As the sun rises, marking the dawn of a new day, I find myself standing at the end of a long pier, gazing upon the rolling tide, wondering...

Today, I commemorate my departure from the friendly confines of Mother's womb, and my first solo breath. Though I cannot recall any details, I'm positive it was quite an overwhelming experience. What it must have been like to have your tiny, comfortable realm shattered in a matter of moments, only to face a tumultuous next few hours before being left to do it on your own. Frightening, isn't it? How many times will we repeat this exercise in our lives?

I think back and realize - despite the psychological torment I endured at the hands of my peers and, most of all, myself - how lucky I am to have been afforded the luxury of stable footing. Some days, this leads me to ask "Why me? Why was I dropped on this side of the world, in the pillowy lap of luxury, while so many of us struggle to eat a half-decent meal, let alone land a job?" I suppose there isn't much I can do about the past. I've always been told to appreciate what I have because so many have it so much worse; every time, I scratch my head upon hearing this remark, for I now interpret it as an exercise in defeat: Why try to change what is? Be happy with where you are.

How many of us have suddenly had our world shattered, only to have to gather the pieces afterward and, somehow, continue living? How many of us have lost jobs, or homes, or loved ones, or all of the above and more? How many of us have lived through natural disasters, or economic strife, or war? We are always that newborn babe, happily adrift for so long in our liquid-filled sac, only to find it disappear, leaving us cold and naked and bewildered. Fortunately, in times like these, we can count on those around us to catch us as we fall and hold us as we learn to stand on our own two feet for the first time. Unfortunately, I fear our helping hands are disappearing.

It is utterly astonishing to bear witness to the sort of technological advancements we possess today; what's more astonishing, and simultaneously disheartening, are the barriers they are helping to build between us. Certainly, the advent of the magical realm of the Internet has successfully brought together people who would not, nor could not, associate with one another - it has indeed helped yours truly open the lines of communication with others, given his social ineptitude - but when I see countless others around me tune into their high-definition television sets and mobile telephones and digital music players and out of the world around them, a shadow crosses my heart. One of the sights of which I see less and less is the street hockey game: as a boy, my friends and I would spend hours upon hours in front of our house playing hockey with a tennis ball - at times, one might see several games being played on a single stretch of road! - nowadays, I suppose the video games and online social networks are just too alluring. I fear the same is the case with the remainder of the generation raised on and by technology. I used to be the same way but a few years ago; now, whenever the sun's rays peer through my window into my room, I yearn for the outdoors (perhaps later today, for I must resume studying for my exam).

How does this relate to helping one another? Easy: the more we isolate ourselves, the less we identify with each other, the less we care about their well-being. Sure, we can't possibly know everyone personally, but the least we can do is pay attention to them, acknowledge their existence, when our paths cross. We can hem and haw all we want about the transgressions of the police officer or the boss or the salesperson or the motorist who cut us off during the afternoon drive home, but we often fail to realize these are people, too, and for every transgression unto us, we have wrought unto others as well, and so long as we continue to attack one another, to push everyone away from us, this shit will continue. We can't ignore the thief or the vagabond or the junky forever.

With all the technological wonders I've witnessed during my twenty-eight years in this world, there is one thing they cannot do: they cannot be there for us when we are in the most dire of need, for without the people operating these machines, without the people tending to them, without the people tending to each other, they are no more than inert matter.

Note: This has to be among the least coherent pieces I've posted, though, come to think of it, I find it fitting to have written in such a manner on the day I commemorate my birth, for isn't that what it means to live? Do we coast along on a single, smooth stream, or are we tossed this way and that, forever seeking a branch or an outstretched arm to grasp?