The Good Fight

I romanticize struggle; there, I said it.

Beneath every blessing, every privilege I enjoy and all the luck that has been on my side, I am unable to say I truly deserve it all. I blame the infallible feeling that tells me nothing is worth having without struggle. I live in a spacious Eastlake Greens home I know many would be glad to reside in. My parents provide me with more than I need (and deserve for that matter). And what do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing.

I hear my parent’s stories frequently: my mother’s family of eight was evicted several times and my father’s family dealt with rough times where food was scarce, but enough to survive. I have none of those stories to share. I have never been forced to leave a residence because my parents were unable to pay. I have always had food on the table, and blankets to protect me from the cold at night. I should be kneeling every Sunday, thanking God for the things he has given me. I should be happy and enjoy every single moment I live without obstacles or struggles, but I find myself feeling incompetent instead.

The large city south of Chula Vista brings me back to reality. Tijuana is home to thousands of poverty-stricken humans that never chose to be born into that lifestyle, the lifestyle that keeps them guessing when/ where the next meal is coming or if selling packets of gum will be enough to pay for the bare minimum. A loud omnipotent voice defeats my thoughts and asks, “Why not me?” What made me, a naïve dreamer, have a comfortable life compared to these people? What have I done right in a past life? In turn, I find myself creating minimal struggles every day because I feel remorse for having a middle class semi-luxurious life. Instead of asking for a ride to do my errands, I walk or instead of acknowledging my father’s hard work to make me feel secure, I pretend my wallet is empty.

Intrapersonal philanthropy is what I like to call this sense of unease. Although my remorse does nothing for the beggars on the street, somehow I feel a sense equality knowing that I can make life a bit tougher for myself. But these “struggles” are never enough to protect me from a fear that lurks and whispers: if life has been this easy, naturally it is the time for things to go downhill from here.

Daniela Contreras

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