I saw a girl today. I saw sadness in her face. Desperation. Torment. Isolation. I couldn’t help but ache for her. It only took a look, a brief moment and I longed to embrace her and tell her it would be okay; that she was good enough. I thought of people I’ve loved and how much it would hurt me to see them in such a state, whatever our present situation.

I remember a time where I would routinely pray to a God I didn’t believe in. Sitting in trains and busses, I would watch the sad and tired faces. I would think in a loud voice so that God could hear me, “give me their pain, let me carry it the way you carried your cross. Please let me hurt for them.” That seems like a lifetime ago. That feeling of wanting so desperately to help your fellow man and knowing there was little you could do, so I asked God instead.

I recently had such thoughts and I stopped myself. I thought in a loud voice again, “please I can’t take anymore pain. I’ve suffered too much.” I feel so much guilt for this today. Maybe its because I feel the end is near anyway that I think aloud again to carry the pain of others. It seems joy will not come to me anyway; let me suffer more.

Suffering can become a warm blanket in high doses. A comforting heavy touch in a moment of complete surrender. Perhaps I’m just feeding my pride to be a self-important martyr.

I don’t want to be the type of person who wants to hurt people. But how can I let them get away with what they’ve done? If not for me, I have to fight for the next person that callous cruelty makes mince of. Am I not allowed reparations? I just want back what was taken of me.

As if there isn’t enough suffering, we have to fight each other?

I wonder what made them sad, those tired faces? Or what tormented and isolated that girl this morning? I just know that I’m sad and long again to suffer for others.