Recently I took my ten year old to see a play with me. Part of the show covered the story of Malala Yousafzai, an amazing individual that deserves to have many plays and stories written about her. At one point, Malala was called a humanitarian, and my daughter gasped excitedly and looked at me. That word has been associated with my work and subsequently myself, so my daughter said in a thrilled whisper "she is a humanitarian, like you!"
Now, I am no Malala. I have not been through the tragedies she has faced, and I have never had anyone withhold my ability to go to school based upon my gender. The word humanitarian, though, means to be someone who is concerned with or seeks to promote human welfare. So, yes. I am a humanitarian. I am proud that I have spent my life caring about the welfare of others.
On days like today, being a humanitarian leaves me feeling tired, scared, and worried that nothing I do really will make much of a difference. I started my morning helping someone find a translator so she could find out what her son's teacher was asking. I then helped another person get in touch with a disability services office at a college. Then I tried to find some information about health care resources for someone without insurance.
I am a humanitarian, but I was also tired and really wishing I could just take a bathroom break. I took four more phone calls before I could finally go to the bathroom, running into three people along the way who needed attention and information that I could give.
I returned to my desk to find a meal had been brought to me by a woman I have been helping from Moldova. I am worried that she may have spend half of her days wage in order to feed me, but she wants to show her gratitude so I eat and enjoy the meal.
I am a humanitarian. I then go with two recent refugee young women to a building downtown to talk about potential college opportunities. They feel bad when they see how much parking is, but I am fine and feel bad because I realize what that couple of dollars must mean to their family.
I go and type up the events of my day and see the list of things I have left undone, the people I have not helped, and the things that will be put off as I go home to do my laundry, do my homework, and go babysit for a friend. I wonder if I should just stay at work and not do my laundry, but I have no clean clothes left for the week.
I am a humanitarian, but I am also a mom, a flawed person, and a sometimes lonely person. I come home to an empty house because my children are not here today. I feel sad as I see my empty house and remember the homeless I saw on the street. My house is empty half the time, but I need the space for when they are home. I wonder if I am not so much of a humanitarian because I easily dismiss being able to help.
I feel tired and want to rest, but know I have more work to do and people to help. I think about the friends I have going through challenges today. I think about the things I need to donate to the second hand store so someone else can use them. I think of many people I should call ore help or bring a treat to. But I sit on the couch. I am tired, my feet are swollen, and my head and heart are heavy.
I wish I were a humanitarian. I wish I were better at promoting the welfare of others. I threw away some vegetables that had gone bad, and feel horrid when I think of those who have no food. I wrap up in one of my blankets and think about the people who are cold because it is raining outside. I want to be a better humanitarian.
My daughter told me I am as awesome as Malala. I am not, but in her eyes I must be. I want to be a humanitarian, so that my daughter can be strong and kind and smart and empathetic. I want help people feel loved and wanted and needed. But some days, I am overwhelmed with all the challenges we face. I am overwhelmed by all that I see.
We need more humanitarians.
Now, I am no Malala. I have not been through the tragedies she has faced, and I have never had anyone withhold my ability to go to school based upon my gender. The word humanitarian, though, means to be someone who is concerned with or seeks to promote human welfare. So, yes. I am a humanitarian. I am proud that I have spent my life caring about the welfare of others.
On days like today, being a humanitarian leaves me feeling tired, scared, and worried that nothing I do really will make much of a difference. I started my morning helping someone find a translator so she could find out what her son's teacher was asking. I then helped another person get in touch with a disability services office at a college. Then I tried to find some information about health care resources for someone without insurance.
I am a humanitarian, but I was also tired and really wishing I could just take a bathroom break. I took four more phone calls before I could finally go to the bathroom, running into three people along the way who needed attention and information that I could give.
I returned to my desk to find a meal had been brought to me by a woman I have been helping from Moldova. I am worried that she may have spend half of her days wage in order to feed me, but she wants to show her gratitude so I eat and enjoy the meal.
I am a humanitarian. I then go with two recent refugee young women to a building downtown to talk about potential college opportunities. They feel bad when they see how much parking is, but I am fine and feel bad because I realize what that couple of dollars must mean to their family.
I go and type up the events of my day and see the list of things I have left undone, the people I have not helped, and the things that will be put off as I go home to do my laundry, do my homework, and go babysit for a friend. I wonder if I should just stay at work and not do my laundry, but I have no clean clothes left for the week.
I am a humanitarian, but I am also a mom, a flawed person, and a sometimes lonely person. I come home to an empty house because my children are not here today. I feel sad as I see my empty house and remember the homeless I saw on the street. My house is empty half the time, but I need the space for when they are home. I wonder if I am not so much of a humanitarian because I easily dismiss being able to help.
I feel tired and want to rest, but know I have more work to do and people to help. I think about the friends I have going through challenges today. I think about the things I need to donate to the second hand store so someone else can use them. I think of many people I should call ore help or bring a treat to. But I sit on the couch. I am tired, my feet are swollen, and my head and heart are heavy.
I wish I were a humanitarian. I wish I were better at promoting the welfare of others. I threw away some vegetables that had gone bad, and feel horrid when I think of those who have no food. I wrap up in one of my blankets and think about the people who are cold because it is raining outside. I want to be a better humanitarian.
My daughter told me I am as awesome as Malala. I am not, but in her eyes I must be. I want to be a humanitarian, so that my daughter can be strong and kind and smart and empathetic. I want help people feel loved and wanted and needed. But some days, I am overwhelmed with all the challenges we face. I am overwhelmed by all that I see.
We need more humanitarians.
Comments
Post a Comment