I Long To Belong.

• George Wilson, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2014

There are 7.046 billion people living in this current world. 1.1 billion Of those live with inadequate access to water. Drip, drip, drip. Here I am, falling. I didn’t see my life working out like this. This is not how I envisioned it. Every day I see a friend pass me by and all we can do is exchange tired looks. As if any hope that was ever here inside of us has been drained out. When I was established in this world, I fell from the sky. They say we were bred of air, that my insides were formed from invisible substance. I don’t believe it but many do. This was inserted into my thinking from the first second after being cleansed by the rocks. As I enter the body of another ungrateful rich sod, I find myself almost forlorn at the fact that my dream may never be fulfilled. I do not understand how the brown carbonated version of us with added sugar can belong everywhere in the world, yet my type will forever linger on the minds of the poor and extremely unfortunate. I do not understand how my type can populate two thirds of the globe yet we seem to be unable to quench the thirst of many. Every day I see another one of us being used and abused. So many of us have our talents wasted. I don’t understand how these people can just sit there and do nothing as we waste away. Sometimes I have visions of my African brother’s day-to-day lives. Watching on in horror as each day their population gets shorter and shorter. Watching on in horror as dirt and unhealthy additives pulverize their closest friends with no cleansing tool anywhere in sight. Watching on in horror as they realize their country may never be rich again. I remember hearing a phrase that forever had an imprint on my mind. “I long to belong”… “I long to belong”. Four words, five syllables. “I long to belong”. I can’t remember where I’d picked it up but I thought long and hard about this. I thought about what it means to be, what it means to those of my kind that do not belong. Those of my kind who are constantly treated as outcasts to the more popular Coca-Cola. Those of my kind who are taken advantage of, thrown out the window or down the sink. Those of my kind who are refused entry into the poorer countries. Those of my kind, who wish to help, dream to help but are not allowed. We are a kind of kindness, we long to save lives. To hydrate and to re-hydrate. But we are denied of these dreams. Here I am, on the tongue, a tongue that has been many places, tasted many things and spoken many lies. Here I am on the tongue of acceptance. I accept, on behalf of myself and all of my associates, I accept that I will forever long to belong.