The story of everything you use.
I am the super-great grandchild of unspeakable earthly developments. More recently, human struggle and magnificence and pain. I wish I could express my gratitude to every single person that smiled or suffered to create the facilities, the notions, the everything you and me use. They probably didn't even think of me. That's sad. Their work makes my life what it is. The same people who unexcitedly assembled my amazing computer screen and shoes with which I spend hundreds of hours every month, packed or even used the bullets who killed my brother. So what to thank them for? In which context did what they did?
I am one of these people. I know how it doesn't feel to do meaningful work. Nobody taught me to care about the essence of my job. We sing along: 'Care to save for yourself just money, time and peace of mind. Self centered be or fooled and laughed and kicked aside you'll soon end up.' You know the song. It's all over our cities. Yet, I use the bus to go home. Constructed and shipped and driven by fellow workers. My dinner as well. The movie I watch alone; Sure! So, what if people could choose not to work on lame projects? Some can, still don't give ourselves this gift, 'cause -the song taught- it's a small price to pay for a salary that can purchase the face lifted version of my obsolete whatever.
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