The wave that slowly rises.
I in many ways started writing this 10 years ago – on the day we found out my father was sick, and our world completely turned on its head. What happened then was a sequence of events that were in many ways a catastrophe. His death in such an unexpected and abrupt manner, followed by a tragedy with my grandfather, and the consequent shattered family structure, radically changed me. I knew that, but I didn’t understand that. That sequence of events led me down a path where I, in many ways, did not want to feel anything negative. Instead, I wanted to experience and absorb as much as I could, in every way that I could. The hunger I had for the unknown was multiplied and became the utmost priority, in every aspect.
Life, in these 10 years, has been a blur. Full speed ahead, accepting whatever would come, while wanting to go further and further. I went to even more remote places, to somehow test all my limits and see how far I could push myself. I wanted to understand mankind, and actively chose to dive in the darkest scenarios I could imagine. War and post-war zones, civil conflicts, religious and cultural divides, prisons, orphaned children. Why would all of them happen? Why did we, as a species, keep perpetuating the darkest possible actions we can do, and turning so many societies into such bleak places? With trying to understand others, though, I forgot an important part of our individual experience – understanding ourselves. Whatever was inside. And I could not understand how, the more I was diving into such affairs, the more I would lose myself in the process.
The impact of much of what we do is not immediate. If you lose an arm, the worst part is not necessarily the pain of the moment - it is the permanent impact that it has on your future life. You will never be able to find a replacement, and yet you will somehow have to find ways to adapt to it. Nothing will ever be the same. And maybe you will be able to continue doing most of the things that you did before, but not in the same manner. Maybe you’ll have to completely stop doing others. Regardless, you will likely be severely damaged in your life - but will not necessarily become an invalid.
Pain is in many ways limiting, too, but it’s invisible – and that is the main reason why we, as humans, are so quick to dismiss the pain of others, and the limitations it brings. Someone who has lost an arm will obviously not be able to skip rope in the same way as if he had not lost it. We can understand that, and will likely accept that easily - but it is much harder to understand why certain people are physically unable to do such things, due to emotional pain or trauma.
In these last few years, I had this hunger for life, I wanted to consume everything as fast I could, in a way that was almost hallucinating. There was barely any time to reflect, to feel, to grow. I would go to a country almost randomly, work, understand its uniqueness, come closer, create a sense of community, and often abruptly leave. I have often compared myself to a hurricane of sorts – I would get inside a person’s life, often not asking to come in, shake it and abruptly turning most things upside down, and then simply fade away, whilst moving to another place. I meant nothing bad. My vision was simply too narrow to even begin to understand the other side of things. I would be too focused on whatever it was that I was doing to consider anything else. It was like reading a book where every page is a short story – every page will captivate you, but once you turn it, a new story comes along, and you will again be immersed in it – while completely removing yourself from the previous story, no matter how much you were a part of it.I remember talking to Sister A., in Timor, right before I left. I told her how awful I was feeling, and how emotionally heavy leaving would be.
She looked into my eyes and, very calmly, said:
“It will be very bad for you - but it will be a lot worse for us, who are staying behind”.
When I look back, even if so many wonderful things resulted of that hunger for life and for learning, I also now understand I was in many ways inconsequential. Very little was indeed built. And, as time kept passing, I started understanding that my impact on people’s lives was likely more negative than positive – and that slowly started corroding me inside. I was changing countries with less frequency but, by then, I was too far in the path I have previously mentioned. While I was greatly affected by people, and even today consider myself to be a collection of pieces of other people, I would deeply vary from one end of the spectrum to another - between very intense and meaningful moments with others, to moments of seclusion where I had to be alone to deal with all the ghosts I had accumulated throughout the years. And, when you’re immersed in so much darkness, that slowly starts to creep in and it starts to take over. You can still see and feel the beacon of light, but that progressively starts losing its intensity. When you put that together with some of the wounds in the past, you will likely not be in the soundest state to make difficult decisions, and things will often spiral out of your control. All this was limiting much of who I was – and, with that, one stops being able to feel certain things the same way; so I felt I had to somehow find a way to slow down, to breathe, to feel, and to somehow remove much of this darkness, of this pain, of this anger. I was not comfortable nor wanted to become the person I felt I was becoming. The fact that I was somehow a wounded animal could not justify ever being a less moral person, treating people in a way I was not proud of, or losing that spark inside.
Still, even if all this is happening, we have the ability to take a step back and try to understand it. And no matter how hurt we may be, no matter how many times we feel we are not being understood or that things seem to be going against us, we also have to question, in a very pragmatic way, what we are doing for that to happen. The person we are to others, vs the person we in our head think we are. The impact of our words, our gestures, our actions. The speed in which we live. How we care for others, and for ourselves. So I tried to begin a process of very pragmatic self-deconstruction. Of living slower. Of treating myself and others in a kinder and warmer way. Of not being angry anymore. Of making peace with the past.
I have in the past few months been doing something I, for many reasons, had not yet been able to do. I apologized to some key people; i acknowledged i wasn't well, and because of that i hadn't been able to do what i was supposed to do. I would sometimes lose control and/or be irresponsible with those I love the most, because I somehow expected them to understand and tolerate me better – and would hurt them, as well as myself, in the process.
In this process, no problems have been solved, mind you. The wounds are still there. The hurt is still there. But I have slowly been able to change my perspectives and my answers to those difficult times. The ghosts that used to haunt me permanently are now nurtured; whenever they appear, I choose to embrace them, and to remember why they are still coming back. I tuck them in bed with me. The main objective in my life is now to somehow find a healthy balance, where peace is the dominant feeling. Just peace. And even if often the tides change, the waves come back, and I feel I am again removed from familiar territories, I also feel I am now able to navigate the waters much better. The seas are still very much unknown. There has been a constant, heavy storm today. But, somehow, the clouds will again open up, and the sun will again shine. It always does.
Thank you for being part of this far from perfect odyssey with me – and thank you for making me want to be a better person.
09+14.05+09.08.20
