Today I miss Bangladesh. It might be because the remaining affects of the mosquito-carried disease slow my steps and cross my mind. It might be because I look out at students who venture to express themselves and wonder of their futures. Whatever the reason, to the lives we live and the work at hand, I pause to view another snapshot.
A woman, sweat beading and muscles extending, she shifts the bricks above her head and carries on.
The work we do, each day, in our respective corners of the world–it matters. We are tied to our work with labor and time. We live our hours with dedication to a cause, a goal, a profit, a purpose, or a calling. Oh, the stories we would each share of we spoke of our toils and triumphs from all our years. May we not just make survival or just make money, may we also find that, today, our contribution to the world matters.
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