I am an ethnocultural minority. But I am privileged.

Here is what my eyes see: the ceiling in my bedroom, and then nothing, as I drift into an ignorant and peaceful sleep.

Here is what my ears hear: people fighting in the street, and then silence, as I walk away.

Here is what my tongue tastes: steaming hot plates of fresh and organic foods, and then the lack thereof because it’s thrown in the garbage.

Here is what my skin touches: the burn of a hair straightener, and then some cool yogurt to cool it off, while I curse myself.

Here is what my nose smells: blood dripping down my head as I crinkle my nose to the smell of mashed potatoes and jello cups as I roam through the hospital.

Put things into perspective for yourself. The greatest beauty is to be able to appreciate and act on how privileged you are. And a greater beauty than that is to help someone or something in dire need that you absolutely CANNOT relate to on a fundamentally personal level. Help someone whose language you cannot speak, whose culture you have never heard of, whose faith (absence of it) is different than yours, whose “thank you” may not be received.

It’s easy to help those we relate to. It’s romantically ignorant to save a dog but eat a cow. To feed a bird but use the paper from the tree of its’ nest. To give a loonie to a homeless person but passive aggressively dismiss a transgender person.

Just close your eyes, spin the globe, and shower your love to a speck of where your finger lands.