Tears from life

Notes from Bali, the 26'th of August. 5 minutes from home, feeling the speed in my legs, are well adapted to the soft soil, the beach provide - as close to the ocean i get whit out soaking my shoes, completely. I feel the endurance getting better for every single step - I like the flow. Turning up towards the street for some walking and cooling down. After 50 meters on the sidewalk. I meet a adorable, little child walking next to me - begging for money. I show her my running clothes - no cash or anything. I feel real bad, bad indeed. She looks up to me, with her tangled black hair. And I looking in to the tiny beautiful dark eyes. When a tear slowly, slowly runs from her tear canals. One, more, and then both eyes are tearful, at the same second she turns away her head, as she feels ashamed of the tears. I go down next to her, asking for her mother. She showing me with a diffuse movement her mother - to the left of us, sitting against the fence, towards an old construction site - with a baby in her lap. I feel the lumps in my throat and my eyes getting more and more shiny, struggle real hard, for not start crying myself. I guess It's better to stay strong and show real attention to the small family, trying so hard getting my tear from stream, real hard. They live there, when thinking about it, I have seen them there earlier in the week. I ask the mother, how the can get money, cause there's no well fair or social security system in this country. It's the family's supporting each other, but this is a small family. They get there income from tourist, selling bracelets. The mother, name Wyan. Trying to keep a god face, but the truth shines straight through her. I know she is doing everything for keeping the face - for her daughter sake. The mother is the back bone, the only comfort Joma has (the small girls name). Joma are hungry and slowly start dosing of, hard to stay awake, against the fence, getting more and more tired. I say to the mother, - i will run home and get money for you. She looks at me with real grateful expression, saying : promise you come back? - I will, trust me, you have my word. I run as fast as I can. With the small beautiful eyes on my retina, while my tears fall, falling, all the way back to Arthawan "losemen" - where I live. When coming back to the small family, two more people are there, two older men, better to speak English, cause the mother could only say, there names and pleas bye "holding up the bracelets" and simple quotes in English. I bye a bracelet, for a big sum, hoping for some difference, and knowing that there is many tourists in Kuta beach, I hope, I hope. I will never forget the face on Joma, when she tried to hide her tears and to stay awake. I'm sitting her at an internet cafe (restaurant) thinking of the small girl - Joma, with her family living on the street, with her little sister. The other child on Wyans lap, also named Wyan. Thinking of her, stuck on my retina, forever, I guess, forever.............Trying to stay awake, holding her tears.......holding her tears....