The weight of survival

Sometimes I wonder what he would be like if, in childhood, education was held with greater importance. Sometimes I can feel his inner struggle—not one of inability or incompetence, but of two minds whose roots are separated by vast oceans.

Sometimes I can see his eyes dart and then glaze over as I speak with words that, to him, sound like a foreign tongue.

It's not that he lacks faculty or intelligence; both blessed him at birth and are present in abundance and quality. It is, however, that he was not born into the same household graces of privilege. While my own parents were working hard to acquire bachelor degrees at university, his parents barely managed to finish high school. Their dreams were trampled under the weight of survival, so the luxury of prioritizing education was a foreign concept.

While my parents were rejoicing at the news of new life forthcoming, his were watching their country burn.

When I was merely moments old, safely snug in my mother's arms, he was gasping for each new breath as dust and ash from falling bombs settled upon his sterile incubator's protective walls.

To me, education is the most important pursuit in life. To some, however, the dire, critical weight of survival takes precedence over the pursuit of knowledge.

I wonder what he would be like if he had been born into privilege like I was, raised with the empathy of education rather than the harshness of war.