I look at the waist keeper boy. He is about 12 years old. Sitting in my car, I support the fact that poverty, or at least this amount of poverty, is far from me. I think my family, education, skills and relationships protect me from such poverty; The poverty that I have to go through the garbage that I can find enough food, survive, and may find a little joy. I am looking at him. Neither he nor I have much to do with our situation. If he were in my position, he would have more or less achieved what I have achieved, and if I were him, especially at this young age, I would be where he is. I know that the human being adapts himself to the condition and this is what keeps it alive, I know that mental suffering is not necessarily tied to having some, but I also know that poverty is bitter and any reasons and thoughts don’t alleviate part of its poison.
Then I think about the concept of ownership. That these things are mine and not his. What exactly is ownership when most of it is the product of luck? The same is true for nationality. What is the difference between me, an Iranian, and that Afghan immigrant, except for my birth? I get confused by these things; Most of the things I have and he does not have and the things I do not have and the other has are the product of free endowment or the grant of the universe.
The world seems unconcerned about humans. Its grants are random. There is only one thing remain: to forgive or not to forgive us. This is the only non-incidental factor. Honestly, I used to consider endowment as free gift to my sympathetic gratitude to others, and I was happy about it, but these days, free endowment has become a moral necessity for me. How is it possible (could it be) that own a lot accidentally and did not share with someone who doesn’t have? Everything, money, skills, knowledge, security, comfort and…?
Written by: Mahmood Moghadasi