What is love?

My usual perspective of Valentines’ Day is that it is a made-up holiday, created by intelligent marketers who needed to come up with another holiday to fill their sales’ quota in the time between Christmas and Easter.  Of course, in the past, I have participated in the traditional Valentines’ festivities; however, for the first time, this year, February 14^th made me think about love.  I am writing this post out of a moment of vulnerability, out of an unusual sense of freedom.  I might regret this decision in the morning, but for now, I ask that you read the following with care.

Don’t get me wrong, love has, in the past, swallowed me up in its strong arms and made me feel like nothing could go wrong.  Love has made anything possible; it has made flowers grow from nothing at all.  Love has encouraged me, it has supported me, it has created me.  However, over the past year, love has torn out my insides.  Love has made me sick with its strength, both literally and figuratively.  Love has made me question my life, forget my identity and discover my weaknesses.  This past year has been littered with situations that have forced me to re-define my definition of love.  Love was once something that could never be wrong, it could never fail, it could never be lost.  However, those conditions that I once placed upon this four-letter word have finally been removed.   Before, I explain the new definition of “love” that I have experienced this week, I want to share a story with you:

On Wednesday morning, I helped out at Queen Street Commons (which is a quaint café that is connected with the Working Centre – http://www.theworkingcentre.org/).  I was clearing some of the empty plates from the café when a woman asked me if I would join her for a few minutes.  I sat down and we began to go through the typical topics of conversation: the weather, the news, our mis-matched socks, thing of that nature.  After a few minutes, I stood up to continue clearing tables when the woman asked me to wrap up the rest of her food.  I, absent-mindedly, wrapped up her meal and said farewell.  A few minutes later, as I was wiping down a table near the window, I saw this same woman kneeling on the wet ground, offering the rest of her meal to her cat.  My initial reaction to this act was bewilderment.  How can this woman choose to give away what little food she has and offer it to an animal?  How can she choose “it” over her own hunger?  However, I have discovered that it is simply not my place to quantify the importance of the object of her affections; rather, the lesson is in the love that this woman has shown.  Her suffering was because of her great love and her un-ending devotion to her best friend.

So…what is love? Love is something that might let me down.  It is something that might make me cry at times.  But I would never give it up.  Love has made my life beautifully amazing.  It has given me friends that I could never live without.  Love has given me strength to move forward and understanding when I move back.  Love has allowed me to communicate without speech; it has given me endless possibilities.  And ultimately, love has given me freedom.  Love has given me freedom from the anger of hate and the danger of bitterness.  I would like to leave you with a line from a powerful song:

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,

It will set you free

Be more like the man(or woman) you were made to be.

There is a design,

An alignment to cry,

At my heart you see,

The beauty of love as it was made to be – Mumford & Sons

               

"Volun-tourism"

You know when you see your best friend after many months of being apart? Or when you kiss your crush for the first time and butterflies surround you? Or when you are wrapped in the arms of someone you love? That feeling of pure, unexplainable, raw joy was the only way to describe my feelings after I met with my Beyond Borders Professor and fellow India-traveller this past Tuesday morning.  I couldn't think, I couldn't eat, I could barely talk to others without exuding that joy that seemed uncontainable.  I walked into class; mind absent from the subject at hand but ready for the day.  I felt like I could take on any challenge that came my way...until, my professor decided to begin the class talking about his opinions regarding "volun-tourism".

He began to discuss the detrimental effects that urbanization has upon the world (especially the rural culture).  He was discussing the effects of modernity upon our individual lives as well as our communities.  At one point during his lecture, a fellow classmate raised her hand and began to tell of her recent trip she took to New Orleans.  She spoke of the work she had helped with to re-build homes for those who had lost theirs due to Hurricane Katrina.  She explained that she had only spent one week there but had left with a life-changing experience.  I could tell that her time there was truly significant to her and her heart was real and true.  The response from my professor was quite different than what I had expected.  He simply disregarded her adventure and said that it was damaging to the culture in New Orleans for her to go there and then leave.  He then began to discuss the growing popularity of "Volun-tourism".  The definition of this term is when people go to other parts of the world to "volunteer" but have hidden motives of selfish tourism.  My professor not only said that this was negative but he also stated that it damages the cultures in other countries.  He said that this type of travel "taints" the rest of the world with our modern way of life.

My heart sunk.  This trip to India that I had finally been excited about, seemed to be stolen from me.  I was a "volun-tourist".  I was damaging the society that I was going to visit.

   I decided to speak with my professor after class to gain a better understanding of his perspective.  We decided to meet before the next class to discuss the topic. 

     The day came, I barely slept the night before.  I walked into class, waving a white-flag, ready to hand over my resignation from the Beyond Borders program.   My professor was quite ready for me with mountains of evidence to reinforce his claims.  I did not say one word for forty-five minutes (which is hard for me, as many of you know).  He continued to explain his point of view, and his reasoning behind the dislike for western citizens to travel to other parts of the world to “help”.  He believes that there is no such thing as unselfish “help”.  He believes that every action that we, as humans, take is stained with a hidden agenda.  The part of his argument that really made my heart hurt was when he stated that Western travellers not only are selfish in their motives, but they are damaging the communities they visit.  To damage something means to take away an integral component, to disassemble something that is whole.  Is my going to India damaging their culture, their community, their whole?

    At the end of our discussion, my professor asked “Why are you going to India?”.  I truly did not have an answer to this seemingly simple question.  I would hope that I am going to India to learn, to meet people where they are, and in some small way, to help.  But isn’t the goal of learning and seeing selfish? And something that scares me even more than that is: what if I don’t even realize the damage that I have done?

Rachi and Ruthie

     As most of you may know, I gain great energy from being with and around people.  This week, the challenge that I chose was to meet someone new everyday and to have a meaningful conversation with them. This challenge was truly eye-opening because it seemed to embody the purpose of this blog.  The roller coaster that became this challenge showed me that there are incredible people in this world, with hurt and pain but also with joy and hope.  I want to share two stories that touched my heart, I hope that one of them will touch yours as well.  

Rachi’s Story:  I was sitting at the bus-stop on Tuesday evening, trying to wiggle my toes back in forth to ensure frost-bite did not take them over, awaiting the I-Xpress.  An older man walked across the street and peered past me to try to make out when the next bus was coming.  He could not see very well so he asked me how long it would take.  I explained to him that the last bus did not come and the next one was to arrive in 20 minutes.  He gratefully thanked me and sat in the seat next to mine.  He noticed the books I was carrying with the titles “India”/ “Travelling in South India” and he was intrigued.  He asked me why I was carrying the books, and I told him I was planning on travelling to Madurai, India for the summer.  His eyes seemed to catch fire and his lips began to move a million miles a minute.  He was quite excited to share his ancestry as he was originally from India.  After we talked for a while, I learned that his house was quite near mine, so we decided to brave the winter winds together and walk home instead of awaiting the bus.  As we walked, Rachi explained that he was married and had five children who remained in North India.  He had moved to Canada because they simply had no money and he had thought that Canada would provide new opportunities for himself and his family.  I asked him how his family was doing in India; he got very quiet at this point.  He stopped, pointed toward the sky and said “I am not sure. But I do know that that man up there will take care of them”.  As we started walking again, Rachi began telling me that it had been twenty years since he had spoken with his wife and children in India.  He had stopped getting letters and was not sure where they were.  He had heard rumours from other family members in India that his family was forced to move to the slums due to unpaid debts and his wife was working as a labourer for a rich family.  Rachi told me that his worst fear was that he would never see his family again.  He explained that he has saved all of the money that he has made so that one day, his family would have a good life.  The hope that Rachi held on to, after 20 years, was incredibly inspirational.  He continues to believe that his family will make it and one day, they will be together.  Near the end of our time together, I asked him what made him believe; I will never forget the words that came from his lips: “I believe because I love”.  

Ruthie’s Story:  As some of you might know, I work with a boy named Stephen.  Stephen is a wonderful young man with a great sense of humour, a mind that yearns to discover, and an unconditional love for animals of all kinds.  When Stephen laughs, you can’t help but follow because his laugh seems to carry a melody of pure joy.  Stephen was diagnosed with Asperger’s at the age of 7.  He doesn’t always understand social cues and he sometimes can get frustrated when there are too many lights or sounds going on at the same time.  I have worked with Stephen for the past two years and have learned an incredible amount of myself through being with him.  Late Saturday night, his mom called me frantically asking if I would come over in the mid-morning of the next day to be with Stephen while they had a few friends over for a visit.  

     Sunday morning came, I got dressed and headed out to see my friend, Stephen.  When I arrived, there were a lot more cars parked around the house than I had previously assumed.  I rang the doorbell and out came Stephen, arms wide, waiting for a hug.  I was ushered into the big house and soon learned it was actually a family gathering that I had been invited to. Stephen’s mother was worried about how Stephen would react to the large group of people so she wanted me there for support.  Stephen quickly brought me downstairs where the rest of the kids were playing games together.  I sat on the floor next to Stephen and his “favourite cousin of all, Ruthie” (as he described her).  Ruthie pushed away her long, shiny dark hair and peered up at me through emerald, green eyes that were hidden behind her thick-rimmed glasses.  She stuck out her sticky hand that had just been stuck in a bowl of jelly-beans and said, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you”.  Ruthie was only six years old, and still she seemed to understand Stephen better than he understood himself.  I watched as she played with her big cousin without fear or anxiety.  At one point, as we were playing a game of monopoly, Stephen began to get upset because he had to pay a fee for landing on a particular spot.  Ruthie grabbed his face with both her hands, looked into his eyes and blew.  Stephen closed his eyes, felt the air pass his face, and smiled.  He sat back down, began counting his money and handed the amount over.  I was utterly amazed.  This six year old girl seemed to just know Stephen. 

   After a few hours, as I was gathering my things to head off to work, I found Ruthie waiting to say goodbye.  I stooped down and gave her a big hug.  I told her that she was really great with Stephen and that I really enjoyed playing with them.  She grabbed my face much like she did to Stephen and said “He’s my friend…and so are you”; she then blew in my face and gave me a big, wet kiss. 

   From Rachi, I re-discovered the great power of love. From Ruthie, I learned the innocence and beauty not only of children, but of friendship as well.  What did you learn from the friends you met this week?

Rice and India

I have finally created a list of things that I learned from my rice-diet.  It was a difficult list to create because I learned an incredible amount about myself during that week.  I definitely learned much more than I assumed I would before the completion of the challenge.  I have separated my thoughts by numbers.  There are seven lessons in total, one for every day of the challenge.  Here it goes (I hope you can relate to a few of them)…

1. I use a significant amount of time in my day-to-day life rummaging through my cupboards and fridge, trying to come up with something to eat; even though, many times, I am not hungry.

2. Eating is a social action.  There were many times throughout last week where I could not attend events because it was focused around "eating".  Has food really become the only thing that people can do together?

3. I EAT ALL THE TIME! I have conditioned my body to eat...and eat...and eat.  When I am bored...I eat.  When I don't know what else to do...I eat. When I go out with friends...I eat.  When I come home from school...I eat. 

4.  Peaches look the same after you have thrown them up as they did before you threw them up.(Brief Explanation: One evening last week when I just had no energy left because I had been throwing up everything I had in me, I decided that peaches might make me feel a bit better...turns out, they didn't).

5.  I find great joy in food.  Throughout my week last week, I would fantasize about the food that I could be eating if I was not on the rice-diet.  Then, as the week progressed, I found that I even began to dream about the food that I ate before that week.  When I would awake from those dreams, I would find that the salivation from my mouth had drenched half of my pillow. 

6.  Food has become something of a comfort for my mind and body.  On Friday of last week, I was faced with this truth like a slap in the face.  To explain, Wednesday/Thursday/and Friday of last week were quite difficult.  I was unable to eat anything and my body constantly vomited anything it had left inside.  I was unable to walk for long distances and I fell in and out of sleep throughout the day and night.  The colour was drained from my face and I was very irritable.

     Now that you understand the place that my body was in, you will hopefully better understand my reaction to the e-mail I received at 1:23pm on Friday, January 21st.  It was just before I had training for my new job, I was checking my Facebook to kill some time and saw a fellow Beyond Borders student's status which read that he would be heading to Kenya in the spring.  When I saw those words, I nearly fainted (mainly due to excitement but I am sure my lack of nutrition was also part of it).  I quickly opened my Hotmail account, clicked on the email sent from my professor and completely disregarded the statement in the subject line of the email that stated "Please read the ENTIRE email!".  I skimmed through and finally stumbled upon the word "India".  My heart dropped. This couldn't be right, I thought. "She made a mistake, I am supposed to be going to Africa", were thoughts that immediately crossed my mind.  However, just as these thoughts began to fill every part of my brain and body, Emma (a fellow Beyond Borders student and work-mate) arrived.  The next few actions I took, honestly, felt like an out of body experience. I handed Emma my laptop and waited with anticipation for her reaction.  She emphatically stated "I'm going to Kenya". Once again, my heart dropped...not because I was envious, not because I was jealous but because her statement reminded me that I was not going to Kenya...I was going to India.

    Now I would like to pause here to explain a bit further about my initial feelings towards India.  I believe that India is amazing.  Its vibrant colours, its friendly people, its culture, its incredible smells and sounds...there is only one thing that India is not; it is not what I wanted.  I wanted Uganda.  For some crazy, irrational reason, I wanted to spend my placement in Uganda and I had felt that that was what I had been working towards. 

    Back to Friday, when I finally got through the 3.5 hours of training and began to walk to my car, reality finally set in.  I started to walk faster, and faster, and soon I found myself running to the parking lot where the safety of my car was parked.  I rummaged through my backpack, found my keys and spent much longer than usual opening my car door as my eyes began spilling tears.  I turned my car on, and sat.  I sat alone, crying for quite a while before an elderly man I had met in the library last semester, knocked on my window.  He asked me if I was "okay", to which I responded "I'm fine" (a typical "I'm upset but I do NOT want to talk about it" response).  However, this man would not take that statement as a sign for him to leave me alone.  He asked if I was upset about school, my family, a significant other? Finally, I could not hold it in any longer...I blurted everything I had been feeling and my utter disdain for the placement I had been given.  My less-than-eloquent speech would have driven many away, but this man just stood and listened.  Without saying anything, he opened my car door, helped my lifeless bones stand up and wrapped his arms around me.  I buried my face in his down-jacket and cried for what felt like hours.  After a bashful apology and goodbye, I once again, sat in my car, but this time I did not feel alone.

     You may look at my initial reaction as selfish, some might even call it ridiculous and I would agree.  However, I ask you to understand that I truly do feel incredibly blessed to be in this program; however, I have continuously felt that this program, as well as other recent happenings in my life, have pushed me beyond the point of comfort.  I am constantly being challenged in ways that I never thought would be challenging to me.  It is as if the comforts that I find identity within are being stolen from me, and I truly don't know what will be left. 

  Back to the lesson that I learned last week. I learned that food is one of those comforts that make me feel good, they make me feel like “me”.  After my training last week, I had an immense desire to eat.  I wanted to eat hotdogs, Swedish fish, pizza, and of course...strawberry-kiwi juice (all my favourite foods).  I wanted to feel the comfort that sugar and unhealthy foods provide me with; however, I couldn't.  I was faced with the ultimate challenge of stepping outside my comforts, and finding solace elsewhere.  If I had not been fasting last week. I would never have met the old man that gave me such comfort and joy. Last week, I learned that when the comforts that I hide beneath are removed, the "me" that I am so afraid of showing the world, is exposed...and maybe that’s not a bad thing after all.

7. I have been incredibly blessed with an abundance of food.  The night that I finished my rice-diet, I looked inside the fridge and truly was overwhelmed by the massive amount of food that before I would have looked past in search of something different.  It is incredible to me that people continue to go out to the grocery stores to pick up more food when they have more than enough already waiting to be consumed in their own homes.  Even now, almost a week later, I still find it hard to choose from the options that I have in my kitchen.  So, the question that continues to haunt me is what is the benefit of this much choice? Doesn't it merely just cloud our minds, distracting us from making space to meet with people?

    I hope that everyone that reads this post will find some relation to the lessons that I learned during my week of fasting.  I truly hope that you look at the comforts that surround you and remember that those things are fleeting, what would happen if they were taken away? I challenge you to fill your lives with people, with community…because when all the comforts that we find identity within are removed, those people are what will be left.

  

stop saying "sorry"

   To begin, I want to warn all the readers of this post that once again, I will not be discussing the main theme of this week's challenge.Tonight (or this morning as some might call it) I am sipping my water, unable to sleep even though I have very little energy.  My mind will not allow my body to rest. So, I have decided to write...
   A few weeks ago, I went out for coffee with a friend.  This friend has the unique ability of raw honesty (I envy this trait very much!).  She is able to look beyond the masks that people wear and see who you really are.  But her ability goes boyond even that, she is able to boldly state your faults, your strengths, and even your ignorance at times no matter how sensitive the topic.  I have been struck with a few of these friends throughout my path and every time, their real "humanness" makes me change (even though its normally after their comments have made me curl up in a ball and cry for a few days).  On this particular night, this friend boldly asked the question, "Why do you say 'sorry' so much?".  Now, if this were any other person, I would have made a sharp joke and quickly changed the subject; however, this friend does not let go too easily.  So, after a few moments of stumbling and trying to come up with an adequate answer, I sheepishly answerd "I don't know".  This might sound like an easy-way-out, but it was the honest, real, truth.  Since that conversation, I have been thinking about her question and my answer quite frequently.  Why do I feel the need to apologize after everything that I do? I want to say that it stems from some deep-seeded childhood trauma but that is not the case.  The truth is, I have yearned for acceptance by others throughout my entire life.  This path to acceptance has manifested intself in various forms; such as wearing my hair in a certain way, choosing a particular style of clothing, or even changing the food I choose to eat.  All of these things were not choices I made because of what I wanted or believed; rather, they were choices that I made to fulfill the desires and expectations of others.  While that way of doing life might seem pretty great at times, it actually sucks! When I am sitting alone with no one around, when all the "expectations" of others are gone, I have no idea who is inside of me.  I have no idea what my expecations for myself are, I have no idea what my dreams or goals are.  I do not know who I am. 
   If you are wondering where this emotional rant is going, I suppose I am writing this post for two reasons.  First, this is my new challenge for the rest of my life.  I yearn to be more honest for myself.  I challenge myself to attempt to find out who I am, despite what others want me to be.  I desire to make choices regardless of the judgements of others (to be honest, I am challenging myself to be a bit ruthless at times). And second, I am writing this post as a tribute.  A tribute to those amazing people who some might say are rude or insensitive, but are really just honest people.  I learn from you everyday, so keep the hard truth coming! Without you...well...I don't want to know where the world would be. 
Cheers to you!

the cancellation of distinctions

     My original intent of this blog posting was to share with you the challenge that I have chosen this week.  I was going to write about the hunger and starvation that so many face every day.  However, I was reading a book of poetry and I simply was swept away by its honest truth.  So, I would like to make a brief statement of my challenge for this week, saving the deeper discussion for after this challenge is completed.  This week I will be drinking only water, and eating one bowl of rice per day.  Through this challenge I hope to gain a better understanding of those who live without enough food to fill their bellies.  When I hear my stomach growl or feel the temptation of the food in my kitchen, I hope to remember those who suffer.   

     Bud Osborn is a street-poet who lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.  He has experienced abuse, addiction, poverty and depression throughout his life.  He now chooses to live amongst those people who became his family while he faced many struggles.   But he also chooses to share with others, the raw hope that can be found in those who live on the streets.  The beauty of Bud Osborn’s poetry is that it not only touches the heart, but it also makes you frustrated, angry, hurt, enraged.  It allows you to feel the pain of others so that we, who live in a world where un-feeling is celebrated, can learn how to be weak again. 

     The poem that struck me today was one about a woman dancing in the streets.  The length of the poem, discourages me from providing all of it in my blog, but I will provide pieces so that you might grasp the same hope that I discovered (however, I will post a link below for those who are interested).  This poem describes a woman who has been thrown out onto the streets like garbage by society.  However, amidst her pain she dances.  She dances with a cross in her hands, dismissing the judgement of those around, forgetting the societal norms that bind us from freedom.    Bud writes:

before my friend left he expressed

sentiments similar to those ssaid about

the one who died on the cross –

“why doesn’t somebody clean up this alley?”

my friend has only to wait a short time

for the powers are aligning to do so

the same powers driving jesus away

because here is a cross

that cancels distincition

between she who dances in an alley

and the daughters of power on robson street

who buy thin gold crosses

to hand around flawless necks

and unmarked skin

     This is only a small piece of the poem; however, its vulnerable truth needed to be heard.  I understand that many people may not believe in Jesus or God.  I understand that people come from different faiths, and different backgrounds.  However, I do not believe that this poem is restricted to those who have faith in God; rather, it is quite the opposite.  This poem simply desires to strip away the labels that we, as humans, have fought so hard to create and maintain.  We try so hard to establish an identity that we can hold on to.  The poem writes about the cancellation of distinctions. This idea seems so simply but is actually very radical.  Each of us chooses to dress in a specific style, study a particular subject, and ultimately do life in a way that allows our “identity” to flourish.  But what if our “label” did not represent who we are? What if the way others perceive us did not matter? What if our distinctions were cancelled?

http://books.google.ca/books?id=7tyzZydfHeMC&lpg=PA79&ots=guQobQG6kq&dq=bud%20osborn%20-%20the%20passion%20of%20the%20downtown%20eastside&pg=PA62#v=onepage&q&f=false (this is the link for Bud Osborn's book which includes the full version of this poem found on page# 79)

living barefoot

     Everyday we judge.  Those that sit beside us on the bus or walk past us in the mall are judged based on how they dress, what they look like and how they interact with others.  We have no idea what those people have gone through in their past or even that very day; and yet still, we judge.  The purpose and inspiration of this blog is to strip myself of the comforts of those judgements.  Through this blog, I hope to challenge myself and the followers of my blog to look at people differently.  While we may never be fully able to remove those pre-judgements, it is my hope that I might be able to learn to set those judgements aside, so that I might find the person inside. 
     "Living barefoot" means to do life naked.  It means to strip away the judgements that have become our best friends,  to remove the preconceptions that have become our safe haven.  But how? How can I truly feel what others feel, how can I experience their experiences? The answer that I have found is through taking a step in their shoes.  This may seem like a cliche statement, one that is said too much and too often that its definition has taken on a purely trivial meaning.  However, its truth is far beyond trivial.  Throughout the next weeks, I have decided to take a step in the shoes of my neighbours; both gloabally and locally.  Every week I will change my life in some way so that I can experience life the way others do.  I understand that this is merely a one-week experience that will never allow me to fully experience the lives of others; however, I hope that I simply learn a bit more about the struggles and triumphs of others so that I might grow as an individual.
     I challenge you to journey with me through this process.  I am not asking you to complete the challenges I take on every week, but I hope that you will take something from my experience and maybe one day, you will choose to look past initial reactions and find a heart yearning for acceptance. Also, I would like to express my desire for your creative suggestions regarding my weekly challenges.  Thanks for reading!