i too suffer from first world ignorance
A few days ago, I decided to kill some time at Super Target. I needed a new sports bra, and I was interested in checking out this new area near downtown where the store was located. As I was walking in, some man says to me "girl, don't cry, why are you sad? 'aint got no reason to be sad..." I kept walking towards the store, ignoring him, and figuring he was just some schizophrenic homeless person (or something like that), the kind of person that it isn't very uncommon to encounter in Downtown Orlando.
Anyway, I walk into the store and make my way toward the jewelry (what? i like their jewelry). As soon as I find a pair of earings I like, I make my way over to one of the table mirrors to see if it looks good on me. As I glance at the mirror, I am somewhat surprised by the reddish face staring back at me.
Oh, yeah, I didn't put on make up that day.
Not that I put on make up every day (or that my face always looks like a red balloon without it), it's just that on that particular day, there were many factors present that made my skin flare up (WAY too sunny, used Jorge's old face scrub that morning, no sun screen...). See, I have Rosacea, which basically is a cryptic way of saying that my face tends to redden every now and then. Woop-di-doo.
So, that man wasn't a schizophrenic. It actually looked like I was crying.
Anyway, I decide to make my way over to the make up aisle to try to find something to cover that up with. I was planning on going to a book signing a bit later, and I didn't feel like going with a tomato face. Plus, there was no way I was going home when the book store was only a block away. So, I decided that I needed to buy some foundation.
But wait, I thought (Jew instincts kicking in), maybe I don't have to waste money on make up. Sure enough, there was a little table set up, probably advertising some make up line; this meant that there would be free samples. Score. I walk toward it, and I am greeted by a young, polished-looking brunette. Apparently, they were selling some creams from England called Boots. I waited while she talked, patiently, pretending that I was listening intently, hoping that if I seemed earnest enough, she would offer me samples.
However, I was caught off guard by the question, "do you have Rosacea?" Why yes, lady, yes I do. "Oh, you know, I wasn't sure if it was a sun burn...but you're just in luck! We have the perfect product for you! You see, the English are very fair skinned..." she continued to go on and on about how this product would work miracles on my skin. Honestly, I was not interested. I already have a medicated face wash that my dermatologist gave me; I just had not used it that day (or the day before, probably), which partially explained why my face had flared up that day. In addition, I don't like putting chemicals on my skin, especially not several times a day (apparently, you needed to really slather this stuff on constantly in order for it work...some miracle product). Just to humour her (and to satisfy my curiosity), I asked if I could see the ingredients. "Why sure," she said, giving me the box. Sure enough, it was full of chemicals. The stuff must have had over 40 different ingredients, none of which I could pronounce. And, of course, it had loads of parabens (you know, the stuff that causes cancer in laboratory animals). Which I was supposed to be slathering on my face several times a day to keep my skin redness free.
She could tell I wasn't impressed.
Uh oh, she thought, it's time for Plan B. That's when she brought out the English Lady. This English Lady, who apparently also worked for the company, confessed to me that "I too suffer from Rosacea, and I use this product twice a day. Can you tell?"
I too suffer from Rosacea.
Suffer?! Isn't that a bit of a strong word? There are people starving in Africa, women being raped and mutilated, children forced to kill in order to survive, and you suffer from Rosacea?
Sorry lady, but I am not suffering from the fact that my skin likes to be a bit redder than normal sometimes.
In fact, I am perfectly happy, grateful even, that my skin hasn't beeen burned off by acid, or that I can even walk into a Target, as a woman by herself, without being spit on or slurred at by men on the street.
It is easy for us to take what we have here in the western world for granted, our rights, our freedoms, and our security.
All I know is that I am not suffering, and chances are, neither was that woman from England.
But there are people who are. And maybe if we all stopped buying useless creams and instead used all that money to help those who were actually suffering, we would be getting somewhere.