It seems that I am reminded daily that I live in a world that should not be, that was never meant to be.

We forget the tainted nature of our world sometimes because we so often wrap ourselves in the bubbles of our own lives, safe in the reality we have spun for ourselves; because we have been blessed, the world cannot be so bad, no?

Then comes that horrific moment when the warm, fuzzy cocoon rips. Eyes are opened. Reality shifts.

Charities fail because people are not generous, or often because potential donors have been scammed so many times that they no longer trust in the idea of compassion. A teenage girl with a bruise on her cheek walks barefoot down the street with a crying baby in one arm and four caguamas in the other. A sobbing toddler stands at the semaforo of Patria and Clouthier, scanning the streets for any sign of someone to take him home. A tarp strung between two trees is a home.

Poverty. Mothers so absorbed in their own tragedies that they disconnect from their children completely. The reality of slavery-- both literally and figuratively. La matagente. People so self-important that they would turn away those in need in the name of national security, in the name of politics. Children who are so desperate to belong, to be loved, they turn to the mara.

The absence of hope is like a vacuum. Who will fill it?