Bread is what matters

On the 20th anniversary of the acropolis museum founding, after the group visited and joined the festivities, I left the group early. My leg had been bothering me for a couple days, and I found it best to return to the hotel and rest for the busy day to come. After sleeping for 30 minutes or so, I became restless and couldn't get back to sleep. So I decided why not go down to the kiosk on the corner and grab a snack; maybe a walk around the block would clear my head. When I arrived at my destination, I found a group of young men, aging 14 or so to 25, standing around the kiosk, smoking cigarettes and enjoying the night together. I'm not exactly sure what came over me, but I asked them "do you guys speak english?" They all pointed to one man, definitely the oldest. The first thing he asked me was where I was from, "USA" I replied. A smile came over the man's face. "Ahhhh I love Hillary!" He said with a big smile. I chuckled to myself, If only. I asked where he was from, "Pakistan, a few kilometers from Hyderabad." He finished by saying, "I love my country, but I'm glad to be here, praise be to Allah." The expression on his face was almost one of mourning. Happy to be here, but sad to be away from home and his family. You could see the battlefield of emotions that took place behind his eyes."what brings you to Athens?" I had to ask, but I knew the answer. "Work my friend, work, there is more opportunity here, that's why I have left." I stood there, thinking, "uhhhh Greece? The land of financial opportunities?" (No of‐ fense to Greece or my fellow hellenes). "Why Greece?" I asked, "aren't you better off in a more northern country?" He laughed and agreed. "Yes, but for now, it works. I make enough money to send home for my mother and my siblings to eat, that is enough. That is why we are all here." He looked to his friend who wouldn't have been able to drive in the United States. My heart sank down into my feet. "How did you get here?" The man chuckled slightly, "it's best if we don't speak of it" he said shaking his head. Now my heart was broken. I just wanted to hug these guys. We spoke more of our homes and families. This mans journey to feed his family began about a year and a half ago, when his father died. It was his duty to feed his family, and he had absolutely zero room to fail, failure meant his little brothers would not eat. I was rattled. When my father passed, I said "see you later" to my mom and sister and hopped a plane to Crete to study and to get over my loss and keep moving. He didn't get an oppor‐ tunity like this, not the same ballpark, same zip code, not even the same hemisphere. He didn't have time to mourn. He didn't have the chance to be with his family and grieve a man he said meant more then anything to him. I felt like a real piece of shit. We then spoke of the perception of Islam in the western world. "We do not want to hurt anyone." He said almost crying. "Yes, there are violent people, but it's those people who create the image for all of us. We are just common people, trying to eat." Now he was visibly emotional. I can't imagine what sort of discrimination he has faced. In a world where children are detained and separated at borders, or ships full of refugees are pushed away, I have to wonder, is our standard of living so worth preserving that we have sacrifice our humanity? We use more, and want more then anyone. Yes it is hard to take a step back in terms of living conditions, but I wish we could find a balance. I really hope I can follow what Jessica Gavin said the other day, "we just go back to our lives and don't do anything. I hope I can do something, anything.