I fall in love with these people. It rains outside and I fall in love with them. The sun fights off the morning clouds like it’s kicked itself free of thick dreary blankets and I fall in love with them. This is the future. Every day this week I have shared thoughts with another country, written across an ocean, explained very carefully to a tiny video camera how I think I can make this work. I’m not chasing a shadow, I’m chasing a dream. It’s like I’m that metaphorical one girl army, one that’s fought its way off the page to actually stand. The screen in front of me is a window, as is the screen in front of you. It’s alive in the same way that mythology used to be, in the same way that thousands of people carry a cross around their neck. Slowly, we are building the next town with wires. Last time I heard, fifty percent of the human population had never made a phone call. Last time I heard, tribesmen in Africa were climbing trees to get better cell-phone reception in the middle of the bush. We can’t lock them out.
It’s because of these things, I don’t want to fail. It’s because of the choices we hold in our hands. I want to change something, not raise a glossy flag then look away. I’m tired of people being scared of the dark, deciding that because it’s not their concrete back yard that they don’t have to care.
Vancouver has a water warning on right now. Tumultuous weather has thrown an avalanche into the water supply, bringing with it possible gasto-intestinal parasites. The number of people who don’t seem to understand that we’re still obscenely rich in natural luxury in spite of this is staggering. They have to boil it first, but it won’t kill them, and they still have access to it. Compare that to the number of people in the world who have, on average, a bucket of water a day to live with. Maybe it’s too late for us to see outside ourselves, but I’d like to think that the recent inconvenience here might force some sacred hearts into flame.