I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again, I cry a lot these days. I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older or if I’m just suffering from bouts of depression and I need an outlet to release my emotions. But I have not realized I’ve become a crybaby. Reading the line “Help us save the wild cheetah!” made my eyes water, my nose itchy, and my heart contract in pity and pain. Reading about bear baiting, whale hunting, the crusade that led to the extinction of the passenger pigeons, and some of the other atrocities done against animals made me question the faith I have in the innate goodness of man. It seems I’ve always been naive and blind to reality, preferring to believe that no man could be innately bad. Now I don’t know.
Sometimes I hate the Net for containing the things I would rather not know about. But is ignorance really better than knowing the truth? I could have saved me some heartaches if I didn’t read about how some bears are tortured for their bile, or about how seals are killed for their fur. But I couldn’t stop myself from reading about them anyway. And every time I would always feel I’m partly responsible for what is happening. I wanted to make a difference, and I would. But I need to settle my life first, or there would be none of me left to do anything. I know it’s not a valid excuse. If one is wiling to help, no one could stop him from helping. But it’s all the excuse I’ve got for the moment.
In my pensive moments I would always wonder what would happen if I’d already died and I still have not done what I am supposed to do. Would I burn in hell, too?