Finding a Balance
The other day after work, we went to Independence Square. I couldn't help but think how much it reminded me of the Lincoln Memorial, each with its own grandeur but the feeling and the atmosphere were the same. It made me miss DC, but also left me wanting more from Sri Lanka. Two months, and in total I have over 2 years of my life in Sri Lanka and I still haven't experienced all that there is, but I have certainly surpassed varying levels of the surface. Regardless of however long I would stay in Sri Lanka, I would never experience it as a native. I come with a different perspective, a Western background and a privileged life. That's why I think when Sri Lanka was most magical was when I was 6 going on 7, my first time here and as a care-free child, I was able to accept everything as was because I didn't know any better.
By our house, all the way at the end of our property was a couple, they lived in a shack with a newborn and I went to see them everyday just so I could play with the baby and I liked them too. When I was little, nobody cared where I ran and what I was doing, I just played on my own with my cousins and the other kids in the neighborhood, playing cricket, or causing havoc. We had a huge plot of land, so that summer, my dad hired different hands to make it agriculturally friendly, that way the village had produce, needless to say, they would have to go to the well to get buckets of water for various reasons and my dad noticed me going in and out of this hut. This was the first time that he had told me I shouldn't be going there because he didn't trust the couple. I still went everyday anyway, it didn't make sense to me because these people never did me any harm and I enjoyed their company. The fact that they lived in a shack, with just their bed, no kitchen or bathroom, just a straw mattress and a mirror never phased me.
In The Blue Sweater, Jacqueline Novogratz recalls her own experiences and theirs one where she finds herself in the convenient store about to buy two expensive bottles of champagne and the cashier gives the most shocking look, because this is probably the equivalent to her year's salary and here is a woman spending that amount of money in one purchase. Novogratz was caught in a tough position because she understood both implications, she's in Africa, doing development work and the privileges and stipends she receives are not the same as those around her. Her boyfriend, told her that she has to reconcile those two parts of her life and just because they are celebrating in this manner she shouldn't feel guilty. That's one of the things I've come to realize but at the same time I can't help but be filled with guilt.
At Mother Teresa's, the women I help there are old and their bodies are literally decaying as if they were corpses, but they aren't dead, they are very much alive. The spirit that I see every time I go there, how alive everyone is, each of them has their own personality and ways of communicating and characteristics that identify them. It's sad that when well-off people want to do some service they come with lots of food, but they only see the first layer, you know like the top dry dirty layers of an onion. They see these people and they smile, but their smiles are hidden with a bitter taste of disgust and discomfort. I see the way people look at them, I see the way people think about them and they hear it from others as well as from themselves. They can at times be their worst critics. I think I was like that too, first time I came to visit with my mentor from Aquinas. I saw them, but I didn't really see them, I saw people that were only yearning for the desperate blessings of the priest I was walking behind and now instead of seeing their sorrow, I see their smiles, their gratitude, their laughs, their joys, their small debacles, their inside jokes, their nicknames, their teamwork, their spirit that has not been broken. For that much I'm grateful to them, because they make it easy for me to want to come back and hard to say good-bye.
By our house, all the way at the end of our property was a couple, they lived in a shack with a newborn and I went to see them everyday just so I could play with the baby and I liked them too. When I was little, nobody cared where I ran and what I was doing, I just played on my own with my cousins and the other kids in the neighborhood, playing cricket, or causing havoc. We had a huge plot of land, so that summer, my dad hired different hands to make it agriculturally friendly, that way the village had produce, needless to say, they would have to go to the well to get buckets of water for various reasons and my dad noticed me going in and out of this hut. This was the first time that he had told me I shouldn't be going there because he didn't trust the couple. I still went everyday anyway, it didn't make sense to me because these people never did me any harm and I enjoyed their company. The fact that they lived in a shack, with just their bed, no kitchen or bathroom, just a straw mattress and a mirror never phased me.
In The Blue Sweater, Jacqueline Novogratz recalls her own experiences and theirs one where she finds herself in the convenient store about to buy two expensive bottles of champagne and the cashier gives the most shocking look, because this is probably the equivalent to her year's salary and here is a woman spending that amount of money in one purchase. Novogratz was caught in a tough position because she understood both implications, she's in Africa, doing development work and the privileges and stipends she receives are not the same as those around her. Her boyfriend, told her that she has to reconcile those two parts of her life and just because they are celebrating in this manner she shouldn't feel guilty. That's one of the things I've come to realize but at the same time I can't help but be filled with guilt.
At Mother Teresa's, the women I help there are old and their bodies are literally decaying as if they were corpses, but they aren't dead, they are very much alive. The spirit that I see every time I go there, how alive everyone is, each of them has their own personality and ways of communicating and characteristics that identify them. It's sad that when well-off people want to do some service they come with lots of food, but they only see the first layer, you know like the top dry dirty layers of an onion. They see these people and they smile, but their smiles are hidden with a bitter taste of disgust and discomfort. I see the way people look at them, I see the way people think about them and they hear it from others as well as from themselves. They can at times be their worst critics. I think I was like that too, first time I came to visit with my mentor from Aquinas. I saw them, but I didn't really see them, I saw people that were only yearning for the desperate blessings of the priest I was walking behind and now instead of seeing their sorrow, I see their smiles, their gratitude, their laughs, their joys, their small debacles, their inside jokes, their nicknames, their teamwork, their spirit that has not been broken. For that much I'm grateful to them, because they make it easy for me to want to come back and hard to say good-bye.
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