Reflections on Survival



     One time I met a man from Rwanda who told me the story of his own survival during the genocide-- somehow he made it as he ran and hid himself. He also told me the story of some people that he knew who decided to leave behind their crying baby because the infant made their running and hiding difficult; they survived, but the baby did not. The man continued telling me that those people were later consumed with regrets, and consequently experienced psychological disorders due to a persistent sense of guilt.

     Browsing the net, I came across the stories of people who succumbed to cannibalism as they were struggling to survive during extreme situations— war or ill-fated expeditions. I do not know how those who survived dealt with their gruesome (I assume) memory afterwards.

     And since we are going through a global pandemic, as we know it, I can not escape mentioning it as my third example (yeah, they say 3 is a good number when it comes to examples). It seems like something definitely needs to be traded in to survive the disease—being with friends, family, travel, mask-free face, mental health, hugging people, kissing people, normal life, basic freedom...

     My reflections are only meant to ponder upon a straightforward question: what is the real price of our survival? In other words, what, or how much should we be willing to trade in to survive?

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