Your family gets together for a holiday and won’t stop bickering.
You ask: What is it we’re doing here exactly?

A director screams that the new born babies will keep working until he’s got his shot.
I should’ve asked: What is it you think we’re doing here exactly? I just shouted back.

We are scared to fight for a Palestinian’s right to life.
We should ask ourselves: What is it we think we’re doing, exactly?

And what is it we think we are doing here, exactly?

We believe we own land because we buy it.
That we don’t belong to land because we don’t own it.
That joyous singing is cringeworthy.
And our actions are empty.

What is it you think we’re doing here, exactly?

I have enough, I should think.
I should think but often don’t.
I consume or break more than I fix or make.
I recycle and eat less meat.

What is it I think I’m doing here, exactly?

You watch someone throw litter out of a car window.
You wished you shouted: What the fuck do you think you are doing?
You are incandescent with rage about being overtaken on the motorway.
You are shouting: What the fuck do you think you are doing?
In both instances: What is it you think you’re doing here exactly?
Why aren’t you entitled to shout, and why does your rage bubble up over nothings?

What is it you think you’re doing here, exactly?

A doctor reprimands me for not having sought treatment.
I managed to say to him – What is it he thinks I’m doing here exactly?
I give an apologetic smile to a homeless woman as I walk past her.
She looks at me as if to say: What is it you think I’m doing here exactly?
I sit down to write this, reach out and preach to you.
What is it I think I’m doing here – and I should examine myself a little bit further – exactly?

And what is it we think we’re doing here, exactly?