priviledge
"No please don't, it's too expensive for you," I said.
We stood side by side in the dark, and watched over the rest of the camp. I turned to my left and we looked at each other. I was thinking logically through the various permutations and combinations, however unlikely, in which I would see him again.
In all reality, I will never see him again. As it sunk in, I was thinking of a fitting way to convey a final goodbye within the limits of our broken dialogue.
It was then, as I was still looking at him, that I understood the full extent of the meaning of privilege. We stood apart, him and I, almost the same age, the same height, equals and the same. Yet as I was there wishing him a good life, what was I wishing him to? I would go back to my cushy existence, pamper my skin and my palate, continue bitching about uni and work and life, and be a doctor. He would, in all likelihood, walk back to his village and farm or help his parents out, go on treks when there were treks... it struck me that uni was not even an achievable reality for him.
I looked at him and I felt so far away and sad, at such an immeasurable incomprehensible distance that had suddenly grown between our comfortable shoulder width's distance.
At the end of the day I am here on my laptop, and when I read this or go through old photos, I can only wonder where he is or what he is doing. Really, I should have been the one in tears, but all I can do is muster a sigh.
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