The "Grievable" Life

One of my favorite theoretical pieces is the first chapter of Judith Butler’s book, Undoing Gender. In this chapter, entitled “Beside Oneself: On the Limits of Sexual Autonomy”, Butler discusses the issue of a “griveable life” i.e. what kind of life should we mourn? I had time to think about her words a few days after the terrorist attack on Westgate mall, after the death toll kept rising, and the individuals became more faceless. I thought about her words after a Pakistani friend first told me of the terrorist attack, his words of comfort being, “Don’t worry, this happens all the time in my country and I’m still okay.” In truth, we are surrounded by so much terror and death, within and without our country, and as humans, we pick and choose the grievable lives, we mourn the ones that catch our attention, the emotive ones, the young ones, the ones that jar us to the reality that we are all headed to the grave. But who mourns for the un-grievable lives, in our case, the ones that are far beyond us, the kind that are “Oh I didn’t really know that person” or the “I’m not from that country, it’s all happening far away from me.” The indiscriminate shooting in America, the bombings in Nigeria and Pakistan, the chemical attack in Syria. How do we situate ourselves when we encounter “un-grievable” lives?

I don’t know the answer, and so I turn to Christ in moments like this. What Would Jesus Do in such a hurting world? Does he pick and choose between lives, the griveable and un-grievable ones? I think he grieves for us, all of us, he mourns for every life that is lost. He wept when Lazarus died. And if he promised to wipe away every tear from our eyes, then it can only mean that death was never in his plans, even though it would be my joy, one day, to be absent in the body so as to be present with my Lord.

Meanwhile, I pray that God would grant me the grace to see each life as he sees it, grievable or un-grievable, because if I am his hands and feet, then I also want to be a vessel of his sorrow.

An odic essay for my Father

I will buy you shirts and cologne and ties and cuffs over the years, walk with you into the sunset days. But I know that the best gift of I can give, is this, I hope. My offering of love in the art that you so encouraged me to take up. You have covered me in your prayers each day, I know, since my first breaths in half-caste skin and baby hair. You have called to check up on me each week. And even as I pursue my dreams, the ones I am too scared to even mouth, I am surrounded with comfort, because there's the beauty to having a father like you, someone who runs alongside me and makes sure that all the doors are open, all the paths stripped bare for my feet to graze, who believes in my unending strength to give life to those dreams, who forgives. I have never known a love like yours, and in the silence of my days, I pray that I don’t, so that the taste of your love will hover over me all my life, and I will sing today and everyday like Miriam did when they crossed the Red Sea. And I will call myself blessed. Because I know you, and I am yours. The man who loves God so wholly, so perfectly. When I curl into sleep I pray that I grow into your kind of faith, your stillness in the turbulence of life, your assurance that no matter what, God will provide. I remember praying once that God would make me fifty-years-old, your age then, when I first realized that your kind of faith was something I did not have. And on that day, more than anything, I wanted to be you. I can't wait to see you again, to be swept up in the embrace of your arms, to know how I am always home in your presence. In the man who has given me a Father's love, and more. I often write how I live my life through Mum's eyes and love, but I do so, I know, because she chose well, because I have this great foundation in you. You have made it possible for me to be me. And I call myself blessed because I am your daughter.

Happy Father’s Day everyone!

My favorite songs about fathers: Luther Vandross, Dance with my father, and Steven Curtis Chapman, Cinderella

Want to read more about fathers? Click here :-) 

For Single Girls…

I've been thinking about leaving, how you'll leave, how you've left, how they always leave.

When I sat next to you in church today I thought you would pray for me. The pastor said, "Pray for the person next to you", and I thought you would hug me to you, whisper an ode for me, inflame a bygone love to fill my inborn longing, to mark me with your infinite touch, and commit me to His arms, to your arms.

Yet I was alone when I reached my hand over your back, let it settle on that perfect arch, where the bend of your spine told me to stop. I swear I felt your heartbeat. And a pool of your warmth settled on my palm, and I prayed for you, longed for you. Hungered for His love to fill your heart to fill mine.

Maybe you would watch me in white walking down an aisle to your embrace, maybe you would carry me over a threshold and make me yours forever. Maybe you would kiss me. Seal His love in your heart, on my lips, in my heart.

But you left. Left without saying goodbye, without a word, neither charming nor the prince. They said the ones who love God are the best. They were wrong. They were right. Because here I am with my love-lorn-heart, writing about how you'll leave. How you've left. How they all leave.

Fall in love with Him before you fall for him. You may never be his bride, or you may be his bride for a while. But you’ll be His bride for all eternity.

Dissonance and The Mediating Role of God

As a budding academic and Christian student, I straddle two worlds. I carry two labels, one that demands me to live by secularized ideals, and one that bids me to lay aside worldly standards. Navigating this contradictory existence is not easy, and many of my troubled conversations are confined to my Bible study group. I remember once last year when a Christian professor at my university mentioned how being a student and being a Christian should be an effortless endeavor centered on honoring God through our academic work and social life. His talk reminded me of my high school days, when a pastor reminded us that we were students first, before we were Christian. Even Christian leaders contradict themselves.

Perhaps I see contradictions because I live in a world that creates categories, purporting the absence of fluidity. The labels “academic” and “Christian” are limiting, but ones that I am forced to embrace if the world is to make sense of me, to allow me to operate in society. Perhaps all I want to be is a seeker, or as a line in a favorite childhood novel, Song of The Wanderer, puts it, “My heart longs to rest but my feet yearn to walk. Shall I wander the world or stay safe at home?” The label “Christian” has its own burdens, an extreme of which is intolerant. I like that my mentor calls himself “A friend of God”, a label I find devoid of religiosity, and one that he chooses for himself. Once while filling out a form, he put “None” under the category “Religion”, sparking debate from people who know him as “Christian”. Now if contradictions exist at the level of our being, you can only imagine the ones that exist as we venture into the world unknown.

Yet part of being human is being at peace with a contradictory world. My religion professor told me once that this involves living a partitioned life, not thinking about having to navigate the paradoxes. To some degree, I agree with the professor, but I also believe in a predetermined life. Not just in the sense that God knows where I will spend eternity, but in the sense that He knows my struggles because He once lived the human life. I know God foresaw me facing this challenge one day; He foreknew that modernity would boil down to struggling to keep the old, while embracing the new. My go-to person is God. I know life will become a kernel of contradictions, especially as I learn new frameworks of theorizing about life, about how we can peacefully co-exist as humans. But I also know, yes I know, that only God can help me mediate this dissonance. Only He can give me Peace, the kind that surpasses all understanding and guards your heart and your mind. And He extends this to ALL of us!

What I have come to value most about Christianity is the absence of legalistic and intellectualist demands on my existence*. At the end of the day, my judge will not be my religion, my faith, my pastor, my family, or as my mother reminded last week, society. The Bible says that God knows the hearts and minds of all humans. And so I rest assured that I am answerable to God alone. 

*The “Christianity” in which I was raised and live by today.

This commentary has been inspired by an unfinished essay in my head, and Judith Butler’s Introduction and Chapter One of her book, Undoing Gender. 'Contradictions' is a running theme in my work. To explore more and join in the conversation, I welcome you to read my other pieces: Bursting My Bubble and Just Remember the Child

RIP Mary Onyango

It's hard to eulogize a person you never knew, but there's so much about Mary Onyango that I admired. One of these days, I will write an essay about such women. I look at them from the sidelines of their lives, and I can only exclaim: what a woman! So here's a poem for a woman I never knew, but who I know was loved and admired by many. May God rest your soul in His eternal peace.


Mary Onyango,

If I could write a song for you,

 Mary Onyango

I’d compose a wordless requiem,
and sing it in the octaves of my heart.

If I could speak of you,
I'd tell of your fiery resolve,
to work and fight till the day you died.

If I could hold a mass for you,
I’d wear your favorite pink,
eat Christ's crusted flesh and
drink his blood and plead—

“Lord,
 rise with her again.
Someday.”

When it's too late

We, human beings, have the knack of not knowing what we have until it is gone; until it is too late and the cock has crowed. 

We don’t tell each other about our love, until one of us is gone and the chance is passed up for all eternity, and

We overlook our family thinking they'll always be there, forgetting that their bonds of love are the ones that cushion the shocks of life, and

We take our friends for granted because we are too busy, and when we realize that time is fleeting, we are too late because they moved on without us, and

We hurt each other and hold on to the hurt and grudge, and vow to live to fight another day but in the years we forget what the quarrel was all about, and

We live for the cheap thrills and quick fixes and don’t stop to think, to thank; we forget that we are only here for a season.

We forget that,

When the last trump shall sound and our script is read, and

When we wonder if we had missed reading some words, or if there were words that we should have said but didn’t, and

When we finally stand muted before the imminence of mortality, then,



We might remember that we are human, replete with imperfections, and that

We have the knack of not knowing what we have until it is gone; until it is too late and the cock has crowed.

We might remember that we once  took a savior for granted, and crucified him, and yet he was the Son of God.

We are just human

I love reading different blogs just to see what other people find interesting. One thing that I have observed is the theme of friendship. What entails a good friend, what kind of friend you are etc. Also interesting is the idea being peddled around, that some people can’t be our friends because for some reason, they were never meant to be in our lives. I consider this explanation a new age invention created to boost our self-esteem, and make us forget our own weaknesses by placing us on an imaginary pedestal above others.

You may consider someone to have hurt you, to be a terrible friend, to have forgotten to keep in contact with you. Well, before you throw the first stone, think about your own life. I know I am a best friend to some, an acquaintance to others and a terrrible friend to others. That’s why I hesitate to judge, to spitefully claim that God didn’t want some people to be in my life, that they are some sort of baggage that God didn’t intend me to carry. Although this may somewhat be true, it has the connotation that God doesn’t care about these other people, that I am so special that God would pointedly mark some people as not part of Miriam’s life. God loves those other people too, you know. Maybe He didn’t want YOU in their lives.

Consider another scenario: You lose contact someone. You were the one who never replied the text message, or never answered the email. It may be that someone somewhere has done the same thing to you—left you hanging. Hence, you are caught up in the human chain of imperfection. We can’t always be there for each other, we can’t always have a 100 friends of whom we keep constant touch with. I know I can’t. And I’m sorry for it, but I’m not beating myself about it. I’m just human, and so are you. If you are claiming now that your friends have abandoned you, chances are that you have also abandoned some unknown friend somewhere. So relax, don't panic, enjoy your life.

Kultur: Dein größter Einfluss

Vorher hatte ich vor, dieses Post auf Englisch zu schreiben. Aber dann habe ich mich entschieden, dass es kein Sinn macht, mein Englisch anstatt mein Deutsch zu üben. Ich möchte die deutsche Sprache beherrschen. Deswegen soll ich bereit sein, mich völlig zu bemühen.

Ich interessiere mich für Anthropologie, und wie unsere Kulturen uns anders beinflussen. Um meine Meinung gut auszudrücken, möchte ich meine eigene Erfahrungen verwenden: Meine Kleidung.

Wenn ich im Ausland bin, bin ich nie schick gekleidet. Ich trage nur Jeans, ein T-shirt und meine Turnschuhe. Für mich ist Bequemlichkeit wichtiger als ein gutes Aussehen. Aber wenn ich in Kenia bin, habe ich immer Probleme bei der Wahl eines Kleids. Ich kann nicht leicht auswählen, was ich trage. Ich will immer schick gekleidet sein...du weißt nicht, wer dich anguckt. Vielleicht gibt es ein Junge, der an dir interessiert ist. Die Gründe sind riesig. Ich kann nicht gut verstehen, warum ich mir immer Gedanken über mein Aussehen mache. Aber ich vermute, dass die Antwort in der Kultur liegt.

Jede Person hat eine Kultur, in der sie erzogen wurde. Jeder will die Ideale seiner Kultur erreichen. Dieser Prozess ist immer unbewusst. Wir können ihn nicht erkennen. Deshalb bin ich nicht gespannt, dass ich im Ausland nicht schick gekleidet bin. Auch strebe ich danach nicht, Aufmerksamkeit im Ausland zu erfassen. Meine Heimat ist Kenia. Nur in dieser Heimat kann ich fühlen, dass ich etwas falsches gemacht habe, dass ich mein Potenzial nicht ausgeschöpft habe.

Ich weiß nicht, ob meine Theorie für alle gilt. Vielleicht bin ich die Einzige, die auf die Erwartungen anderer Kulturen nicht achte. Allerdings ist es wichtig, unsere kulturelle Erwartungen wahrzunehmen. Daher können wir unsere eigene Entschiedungen ohne aüßere Einflusse treffen. Wir können uns befreien, wenn wir andere Kulturen betrachten, um die versteckte Erwartungen auszugraben. Ich kann meine Träume verfolgen, ohne die "wichtige Karriere" auszuüben. Darum kann ich mich erinnern, dass die Ansicht Gottes am Ende meines Lebens die höchste Priorität erhält!

Wie mein Schreiben irgendwie mit Gott verbunden ist!

Forgetting God...

Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
give me neither poverty nor riches,
but give me only my daily bread.
Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’
Or I may become poor and steal,
and so dishonor the name of my God. (Proverbs 30:8-9)

'' So what's your name again?''

''Miriam.''

''Miriam..Miriam....that's a Bible name, right?''

''Yes,''

''So, you Christian?''

''Yes''

''Protestant?''

''Yes''

''What church you go to?'' 

''Umm...you don't have it here in Europe..Pentecostal'' (hard to explain my non-denominationality in Germany)

''Ahh, I know it,'' (smile) ''I'm Seventh-Day, do you know them? They have many of them in Africa, right?''

''Yes. Seventh-Day Adventists are quite a number in Kenya.''

''In the US too, but not so many here. My husband is a pastor''

''Wow, that's wonderful!''

''Yes, I work here until Thursday, then I go back home to Poland and I'm in church by Saturday.''

''That's a hectic life...''

''Yes, it is. But I have to earn money. My son is in school, in (mentions town in Poland). Do you know the town?''

''No, sorry.''

''It's near the border to Germany. A big town.''

''So school is not free like here in Germany?''

''No...'' (with bewildered face) ''Very expensive. You include the rent, the food...everything becomes very expensive. In fact, from now I'll start working here every week, not every other week''

''Coming to Germany every week, instead of every two weeks?''

''Yes. I have to support my family.''

Silence

''You know life is very hard in Poland. The people here (Germany) have a lot of money, and then they forget God. I don't want a lot of money. I need my God.''

The Voice that Won't Be Heard

I am amazed at the number of foundations and NGO’s cropping up in Kenya. Every other week, I hear of people who have formed a foundation because of a particular cause. I can’t help but imagine that certain Kenyans are looking for the next tragedy around which to develop a cause. Although I don’t have anything against them, I can’t help imagining how many voices want to be heard. It’s a mad race for people’s money, and the most sensational gets the prize!

A few years ago, I would have also clamored for the same attention. As a slowly reforming attention seeker, I couldn’t help but bask in the glory of such attention galore. But life has taken an interesting turn for me. Yes, I will be the voice that won’t be heard.

This holiday, I have been working with girls who are in danger of undergoing female genital mutilation. For many of them, life after FGM will be a teenage mother’s life, a household full of children and the workload of a mule. In a poverty-stricken land, they will not be allowed to dream beyond the homestead, and their voices, consequently, will never be heard.

As I ruminated on the lives of the girls I was working with, I couldn’t help but reflect of the words of Jesus in John 17:25-26 when he prayed for all believers:

Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known to them in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.

Jesus’ words offered great solace to me. Although I am uncertain of the path the lives of the girls will take, I am certain that my efforts will have planted God’s love in their lives. I am a deep believer in the power of God to heal the lives of a people entrapped in a dehumanizing culture. As I reiterate, God is able to do far much more than we can ask or imagine.

Above all, Jesus' words continually remind me why my voice should not be heard. If I am to live a servant’s life, then the voices of the girls I work with need to be heard beyond my own voice. Furthermore, when we yearn for our own voices to be heard, we risk failing to let God’s own voice rule the day. I have committed my life to living for Christ, and if ever his voice is not heard above my own, then I risk walking the lonely road. And I never want to be alone.

So that’s why my voice won’t be heard. I want to be part of God’s voice on the face of the earth. It’s not enough to wake up one day and form an NGO to fight for the rights of the girl child. But it’s enough to ensure that one girl comes into the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that God is glorified in every facet of my life.

Fathers

Last week in my church, Tell-a-Tale Productions showcased a brilliantly scripted, directed, and acted play about the decay of fatherhood in Kenya’s society. Men are no longer fathers; no longer role models to their sons (and daughters). Thus, their children perpetuate all kinds of immorality in the society. To show the realism of it all, the director talked about various actors of the play itself, whose fathers had failed to be fathers.

Indeed, this conversation about fathers has been going on in Kenya for quiet some time. Newspapers and lifestyle magazines record it all with titles such as “Fathers, where are you?”, “Will the Real Man please stand up”, “Men Needed”...It’s so sad to see how far the Enemy has gone to destroy the family. Even the Church is under siege, with fathers failing to be the priests of the household, leaving their wives as the sole carriers of the faith.

In the midst of this ensuing conversation, I took time to look at my own life. To cut the long story short, I have been BLESSED. I have a wonderful man for a father. When I am away at school, he makes sure to call me at least three times a week. He has always provided for all of my needs: physical, psychological, spiritual. I can’t compare him to anyone. Indeed, I can only hope that my husband can be half the man that my father is.

Unfortunately, not all men are like my father or the many other great fathers out there. Hence, the mentoring of young men is sorely lacking. Unless we have an intervention, our society will continue churning out men who are not really men; simple shells without any real substance within. What then must we do? Where should all the young men and women without fathers turn to?

God.

In the Book of Psalms 68:5, the Bible states “A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling”. God clearly assumes the role of a father when earthly fathers fail. He steps in to direct the lives of the fatherless. Indeed, what greater joy than having a supernatural father for a father?

Of course, as human beings, we may still crave the physical presence of an earthly father. Looking at others, we may wish to have fathers of our own. This is where spiritual fathers come in. In the Bible, Timothy had a spiritual father—Paul (1 Corinthians 4:15-17). These fathers can serve as our earthly fathers, providing a much-needed communion that is both biblical and relevant in today’s society. And even in the absence of spiritual fathers, God, in His wisdom will provide. He is Jehovah-Jireh.

So, let’s all get down on our knees. Let’s pray for our society. Pray for the men in your life, the one’s who are yet to enter the into the institution of fatherhood. I will pray for my brothers, my friends, my future husband, my future sons. Pray also for those who are fathers now, so that they may step into the role that God has pre-destined for them. For God, who raised Christ out of the dead, is able to do immeasurably more than what we can ask or imagine.

All Glory be to the Greatest Father.

Breaking the Silence on Suicide

I have always wondered what makes people so depressed to the point of taking their own lives. After listening to two friends who admitted to having suicidal thoughts, I think I know the answer. One of my friends lost her brother last year, and the other constantly struggled to get good grades in her exams. Putting myself in their shoes, I imagined what would happen to me if I were to oscillate between moods of extreme happiness and extreme sadness. Taking a trip down memory lane, I would probably remember the friends who were mere wolf in sheep’s clothing, the bullying that I underwent in my childhood, the desire to fit in that made me go to extreme lengths, and the hope that one person could truly love and appreciate me just the way I am. Essentially, I would have to live the life of a manic-depressive.

Manic-depressives have to deal with a disease that eats up their zest for life. Helpless in the face of pessimism, they only need to determine the time when to kill themselves. Although suicide is a delicate subject, I sincerely wish that society would be more open in talking about it. As we focus more on upcoming lifestyle diseases, we tend to forget that suicide still comes with a fast paced lifestyle focused on self-awareness. No one simply wakes up one day and decides to end his or her life; only mentally disturbed people engage in such thoughts. Yet my friends, healthy and full of life, found themselves in this entrapment.

Had they chosen to end their lives, they would have required a firm conviction that their lives would never improve, even if they lived one more day. Caught in the final stage of this conviction, they would fearlessly execute the final irreversible act. Luckily, my friends never had enough courage to take their own lives. Abandoning their suicidal thoughts, they chose to focus on the turmoil their deaths would cause their respective families. Still, not every suicidal person can reach this point. For these individuals, society may be somewhat responsible for the deaths. Most people have a support system—not necessarily a family, but people who surround us and form part of our immediate environment. Unfortunately, we may be so caught up in our own lives that we fail to see the pain in others’ lives. More importantly, we fail to see the point where they cross over. Only after the person is gone do we bother to investigate what triggered such a violent act. We judge them because we are convinced that they could have found happiness had they held on to their lives. The bitter truth is that we neither lived the lives they did nor experienced the pain that they had endured. Judging them will not answer the question that we ought to be asking ourselves, “What could we have done different?” It’s not enough to just blame them for hurting us, for not looking at the silver lining in the cloud. What we fail to understand is that perhaps their pain blinded them—their manic depression sucked life out of their lives. Living a painful pressured life, they eventually chose to take the easy way out.

After pondering on the lives of manic-depressives, I have decided not to jump to conclusions or judgments whenever I hear about a suicide. Instead I will ask myself: “Do I know someone who I can help?” And even if I don’t, I will remember to say a kind word to everyone: ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to people who I don’t know, and ‘I love and appreciate you’ to people who I have formed intimate bonds with. I don’t know if my words will to save them from themselves, but I hope that suicide will make me appreciate everyone, even in the smallest of ways.

Das Schweigen Brechen: Meinungen zum Selbstmord

Letztes Jahr beging einen jungen Somalier Selbstmord. Die Annahme lag nah, dass er wegen der Schwierigkeiten im Leben aus Viewpark Towers sprang. Dieses Trimester haben wir über eine Mutter, die sich getötet hat, gehört. Sie hat unter Armut gelitten, deswegen hätte sie ihr das Schulgeld für ihre Kinder nicht leisten können.

Infolge dieser Vorfällen, habe ich mich gefragt: Wie werden Leute so anstrengend bis sie sich umbringen? Ich vermute, dass ich die Antwort weiβ.

Ich leide an Depression. Einerseits bin ich glücklich, andererseits, traurig. Ich konnte nicht darauf vorbereiten. Ganz plötzlich errinere ich mich an alles, was in meinem Leben nicht stimmt. Ich quäle mich mit dem Gedanken an die Einschüchterung während meiner Kindheit. Eingedenk meiner Freunden, denen ich nicht vertrauen können hätte. Ich wird ganz allein. Niemand weiβ, wie ich etwa durchlebe. Depression ist eine schlimme Krankheit. Man wird sehr traurig, sehr anstrengend und hat kein Angst mehr vor dem Tod. Man konnte sich einfach töten, es fragt nur wann und wie.

Würden mehre Leute über Selbstmord sprechen! Keine Person steht einen Tag auf und sagt aus, dass sie sich umbringen wollte. Nur die geistig behinderte Leute geben solchen Gedanken Raum. Mir gehört zu dieser Gruppe.

Um sich das Leben zu nehmen, braucht man groβen Mut. Eine Person soll vollig überzeugt, dass ihres Lebens nicht mehr froh wird. In diesem Zustand konnte man dann das Leben ein Ende macht.

Trotz meiner Selbstmordgedanken, fürchte ich mich vor dem Tod. Ich bin ein Feigling, aber anhand meiner Feiglingkeit, bin ich noch am Leben.

Ich bin der Auffasung, dass alle Pflicht daran sind, wenn eine Person sich um die Ecke bringen. Jede Person hat eine Unterstützungsystem; nicht nur unsere Familie sondern auch die Menschen, die um uns sind. Obgleich wir für unsere Nachbarn sorgen sollten, denken wir nur an unsere Leben. Wir sind so blind dass wir nicht sehen können, woran Andere leiden. Nach dem Tod eine Person, errineren wir uns an ihr Leben. Wir stellen Fragen über ihr Leben. Da wir an die Frohlichkeit des Lebens glauben, beurteilen wir ihre Taten. In Wahrheit könnten wir ihr Leben nicht erfahren, ihr Pein erleben. Die Antwort liegt nicht an Beurteiligung. Wir sollten uns fragen ,Was hätte ich Verschiedens machen können? ‘ Sich zu blamieren ist nicht genug. Wir wissen den Grund ihrer Taten nicht. Eine gute Möglichkeit wäre, dass sie alle Hoffnungen hätten verlieren können. Ihr Leben war so leer, sie konnten sich nicht mehr entspannen, das Leben nicht mehr genieβen.


Also, wenn Sie von einem Selbstmord hören, statt plötzlich dem Schluβ zu kommen, fragen Sie sich ,Kenne ich jemanden, dem ich helfen kann?’ Wenn Sie niemand kennen, dann errineren Sie sich an Freundlichkeit. Erzählen Sie Ihrer Familie und Freunde von deiner Liebe! Seien Sie dankbar und empfänglich für sie! Sie wissen nicht, ob seine Wörter sie vor Selbstmord schützen werden!