Perspective.
To a child, trying vegetables, out-growing diapers, or watching Channel 6 cartoons as opposed to those on Channel 5 was a change in perspective. Big word. As a sixteen-year-old going on seventeen, perspective was no longer a big word but its definition still lacked meaning. That soon changed.
Setting a foot on Indian soil after 10 years, I was, to say the least, excited. The aroma, warmth, humidity and generosity that were to greet me ignited a sense of patriotism that I had been completely oblivious to (and one I had no idea how to reconcile with). Memories from my previous trips to India, buried deep in my psyche, were struggling to shake off the dust and cobwebs of the past 10 years. It was like going there for the very first time. The 20-hour journey from Toronto to New Delhi via New York and Brussels gave me more than enough time to ponder my imminent encounter with my heritage. I had no idea what to expect, except that I was told to prepare for "culture shock". It was when I took my first steps out of the plane that I realized I was in a different world altogether.
I could finally put my life into perspective - or so I thought.
The taxi driver was driving us to our hotel and I stared out the window to my left with my nose enveloped in my shirt; watching the landscape fly in the other direction as we dodged the cows on the roads, weaving in and out of the convoys of motorcycles, rickshaws and scooters. Then as we stopped for the first time at a traffic light, a young girl no more than six-years-old climbed on the hood of the car and began wiping the windshield, while another tried desperately to sell us the newest magazines and handmade toys. As I witnessed this bizarre spectacle, a feeling of helplessness consumed me - and I knew what my parents meant by "culture shock".
I was shocked, indeed. And ashamed and disgusted with myself.
Never before had I felt so guilty and powerless. The countless times I had begged and badgered my parents to buy me the newest clothes and the latest gadgets all flashed before my eyes. One question lay on my tongue and it remained sealed behind the barricades of my parched lips: Why me? But this "why me?" was not coming from someone who was struck by misfortune, instead it was quite the opposite. I could not understand why I lived a life of such fortune while these two girls were condemned to eking out such a terrible living. And they were just two of the millions around the world. The tableaux of violence, poverty and disaster we constantly see and read in the media had seemed, up to that point, surreal and other-worldly. Now I was face-to-face with the reality which I had subliminally denied.
I was overwhelmed.
Why this disparity? Why did the world seem so deranged? What is the use of this civilization which could not take care of its youngest citizens? Why couldn't we humans with all our intelligence and technology make the world fair for everyone? Why? Why? Why?
Questions popped up in my mind a mile a minute, but no answers were in sight. Not even the ones which could offer quick rationalization and comfort. In a city like Toronto there is poverty but only on the margins as if coy and shy, hidden from public view. But as I traveled around India, poverty and human desperation were in-my-face, direct and unabashed and often existed, to my horror, side by side with the luxury and indifference of the rich. A thought crossed my mind: It would be difficult to live here with an easy conscience.
Like the inner workings of my mind at the thought of puberty in Mrs. Dean's Grade 5 health class, this thought also changed my perspective - this time I was sure. I became grateful.
Now I can appreciate why my parents immigrated to Canada. They had ventured into this foreign country knowing absolutely no one; leaving behind their families, their jobs, their lives. Why? So my brother and I could prosper in a land of opportunities. With dreams of a better future for us my parents have worked hard to make it all possible.
I am grateful to them.
My passion and skill for soccer, my academic achievements, my innate ability to lead - all I had attributed to my perseverance and a fortunate conglomeration of the perfect genetic blend. Now I knew there was a lot more to it. I had not nearly respected, valued or appreciated my parents' efforts enough and for that I was and continue to be embarrassed. Instead, like a spoilt child I always pestered them for more; more things, more wants, more desires.
I finally see my life in a new perspective. I now understand the significance of my good fortune. Life has presented me with countless opportunities; some of which I have exercised to my fullest ability while others I have not. My month-long journey in India, especially my encounter with the two young girls, and so many other faceless and nameless children, has taught me to be grateful for all that I have, to appreciate my life and make the best of the opportunities that I get.
Yet, this new perspective has also presented me with an existential dilemma. How do I make sense of my life from this point on? What will happen to those two girls? What is their future? And how will my life, my future and my success have any meaning in the context of what I've seen and now know? I realize there are no easy answers, but I hope to find them as I change the channels of perspective.
As we stopped at the first time at a traffic light, a young girl no more than six-years-old climbed on the hood of the car and began wiping the windshield, while another tried desperately to sell us the newest magazines and handmade toys.
I had not respected, valued or appreciated my parents' efforts nearly enough, and for that I was and continue to be embarrassed.
Instead, like a spoiled child I always pestered them for more; more things, more wants, more desires.
Your essay does convey your caring and humble nature, and it's very good.
:)
