One can survive in a world where one is a second-class citizen.
One can get an education in a world where one is a second-class citizen.
One can survive and do well when schools are segregated.
One can adapt to that.
I feel kind of sorry for all the younger people who will have to learn how to do that, but I’m not that sorry; I get tired of hearing young immigrants brag about how they made it here.
I guess Gay people will have to start hiding in those closets again.
All those migrants, people here illegally, will have to learn to hide, and the closet won’t work for them. Rounding them all up will help Latino citizens who compete with them in jobs like construction. I have a brother-in-law that will be very happy about that.
There are positives, such as small businesses that rely on cheap labor going out of business or having to put their behinds to work.
Abortion, things are the way here in Texas as they used to be, we survived. We even learn to practice safe sex. Or maybe do, as Nancy Reagan suggested, and say no. That was on the use of drugs, but it works for sex also.
I may have to sell my home before they round up people, as many of the neighborhoods here in Houston have owners who are not legal residents.
HISD used to require non-citizen students to pay tuition; there is no loss here. I can live with that, as well as Lower property taxes.
Wonder who will clean up after disasters? People don’t even mow their lawns. They rely on the undocumented.
New experiences and questions that I can now observe; life is wonderful and always full of surprises.
Like Siddaharta, I will sit and watch the river flow.
Siddaharta wanders into the forest knowing that he can never go back, and feeling that the songbird inside him has died. He is full of the disgusting greed and excess of the town. He longs for something to happen to him, to be dead. He longs to stop awakening. He believes that it is barely possible for him to continue living with such deep sin inside him. He reaches the river, which had seemed like a symbol of hope before, but now it speaks of destinations, and Siddhartha cannot imagine his next destination. He can only think of death.
Siddhartha leans on the branch of a tree and watches the flow of the water and wishes to become part of it. He feels that he is at the end, that there is nothing left but to end himself and give his body to the crocodiles and creatures of the river. He sees his reflection and spits at it. He lowers himself closer to the surface, closer to death. But he hears something. A word, a sound, comes to him, from deep in his soul. It is the ‘om’, the perfect word. He suddenly realizes how close to death he had come and how miserable he was, and remembers the holiness he had forgotten. Source
