The question wandered across my mind on a quiet evening as I waited for my friend, not even showing up, under a jacaranda tree and guarded purple petals drop slowly to the ground. "Is everything a risk?" I kept asking myself, mindlessly throwing a pebble at an anthill.
I thought of first of the ones that are apparent: getting out into the street, investing in something, trusting someone. And then my mind made way. Was sowing maize not a gamble? You plant a seed into the earth and you pray it will grow. You use your energy to plow, to weed, hoping disease, insects, drought and thieves do not claim what you worked for.
Even love, I realized, was a risk. You give your heart to someone in the hope that they will handle it delicately or broke it thoughtlessly. But people still fall in love. They risk being hurt for the potential of togetherness.
It all remind me of my grandfather's words: "Hey kid, even sleep is dangerous. You close your eyes not knowing if ever again they would open."
But I saw something else later. There were kids around me that were playing a racing game, laughing for breath, not even thinking about the risk. The ants which I dispersed with my pebble were reconstructing their little paths in peril. Life continued for itself irrespective of the uncertainty.
Then, I smiled to myself. Maybe the question isn't so much about whether all is risk, but rather whether risk is dangerous or not. To avoid all risk, would mean to avoid living at all.
As soon as the last glimmer of light was gone, I got up, brushed the dust from my legs, and returned home.