2. The Nightmare, The Contrast

The nightmare. I have experienced it as a dream before. But I can’t seem to wake up from this one. It still felt like maybe just a nightmare every time I woke up in the middle of the night in the past week. I open my eyes. I am still in Palo Alto. I can hear the birds chirping so early in the morning. I can hear Rouin snoring next to me. I can feel Gracie’s soft warm furry body bundled up under my arm. I am awake. I am home.  Then my kick drum heart starts pounding. The coldest sweat starts dripping down my arm. My stomach starts twitching as if I just untangled my body from a net. My throat is knotted up so tightly I feel as though it has shrunk in half.

I am terrified of my phone. It has become a torture device. It is sitting right next to me waiting to show me what horror has happened on the other side of the world, in that parallel universe that is ahead of us by half a day. A world that used to be my home as a child. A world turned upside down in just a few days. The images are unfortunately familiar. It has happened to many other homes. It has happened to many other families. The contrast has always been surreal and disturbing.

I am a teacher. The children I care for get dropped off at preschool sometimes with both parents. Their parents or nannies pack them a nutritious snack of a variety of fresh fruits and veggies. A hearty and sometimes warm lunch packed in a thermos. A tube of sunscreen for the teachers to reapply after a couple of hours. Extra sets of clothes in a bag. They come in with wings and crowns. They can choose what to play and when to play. They have so many options to choose from. So many tables setup with colorful toys, play dough, sensory bins, puzzles and art material. Each activity designed new and fresh every day to enhance or satisfy a particular skill or need. Each interaction monitored and aided if needed. So much imagination. So much curiosity. So much purity. Experiencing the wonders of the world, nature and science for the first time. Is this world real? World of bubbles and colors, ladybugs and butterflies. A garden with yellow flowers?

The images rush to my mind from the other side of the world but I swallow what tastes like guilt and helplessness for not being able to offer even the smallest fraction of this kind of care to the children that need it the most. Am I in the wrong place? Am I on the wrong side of the ocean?

Now it has hit home. The images are happening in the streets that I used to bike as a child. The fires are rising from the top of a mountain that I used to hike as a teenager. So many memories rushing to my mind and passing too quickly.