So much to write about today, but where does one even begin? I lack motivation to work. The motivation to actually get down and dirty and work is not anywhere in my body; it is ideas that burn like fire within my brain. All these ideas come to me, this burning desire etching on my heart to change this place. The problem is, this is not my country and I am merely an American in which everyone assumes I am rich and blessed and have no place being here except to travel. It is partly true. The longer I stay here, I have three more months here now, I have no desire to go back to my family. I have a family here, with whom I can share my experiences of drinking and dancing and meeting exotic people.
Shelly just got home and told me that one of my girls got moved to her orphanage, but they are kicking her out. She is untamable, like a wild horse. What happens to the orphaned by even the orphanages? This girl is no more than nine years old, and I know that she has some sort of mental disability. Anger comes out of this girl and she fights. I wonder why she does this. Maybe it is because, even in her young age when other girls around the world are playing with their dolls and doing silly things with their friends, she is aching and angry. She has been abandoned and now she is being abandoned by not one, but two orphanages. The police are coming to get her tomorrow, and my heart breaks for this child. If I had my own home, I would take her in, and just love on her.
That is the problem: where is the fucking love? People give up too easily. This girl fights, but that is what it takes so many times. What has she had to fight for? What has she had to fight to get out of? About 80 percent of children under the age of 18 here have been subjected to molestation and incest. That is an unfathomable number.
And who is willing to fight for them? Who is willing to take these mean, fighting, foul-mouthed children in their arms, and rebuke them and love them? Who is willing to be their salvation? No one, everyone gives up. Everyone turns their heads. Everyone looks at the impossible and sees only a dark path. What of her future? What of this little child? I am dumbfounded.
The work stretches out before me, and I am good for nothing. I cannot work. I want to pan out these ideas for children like this, to change their futures. They have no parents, they have no life of their own, they are just tossed from one crappy orphanage to another. This is why my heart aches for the latinos. It is as common as a head cold to them and they merely medicate it by sending them on to someone who might be willing to fight for her future.
I wanted to write about my experiences in Montanita this weekend, but right now it all just seems irrelative. My good time with my glorious bean stalk banging to Latino music made by a compilation of Columbians, Germans and others. I wanted to write about my weekend of freedom from these problems, and then I return, I am tired, and I am reminded of what is going on.
Anita, the little girl mentioned, is second from the left.
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