A Human World

 As my grandma slowly poured the sesame seeds onto the hot pan and the oil sizzled with the eternal taste of pretense, I laid obediently on the newly earned canvas of righteous freedom because it was noted that this time belonged to us alone. 

I could do anything. 

I could play the piano I had been dying to play for so long and play Russian songs over it. I could finally feel the little bottle of magnetic sand I got from the beach in my hands and see that they weren’t ashes this time. And how cool is it that we all dared to paint with the color red after all these daunting war-feared years?

It’s a captivating red sunset sheltering the anonymity of the groovy moves of the floating clouds. It’s framing the remaining houses as if it’s a modern Starry “Dusk”. Has it always been this beautiful? The flying birds and swaying fields, buildings so layered and afar, young girls playing so safely on the streets, and a group of kids discussing philosophy—I wish I could eavesdrop on those overly intellectual conversations, chime in with some literature, science, and life, and experience everything all over again. 

Oh the delight to see the democrat fold his sleeves and lift his daughter high up in the sky; to see my old neighbor hug her son for the first time. The Ferrari dude waving at the cyclist struggling to climb up the hill and the roars of educational laughter from the community school across the street. The mean little boy sharing his candy stick and the shy 18-year-old showing off a big smile after the miraculous kick. 

How happy they seem and how unbothered!

The realms of the hiking trails procured in their own natural eccentricity, the oceans so blue and the forests so green. The polar bears dancing on the euphoria-flavored snow, and all the Yarshagumbas peeking their way out onto the world. To see the flags of nations and flags of identity, to hear the echoes of good songs, and to shout out the hymns of the future. To see the teens give each other sunflower bouquets and to see the happy tears of the Colonel's wife as the nation retires from war today. But there’s still the best part that comes tomorrow. People on the street will finally find a home.

Was it really this easy for all of us to be a little considerate?

Turns out it was. It was easy to say my team calls and build a world of consistency. To fulfill a part and be passionate. To think. To think out of the box and explore. To come up with ideas and computations, but also reality and art; to come up with formulas and equations, but also the instinct of right and wrong. To study the myriad, the universe, but also the little things. To sketch the real art: imperfections and perfections, hazards and assurances alike. To leave a road for improvement and keep on constructing. To just do and be, because that’s what evolution has taught us. We’ll find a way, but not by sitting still. There’s an entropy outside—a miraculous entropy. And, as cool as it seems to play with it, we need to use it to make it better. It’s like a fountain of colors, and we get to design the spectrum. So, why destroy it with our sophisticated minds when we can create something even more beautiful?

It is easy to plan a home when you know that it’s yours. We just need to realize that.

Giving up the hoaxed power of violence and brutality, and the assumption of indifference to be at peace—whether through rules or learning, just knowing the plain difference of having distinctive flexibility to question one's own belief system of power and peace and a creative helping approach to all living beings can teach us life.

Youth is the epitome of mankind; let’s make it the embodiment of a kind man.

So here’s to my dream team of Youth Peace Force devouring the sesame burrito while mediating the aristocracies of lifelessness in everything. It is too peaceful to see humans be humans.

Let’s be humans together.

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