Turning to stone.

How many times must a heart break before it gets turned to stone?

I feel like my heart is too soft for this reality I’m living now, and day by day it breaks a little. And it gets a little bit harder than before. And crack by crack, as it heals, it slowly starts to turn to stone, until it no longer breaks. And then, you become cold, and unaffected by what goes on around you. You become numb, tears no longer flow and close yourself in a shell, trying to by invincible to the despair the walks slowly down the street.

Africa is little by little turning me into something different, and I have to leave before it makes me to hard. 

The lack of compassion, the lack of morality, the lack of respect for the human condition, all those things are present in everyday life. Like the little girl that comes almost every day to the house where I work to make a red water that is later frozen and sold as ice-cream. She can't be more than 10. From the countless stories of man who take advantage of women simply because they need food, clothes or money to feed their kids. The poor healthcare for the people who can’t afford the “good” one. Every day I walk down the pediatric aisle the screams dig a little bit deeper in my head.

And the sharks, those business man, that swim around in these waters and devour whatever prey crosses their path, with no regard to the people that are a part of this land.

But there are good things here as well. Like everywhere, there are always small glances of hope around. In the eyes of those who believe that things can change, that try to make that change, limited only by the lack of tools.

On these days I feel powerless, wanting to help without knowing how to. I try, although weakly, to soften the blows to my heart, giving just a little. A different view, a different approach, a better chance. It maybe be little but it’s a start.