let lemons be angry

I saw my children yesterday.
Rather, they are not mine, but they mean the most to me.

At the end of camp last year, I thought that I could do more for you. I would go see you in your home as soon as possible, so that you wouldn't have to miss us so much.

Yesterday I realised that there is still nothing much I can do. I can't talk to each of you personally, or hold your hand all day, and tell you that you are special and I missed you. There are too many of you. What you want is personal attention, that affirmation that you are one of a kind, and I can't give that to you. I can only afford to buy presents for you in bulk, and give out attention in bulk. I can only see a little bit of you, and give a little of myself for one morning at a time. Then I have to leave, and you have to go back to your own complicated, confusing life, going home for the weekend or not at all, sleeping in your dormitory bed with your one cupboard.

I wish I could say, "You mean a lot to me," but I have nothing to back that up. I can only give you a temporary escape from the routine. And perhaps that is all you want of me too. The workers who live with you love you the most, but because they do the difficult things like enforcing rules and order, you like them less. So my superficial role is also the most ideal.

So I'm keeping my reality glasses on. And I'll do my best to show you that I love you in the next few hours we have together. Which will be in four weeks' time--which in your world, is a very short time away to see someone you care about.