We stare at the news wandering why there is so much violence in the world and we feel alien at that concept, not knowing how violence can escalate to inhuman levels. The problem is that we don’t understand how our current behavior is linked to that violence. In other words, when we commit a bad deed we can’t instantly perceive the result, what makes us believe it was not that bad after all until our memory forget about it.
Sometimes I wonder if we, as souls, choose where we want to be born?
If so, our parents are the obvious first aspect of the choice, but what about the place? I always have been grateful about the place I was raised. It was a small and quiet town, too small that you could walk it across in an hour and so quiet that roosters waked you up in the morning. The place was intimate. People knew each other well, all afternoons they pulled chairs outside their house and sat to enjoy the sunset and watched their kids play soccer at the street as part of the daily ritual of a peaceful life. Violence was an alien concept for the residents, something seen only in television, in a distant reality.
A few years ago, I returned home from the gym around 1 pm. It was Saturday, I remember. And after the good training session I had, I was tired and hungry—I want to point out that being hungry is one of the things that make me ill-tempered. The fridge was empty, and the idea of going to buy groceries and cook something myself was discarded even before opening the fridge. So my options reduced to buy a pizza.
I went out and walked to the pizza restaurant two blocks away because I could not wait the thirty minutes of the delivery.
When I was half the way a guy sweeping the street called me: “Have you heard of Muhammad?”