I'm noticing that I write the date with month second, the day first. All of my "sevens" have crosses in the middle. All of my conversations begin with "Good afternoon. How are you? I am fine." I'm not surprised when I see my students carrying children...their children. It's no big deal to walk very slowly with someone just to have time to talk with them. Silence is becoming less awkward. I don't mind being called "white" in dialect. I don't have any reservation about calling them "black" in return, in dialect. I've learned to laugh at even the most grave things, like the death of a close loved one. Which means I've learned different laughs for different situations. I've learned how to say no, six, seven, twenty times to the same request. I've learned that the noise of children playing is often quite annoying, but at the same time beautiful. I've learned how to change my mind. I'm quite comfortable with not giving a lesson when there are no students around to give a lesson to. I'm comfortable explaining a complicated biological process with a water bottle, volunteer and a light bulb. I feel lucky to have the light bulb. I am starting to enjoy waiting. I like the smell of sun-dried clothing, not that I have a choice. I've found out more of what is basically human in under 10 months than I did in 24 years. Beyond language, I've learned few skills that I can put down on paper, but a host of skills that have already made me a better person. I look forward to returning home to the US because of people, but I dread going back to a place where I can't help out just by stepping outside my front door.
I was thinking about being cautious today. Not actually BEING cautious, but about what not taking risks really entails. Many people play it safe because they are afraid of reduced quality of life or even dying. Which is perfectly valid, of course. It's a natural animal instinct to want to stay healthy and alive. Moreover, we want to experience those things that can only come with time - births, graduations, weddings, etc. So there is always an urge to preserve your own life in order to experience these things.
But at what cost? At what point do you say that the experiences you're missing are not worth missing and start taking more risks? At what point do you realize that one year of playing it safe will give you one more year on earth, just to play it safe and save up for another year? How about one month? One day? What if you asked yourself if, in this very minutes, you wanted to put your health and well-being on the line in order to potentially enrich another life, and in turn your own, at the risk of an extra minute of well-being...or day...or month...or even year. "Is it better to live a slave or to die a free man?" We often live as slaves to our own mortality, which robs us of the very thing we call "living".
When taken as a whole, this question is grand. "Have I lived a full life?" When taken in the moment, it is on the surface unimportant. "Will I regret this?" But they are, in fact, the same question for me. When you face risks, face to face, you realize how every little moment is all there is. Even the big things are bunches of little things.
I'm living in a country that is dying. The average lifespan is below 40, approximately half that of an average American. AIDS, malaria, contaminated water and other natural calamities take the lives of thousands every day. I see yards with dozens of kids, but rarely dozens of adults. To not have a family, a large one, by my age is strange. So do people mope around, waiting for death? No. I was visited by an old blind man today, accompanied by a grandson. He asked me for "qualquer coisa", "anything". In the past, I've given him bread, but I hate handouts (in the end, how does it help? He'll only learn to beg more, and I KNOW he's got a family to take care of him...I'm here to help, not to distribute), but this time, I replied, "I don't have anything. I have things, but I don't have anything. What thing do you want?" We all laughed and he continued on his way.
People enjoy every moment here. And I don't hesitate to say that they live much more fully than do Americans caught up in what's going to hurt and what will help. Granted, there's a balance, but we worry too much.
Peace
John
