I’ve been harsh.
Of course, my opinions have been formed under harsh conditions, when as a single living in India, my seemingly only hope of survival was just that: survival mode. I have modeled my tiger-face to perfection, a face of determined mind and body. When walking the streets and brushed, knocked or provoked by a ruthless look or touch of a passerby, the tension in my face and shoulders was enough to send a vengeful message that needed no words. I do not excuse myself from this behavior for it equipped me with the street-smarts and skills for living and working in difficult places as a single.
How I thrived as a survivor though, I now see that I failed as a woman of the human race. I forgot the humanity of people. Actually, I didn’t forget at all—I simply chose not to see it, believe it, or acknowledge it. And how that was played out into daily life effected the way I treated beggars, auto rickshaw drivers, street hawkers and vendors, and even street children who could not release my limbs without leaving blackened marks from their coal-strained fingers.
Compassion—what does that mean for me? I, for example, am not one who is prone to drop cash into the outstretched palm of a begging child—their ultimate need for safety from the provocative lures of streets life forces me to wish for more . “I just want more for you! But I have no idea how to help at this moment dear child, so when you pass me my face hardens and I feel annoyed—yes, I am annoyed with the tugs and pulls and your shameless jeering at my whiteness and my wealth.” Argh...
This concludes the opening chapter of an honest confession to a series of pieces I will be writing about the humanity of India and the people that make her who she is. The intent is for me to begin acknowledging and simply seeing the humanity of India’s streets and the people I was quick to survive with and against. I am making an attempt. Call me neither noble nor decent for doing so, for tomorrow my hopes of reconciliation may be stained once again. But I am determined to acknowledge for myself the humanity of the streets, though charred with sun, dust, and toil of the earth. For humanity is everywhere and I begin now by seeing the brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers in the streets around me.
Open the eyes of my heart Lord.
2 comments:
I find often that my own instinct to survive keps me from experiencing living. It's pretty dangerous having compassion for compassion leads to pain, it's even harder internalizing others pain because it eats into my own well being. I am not overly fond of Christ's cross. It is awkward, heavy, bloody, painful, but only on it do I seem to be able to find life.
I think you've hit on one of the negative side effects of your line of work. I see it all the time in my counseling and advocacy work--in myself and in others. There is a deep inner love of people but a hardened layer that has protected but also hindered us. I look forward to reading your journey on this topic.
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