VIOLENCE IS WORRYING, BUT SO FAR AWAY HOW STRANGE IT IS TO FEEL JOY WHEN LIFE IN A WAR ZONE IS SAD, DEADLY.

Byline: Maggie Bava Local View

IT is Sunday morning, and I am sitting at my kitchen table wondering if the optimistic advice of Ralph Waldo Emerson, to ``build therefore your own world,'' is possible for me and for my contemporaries in Afghanistan.

As I push my cereal bowl aside, I allow myself to reflect on the impact of this war in contrast to the seemingly earth-shattering intricacies of my own life. I am fully engaged in the story of Abdullah Khyal, a spy in Afghanistan, amazed at the complexity of this war about which I have heard so much, yet know very little.

Then I read about the hanging of Khyal's body in the center of Kandahar Square on Dec. 1.

What was I doing Dec. 1? I was packing up my room in my parents' house, loading it into a van and moving into my new apartment. I was nervously and excitedly starting a new chapter in my life: living on my own and joining the workaday world in Los Angeles after having been a student for 17 years.

I was shopping for a soap dish, buying toilet bowl cleaner and arranging pictures of my friends and family on my bureau. I was feeling slightly inadequate for having no urge to decorate my tiny box of a bedroom.

What was I gazing at as hundreds of children and families halfway around the world looked up to the hanging body of a man tortured to death?

I was examining my stomach in the mirror, wishing it were flatter. I was walking along the beach in Santa Monica, my breath taken away at its utter beauty and by its close proximity to my new apartment. I was telling myself that my body is great just the way it is.

I was eating dinner and watching the nightly news, disgusted by the war stories, yet partially numbed by them.

And now I think of the worries that have consumed my thoughts in recent weeks. Do I want to go to law school? Travel the world?

I need to relax. Find inner peace. I want to fall in love. It's hard making friends when you're not in school. Maybe yoga class tonight will bring me relaxation.

How utterly ridiculous, I think, are these thoughts of mine, these worries about such meaningless things when compared with the daily realities of the people in Kandahar Square, who must look at Abdullah Khyal's dead body. What do they think when they see it?

The picture in the newspaper looks fake to me - unimaginable in my world and thus unreal except as a shocking photograph. Do they see this hanging man and become ill? Or do they view it as I view a homeless person - saddened when I think too hard about it, but unwilling to give a dollar, not knowing the money will help in any way.

I think that I would be trapped in a life of depression if I had such realities as those detailed in this article of the life in Kandahar. Can those people find peace? Joy? Is it a fleeting emotion, only to be felt momentarily and then whisked away by a draft of reality?

But then, I ask myself, do I even have joy, or is it a momentary feeling, hard to tap into sometimes? So hard that I feel weighted down by lethargy. Yet contrasted with moments of utter peace and happiness.

Do the people in what I consider to be dire situations have these weightless moments of happiness or is it unknown in their realities? And if it is a feeling foreign to them, maybe they aren't depressed by it, having never felt the oneness with the universe, the carefree quality of utter happiness and joy that I have experienced.

Clearly, this is just stream-of-consciousness rambling on my part. But getting a glimpse into the daily life of a people in such a different world than mine makes me realize how grateful I should be for my freedom, my life, my surroundings.

I'm often critical of Western civilization, urban life, the world of cell phones and Starbucks. And yes, there is a lot to be critical about.

But on a grander scale, I'm damned glad that in 22 years, I have never seen a dead body. And if I had seen one, I know I'd get love and support from my friends and family for whatever circumstance brought it about.

Yes, these are two extremes. And, yes there are other cultures that are without cell phones and Starbucks, and with inhumane living conditions and dire daily circumstances. These are places that fascinate me, that draw me to go visit.

But for now it is time to get back in the heart of my life here and now and enjoy every moment in all its beauty. For these perfect moments are all we have.