I can feel the regret in me about not going to Mexico for the Challenge. It burns a bit because I really wanted to go, no matter how many fucked up things I would have to do. I felt like it was an amazing opportunity that was offered to me for a reason, and that it just completely sucks that I have to turn it down only days before I was supposed to go after months of anticipating my departure. Each time a friend or family member takes a deep breath and expresses how much happier they are for my choice to stay home, I feel so much better for that decision. Still, it feels odd to reject such a unique opportunity. I’m trying so hard to not let it bother me, to look at the bright side, to trust that all things happen for a reason, and that I am not going for a very good reason, even if I am never made aware of it.

I haven’t written about this WTC bombing yet because I doubt myself. I don’t have much faith in myself sometimes, a lot of the time, and I hate to attempt to capture such severe and significant thoughts and occurrences in words because I will hate myself for being half-ass, for trying to sound too poetic, or for belittling something so great. Sometimes I think I should just shut the fuck up and leave the words to be spoken by Maya Angelo because she is truly gifted, and I am generic. I don’t have enough faith in myself sometimes to speak wisely. Just as I don’t create music, I feel like what I have to give will not be beautiful enough to be worth lingering in the air.

I haven’t written about it because I am ashamed that I still think of relatively small things in this world as important when nothing should seem important in comparison to this tragedy. I feel stupid and horrible for being frustrated about romantic relationships. I get upset with myself for thinking about anything else except for this world outside of myself.

I feel this beautiful thought in me about humanity, and I have to apologize to anyone for attempting to explain it since I won’t be able to explain it as strongly and as warmly as I feel it. Watching the news and seeing all these countries over the world raising the American flag and crying for what has happened here is the most beautiful thing I could have even imagined in my life. I’ve never even known that the world could become so small and connected. I never imagined that the human heart could be so universal. I’ve never witnessed such sympathy, such unity of mankind, and to me it makes the world look like a small playground full of children with open minds and pure spirits. How fucking petty are troubles were, but can we truly hate ourselves for our blissful ignorance? How many times have our mothers and fathers put food on our plates and we complained even after we were reminded that there are people starving in the world who would be lucky to have what we have? How frugal we’ve been with our stupid cash. However, we still are petty and frugal when we forget about the world and allow ourselves to slip back into our small ponds. Sometimes I think I should hate myself for buying 275 thread sheets less than a week after the world’s worst act of terrorism. Others say that our lives cannot completely stop, that if we let these terrorists completely disrupt our ways of life, then they have won. When is it okay to think about anything else but the pain in this world? When can we feel comfortable laughing over something silly and stupid? How much should we hate ourselves for not stepping out those little ponds?

What will happen in this world? What will happen? Years ago, I remember thinking that there is no way we could go our whole lives and not experience war. I thought that our lives were too easy, that humanity had started to dwindle into billions of individuals and stupid groups with no unity, no purpose, no common passion, and no universal love. I was grateful that there was “peace” but I’m learning that there wasn’t actual peace, but just a pot on the stove slowly coming to a boil.