Cheap is the soul

God is on your side they tell you. From the second you leave your mother’s womb, when you are leaving at your door steps, when you are travelling with you friends. God is with you, God is on your side. It gives you that feeling of security, that sense of protection. Your mother, though she believes in God, remains restless. She keeps worrying; she lingers by your bed praying. Because your mother, though aware that God is with you, also knows that the people he put on your road to protect you, might not be there for you.

The road your bus rolls on is half built; the driver you give your life to is half paid, half awake, and half aware that he has lives within his mercy. That soldier we put on your country’s border to protect its sovereignty, allows traficants to pass through in exchange of a little amount of money. That doctor, takes change to rescue a life over another. But you, you are alive. You are young and full of dreams. You are not aware of the match that has been lit, to slowly eat out the candle that is your life.

You are a young little man, full of life and hopes. You dream of becoming a football player. You wanted to be an astronaut, maybe a doctor. But you’ve been to school. And it was hard on you. Your teacher, as you told your mother, is not a happy person. You are afraid of going to school. It’s way too far. And you are afraid of appearing dumb in front of your friends, because at home, your mother, though sweet and caring, cannot read or help with your homework. You’ve seen that astronaut dream moving further from you. Before, it was in the shape of the moon, up for grasps, today it’s just a passing star. It appears on your sky, but it’s so quick you can barely touch it. So you talk to your friends, and you find out that they understand you. That one of them wanted to be an architect and shape the mountains surrounding the village; however his father forced him to become a shepherd on those same mountains he once wanted to draw. There was this other one; he wanted to be an engineer. “I want to build cars and trucks” he used to say. Him, his father needed to work the fields, driving those sturdy looking trucks he once wanted to build. That day you and your friends, your brothers as you felt they were, made a pact to become football legends. You had the will, the talent, and the dream. The dream team.

You enjoy your land, you like your country and waving its flag. That’s how you first knew you liked running. You savoured the sight of the red and green piece of tissue fluttering in the air, harder and harder as you increased your pace. You used to close your eyes, hear the crowds chanting your name, and you, proud as a champion should be, waving your flag so high, it reaches your mother’s happy tears, to erase them.

The team is doing well. The village relishes your enthusiasm, and your determination. They are proud. But you and your friends want more. You want to run the fields you might be forced to harvest, want to climb the mountains, you want to fly. You are finally good enough to go play outside your village. Play other teams; prove the value of your dream over that of others. God is with you. Were your mother’s last words to you, almost in a wail. She is going to miss me, you thought to yourself; after all I have never been too far from her. I have never left the village. You left home, armed by only a dream, and your impregnable youth.

You left, you played, you ran, they applauded, you were happy. The dream, hitherto, was taking its shape. On the road back, you were already reminiscing. Your sky has gotten wider, you met new people, you discovered qualities in you, you’ve never suspected before. It was possible, reachable, palpable. After all, God is with you. But are the people?

Full stop. The sound of the breaks awoke you for your vivid dreams. Your brittle body is thrown about. You stand up, fraught by fear, aghast at the sight of flames. You’re confused; you turn to your friend. There! Words were not spoken, but you both knew. These were tears of valediction. These vehement shouts were nothing but a call to the Causa Prima. Was it all a lull? Was it just a lie? Lost and confused in your fiery turmoil, you can feel your candle burning. You were promised heaven, yet no one talked about leaving in flames. Where are you, mother? You close your eyes; you see her, running to you, with the same red and green flag! You believe still in this country. Someone will come and help! Someone… Your knees hit the floor in despondency. The red is now your blood, the tissue is your wrap towards your coffin.

You finally flew little bird. You see it all now! The lands, the mountains, the moon. That flag you dreamed about, still up, even when you’re not here to hold it. You see it clearly now little angel. The borders of your country, the car full of cheap oil crossing in. You see him now, the man building your concrete, shaping it from sand and salt. You see the match light up! You see it now leading to your bus.

You see ME now, silent and accomplice, laughing and unaware. I am sorry little man, would you tell your mother? Would it count if I screamed now little man?

The young dreams, of Tan Tan, who perished today. May God have mercy on your souls.