Having just seen the movie, “Unbroken,” I really feel like I can’t complain. I don’t have some bastard tormenting every day for giggles in a POW camp. I don’t have to decide which is worse (from a life raft on which I’ve been existing for over a month): the planes above shooting at me or the sharks below my raft that want to eat me.
I live in a country where I don’t have to cover my face and walk behind my husband. I am confident that I will eat again in a few hours and the meal will include more than rice. I can trust that my kids are safe at school—that is, the few days the school is actually open–and the possibility of their classrooms getting bombed is rather low.
But I look around me, and there is so much suffering, even in the corners of the most fortunate.