Lonely Heart in Haiti

I want and I work. I work and I get. I want. I work. I get. But, how does it feel to want and yearn, to bleed and erode, to suffocate and shatter, but never get; to never feel, as a part of the human race, that anyone sees your anguish, sees your house collapse on top of you, hear your screams?

Over 500,000 and counting have been killed by the earthquake in Haiti. The island has been utterly destroyed. Red Cross has run out of supplies and so has every hospital in Haiti.

So as I sit on my comfy couch, sippin my coffee, and watchin the Today show on a big screen--epiphany. What is not lavish to me is a miracle, a dream to a young girl, an old woman, a civilian in Haiti. I am the dream. America is the dream.

Before the earthquake, there were barely any telephone lines and now this mass destruction? So the question is, how dare I sit idle when there are people who look like me, my grandmother, my friends, my cousins trapped underneath stone and granite or have escaped but are wearing the same bloody, dusty clothes from 3 days ago because there little belongings are lost among the bodies and rubble? Had there been a turn of events deep in my family history I could have been trapped beneath that same rubble only to be rescued back into hell.

So, I have no money. I have a college that does and I have a voice and I refuse for there to be one lonely heart in Haiti. I can't physically feel the anxiety of not knowing if family lived or died or of carrying a dead child in my arms, but I know what it feels like to feel abandoned and I know what it feels like to be human and that is enough for me...and it ought to be enough for you.