The spinning wheel of luck

A million corners of the world are at war, and a million more seem on the brink of it. Yet you, sitting here reading this, and I, sitting here writing it, get to breathe smoke-free air and sleep without the sound of sirens. Why do you think that is?

It is, quite simply, luck.

Everything you have — the eyes you use to read this, the hands that hold your newspaper or phone, the legs that carry you from your bedroom to your balcony, the money that pays for a subscription to this paper — every single thing is, in some way, the result of luck.

I like to imagine that God has a great spinning wheel. Before each person's story is written, He gives it a spin. If you're fortunate, the needle lands on a country that knows relative peace. If it doesn't, then your life begins in the shadow of conflict. That wasn't your fate, but it is the reality for millions of others. There are children who may possess more talent in a single finger than I could ever hope to achieve in my lifetime, yet they have been dealt a vastly different hand.

And here I am — a privileged teenager writing for what is probably an audience of other privileged people. I am someone who sometimes neglects the schoolbooks I've been given simply because I don't feel like studying, while children affected by conflict in Gaza, Israel, Sudan, Ukraine and many other places would give almost anything to have those same books, to spend an ordinary day in an ordinary classroom, walking through school corridors instead of crumbling streets.

Sometimes, it makes me feel guilty simply to live my life. I feel guilty sitting beside my brother, going to school, sleeping in an air-conditioned room and allowing myself to be happy. My heart aches for those who have lost their homes, their families and their futures in wars that often seem impossible to justify.

Our next Maria Sharapova may be in Sudan, struggling to survive a civil war. Our next Marie Curie may be in Palestine, trying to survive bombardment. We may never witness their brilliance because survival has become their greatest challenge. So much potential, so many bright minds — what I like to call the lighthouses of my generation, because they have the power to guide us through darkness — are simply trying to make it through another day, wondering when they will next sleep in a warm bed, eat a proper meal, or see the end of the violence surrounding them.

Returning to the idea of luck — of where you were born, the body you were given and the opportunities you've had — I hope you are grateful for your life. I hope you appreciate the privileges that so easily become invisible.

The next time you complain that the air conditioner isn't cooling quickly enough, that the rain is too loud on your roof or that traffic is taking too long, remember that there are people-perhaps not even in a war-torn country, perhaps just two kilometres from your home — who are searching for shade beneath a tree. People who would love to feel the breeze of a ceiling fan, hear rain falling on a roof instead of on their heads, or own a vehicle, even if it meant sitting in hours of traffic.

The needle on your spinning wheel could so easily have landed somewhere else. It could have placed you in the middle of conflict, uncertainty or unimaginable hardship. But it didn't.

So be grateful. Live your life fully. Don't let opportunities pass you by because of fear or hesitation. Somewhere in the world, someone would give anything to live just one ordinary day of your extraordinarily fortunate life.

The writer is a Class XI student