problems such as thirst, hunger, pain from a stubbing my toe or cramps because it’s that time of the month. But my stomach turns as soon as I watch these documentaries of those who do thirst, but no water is brought towards their mouths. Those who hunger, but no food is brought forward to fill their bellies. The pain and agony of diseases that seem uncontrollable in their population, while no cure is found. The cramps that every woman may get, but that cannot compare to how they worry what their children will eat next.

It’s things such as these that make my individualistic point-of-view seem disgusting. I almost want to slap my wrist and ask myself what I’m doing. Why am I still here? Why aren’t I out in the world, seeing these things, writing about them, looking for answers?

I’ve been put here for some kind of purpose, correct? Not to just sit in an office, working Monday through Friday and having Saturday as a relaxation day. Why can’t I see this side of myself everyday? This side where I’m suddenly charged with helping the needy and the homeless. I feel like those dollar bills that I give out to the poor on the roads aren’t nearly enough for what is going on in other countries.

Maybe one day I will. Maybe when my intellect grows and my mind is set beyond myself and beyond my needs (which will hopefully be soon), then I can finally grow to become that person to reach out their hand and show the kind of love that has never been shown before. One day I will speak for the weak.