I will forget

By reading my Glamour Magazine, I learn very important information such as "101 ways to dress my body better" and "12 things no one ever tells me about sex". In September's issue between "Should I get rid of my period?" and "What the celebs are obsessed with now" I stumble across an article about women in Congo. I wonder what the style for their fall season is? But as I read on my heart is crushed and I cannot hold back the tears as they roll down my face for the women I have never met. As I read on I learn about the rapes that are committed in front of the woman's family, the tortures such as forcing the woman to eat her own feces, the destruction of the woman's soul by forcing her to have sex with her own brother and killing him for refusing to do so. I read about the stories so horrendous that it will haunt me for days to come, stories that crush the women's spirits in order to make the men feel satisfied, powerful, and dominant.
I could not help but to think about the "problems" that are stress factors in my daily life, and compare them with the problems women are faced with in countries like Congo.
I say "I have gained five pounds and I have to go on a diet", they say "I had to walk from morning to dust searching for a way to buy a banana for my baby". I say "I wish my husband was more romantic and lit a candle or two", the say "I was gang raped and left for dead". I say "I will go for laser hair removal because I am sick of shaving and waxing", they say "my soul died after my vagina was mutilated with guns and sticks". I say "please take your shoes off when you step on my white carpet", they say "please do not rip my stomach open and yank my baby out". The list of I say, they say can go on, and the question it presents is how can life be so unfair? How can I have such a privileged life where my concerns are exercising enough and getting the bigger office, when others have to worry about losing their dignity, spirits, children, and life?
The sad part is that for the moment that I read the article, maybe for a few hours later, and possibly for a few days after I will think about these women and their stories. I will compare my own life to theirs and try not to take what I have for granted. But eventually I will forget about these women, their pains, their sorrows and their stories as I become once again entangled with the routine of my own daily life and my own story. Eventually I will forget about the women of Congo and I will go on with my life, stressing over why husband walked two steps ahead of me. I will continue to travel the same path I was on and I will continue to call my little nothings problems, that is the way this world turns.