Quirk of fate

I was on the train today heading towards the twin towers when at one of the stops, a lady got on pushing a little boy in a wheelchair. He had shrivelled arms and legs, the latter encased in socks and the former wrapped with old towels that reminded me of mittens you would find on a baby. He didn't have the strength to support his own head, so it lolled back and to one side, his mouth partially open. Occasionally, he would twitch and emit a low mewling sound like a kitten in distress. 

I felt so sorry for him. I wonder how he must feel, sitting trapped in that body, unable to fully experience this wonderful thing called life. Sometimes I think it's better to be born that way because it must be the worst thing in the world to have had a completely healthy body, and then to contract a horrible disease or be involved in an accident and then have it all taken away, because then you know exactly how sweet life is and what you're missing. 

By some quirk of fate, I was born into a middle class family in Malaysia. A happy, healthy baby girl. I could have just as easily been born into a starving, poverty-stricken family in Africa or into a war-torn region or even into a silver cradle with my first Ferrari at the age of two. I was lucky enough to have the resources available to me to achieve some of my goals, foremost of which is getting a good education, which then leads to everything else. But what about those poor children who never had enough, who never knew where their next meal were coming from, who had to fight for everything they have, and for whom education was just a dream? 

There are some people who overcome whatever disadvantages of birth they have and achieve unimaginable success and my hat goes off to them. Full respect. But my heart goes out to all the poor disadvantaged children out there who never asked to be born into this world. Life is not fair, not when there are people like that little boy on the train who can't live life to the fullest.