Place in the world - part 2

Today I saw the picture of some kids starving in Africa and my eyes went wet.
I can't deny that it's a cliché that I do not entirely approve of -a kid is always moving.
It made me think of how pointless I am right now.
It made me realize how much we lose perspective of how the real world might be in far-off countries. Whilst we think about social networking, tweeting, getting information overloads on our mobile phones, people are starving.
Real people, somewhere in the world -and not necessarily that far- are struggling with their plight for the mere survival.
We forgot how it was when we didn't have it all, and now we can't do withou it.
But potentially there are very few things we really need.

I thought about my grandfather today.
I touched the ring that he gave me and remembered all the times he told me I should write his memoirs.
He was a storyteller.
He was born in poverty and in a much disgraceful year: 1917.
Despite that, I believe he had a rather happy life.
Most definitely, a long one.
He was not much literate.
A smart, honest, good-hearted person, but not cultured (except for maths, where he was a skilled calculator).
I was wondering this morning whether it is true that the more you know, the least happy you are.
As if the top bargain did not exist and the options were just: happy but ignorant or sad but know-it-all.
Faustus has always been a fascinating myth to me.

And then I brooded over myself, my place in the world, yet again.
Do I really want to be a journalist?
Even if I went somewhere where reporting might make a difference, will I be able to just report?
How can you not be affected by such human tragedies as starvation, disease, famine?
And if you are affected how can you go back to the humdrum of everyday life in your rich country?
Needless to say, I don't know the answers.
I just wish that my life will make a difference and will be of some help.
If only for one person, I want to feel like I am much needed, perhaps indispensable.
This is my new mission.