Reality

The world that I perceive and inhabit is rarely affected by the things I read or hear about in the news, the happenings in foreign countries I can’t ever visualize or sometimes even locate on the map. Because of this disconnect, and perhaps my inherent inability to empathize strongly with foreign places, I find it particularly difficult to even care about these events. I live in an isolated bubble of school and family life, books and writings and perhaps a pinch of video games. The external world is unfathomable to me when I attempt to understand it through my life lens. Take, for example, the protests in Egypt.

You know that something “historically significant” is happening when your history teacher assigns you a paper on a current event, especially given that only three brief papers are the total summation of a semester’s work. The revolution is Egypt is causing many heads to turn; the whole world is watching the ensuing upheaval as thousands clash and march in the streets. I too can watch this with a vague feeling of interest, but I can not imagine or feel what it would be like to live there at this time. People’s lives and entire beings are invested in this moment, for a cause, a belief, a hope— and all I can feel is the slightest stirring of interest as I skim the news on BBC, news that I’ll hardly think about or consider any further, albeit for given assignments and discussions. Left to my own devices, I know I won’t dwell on the turmoil in Egypt or any world events. I can not imagine the tensions and roiling pot of emotions that permeate the major cities in Egypt, I can not even imagine the sensation of a crowd, much less a massive protest…

It is not that I don’t believe these events occur— I’ll blindly trust the news, I’ll “believe” that Egypt is a real place and that no insane, mass-conspiracy shenanigans are playing out— but my life continues as if no news has happened, so it may as well be pretend for me, it might as well be a fictional story. The plane of reality that these events inhabit in my mind is equivalent to the plane where tales from novels reside. I doubt this can be good, for one is reality and the other is not. Perhaps if I watched the news instead of reading of it I would more readily empathize with the events. Even then, though, while my emotions would be briefly riled, the passing of time would glaze things over, and soon all would be forgotten.

Even news in America fails to truly engage me; really, if I’m honest, news from my humble town seems as remote as the protests in Egypt. My unawareness, apathy, isolation, whatever it is, may be traced back to my parents or upbringing; perhaps the absence of TV, or the familial distaste for the paper (excluding the comics). But inside, I feel that this distance is simply part of who I am. It is not a good quality, but at the same time, forcing myself to care about the world, to go out and help and understand different places and cultures— to place that upon myself would be dishonest to those I would be trying to help, and would ultimately only hurt myself. Self-imposed interests and benevolence are of no use, for they can not fully accomplish anything; projects would be feebly started then dropped, ideas morphed, partially implemented, then forgotten. No, I currently can not feel that link to the real world, it is beyond my personal sphere— I am only affected by those who are close to me. These, my family and friends, are the people I can and will help, the people I can connect with and care for.