Memoirs

[stoner]

Feel free to share your personal stories, events, and feelings in this thread. It could be an entry from your journal, diary, blog, whatever.

[aussiecoffee007]

this was an essay i entered in competition:

El Poder Del Lenguaje (The Power of Language)

I have always been obsessed with the Spanish language—the soft sounds, the way the words mesh and flow together, the harmony of its syllables. It only seemed natural that, given the opportunity to serve a family in Mexico by building a house, I should jump at the opportunity. I left for Mexico excited to practice my Spanish with native speakers, nervous about my lack of knowledge on the subjunctive tense and anxious to see if I would forget my vocabulary. Building a house for an impoverished Mexican family living in a cardboard shack in the slums of Tijuana, the actual purpose of my trip, took a second priority to my selfishness. But never in my dreams did I believe that just speaking Spanish would help me gain a different perspective on life, achieve a greater level of understanding for other cultures, and re-define the meaning of a service project.

On our first day of work, I immediately took the role of the translator of our church group and introduced myself to the father of the family we were working with. The father seemed very nervous with me, keeping an unusually large distance between us and never meeting my eyes when speaking. At first, I was a bit insulted, since he left right after telling me where he wanted the windows. But I realized soon thereafter that he must have been rather humiliated to fail in providing his family with a home and to be helped by a bunch of rich kids from Los Angeles. After all, due to my obsession with the Spanish language I had learned that in Mexican culture, the man is expected to provide for his family above all else—it is his sole role. After this realization, I immediately took on a different attitude—I am no better than anyone else, I live in the United States by circumstance and nothing more, and nothing needed to separate me from being myself with these people.

I met the rest of the family, the mother and her three children, and dedicated all of my time to just getting to know them as people—not as our “project” but just as fellow human beings. It didn’t matter that I forgot the word for “fifteen” or that I kept saying, “Do you miss him?” instead of “Do you think he is strange?”. All that mattered was that we were two different cultures, communicating with one another about our experiences in life. I grew close with the family within a matter of hours—they appreciated that I took the time to learn their native language and didn’t expect them to know mine. I communicated with them on their level, which made all the difference in how the family viewed our group and how we viewed them. Instead of being isolated from the family by the language barrier, we could learn from each other. The family’s inferiority complex, embarrassment over the lack of ability to provide for themselves, misgivings about the American people—everything was overcome by the power of language.

In just a few hours of intense conversation, I learned about culture, a way of life completely different than mine. The mother kept reassuring me that my Spanish was excellent, that my accent wasn’t gringa at all. Late in the afternoon on the first day, she studied my face in a while and asked in Spanish, “Would you like to come in? I don’t usually invite people inside, but…”

“I’d love to,” I interrupted. No one else was invited inside—no one else spoke Spanish—and no one else got to witness what changed my perspective that day. I moved the piece of fabric (the door) aside and walked inside, instantly shocked at what I saw. The entire house was probably the size of a bathroom, and five people—the same number of people I have in my family—lived there. I saw where little Janeth and Iztel shared a cot, where Leslie got her own bed that she had outgrown a few years ago, and the single bed that the mother and father shared. There were no mattresses, only one ratty blanket on each bed. Spilling onto the beds were spices and jars from the kitchen—if I dared to call it that—due to a lack of space. And the bathroom? An outhouse with no plumbing in the backyard.

“We are so excited,” the mother said to me as I remained shell-shocked in the house. “Running water should be coming within the year.”

I had running water for all my life and I used to scoff at the people who told me to turn off the water whenever possible. “Why?” I sometimes asked. “Why do I need to turn it off if it’s always going to come?”

There is a whole world out there, other than my life and my needs. There is a world where water comes in two buckets once a month. There is a world where a house is the size of a bathroom. There is a world where people only possess the most basic necessities, if they are lucky. There is a world outside of me.

I wouldn’t have befriended the family if I didn’t speak Spanish, because my American group could only wave and never communicate. I wouldn’t have seen that house and changed my entire perspective on what my life means in the world’s view. I wouldn’t have ever achieved any level of understanding about these people’s culture, lives, and joy.

I wanted to give them everything I could offer, for all they had taught me. But the family had so much more to teach me. At the end of our days with the family, Janeth—a girl with virtually nothing to call her own, especially in comparison to me—shyly approached me with both hands behind her back as we were leaving. “Here,” she said, “this is for you. You said you sleep with stuffed animals, so now you can sleep with mine.”

She handed me an enormous, well-worn, obviously beloved teddy bear. I immediately was overwhelmed with emotion, that someone who has nothing could give so freely when I hesitate sharing my blessings sometimes. “I can’t take this,” I told her. “I have nothing to give back to you! And please, don’t worry, I appreciate the generosity but I can’t take your teddy bear!”

Janeth laughed and motioned back to the finished house with her arms. “Do you see what you have done for us? Do you know what you have given us?”

I nodded slowly, but I still was reluctant to accept such a gift from a girl who was so much in need. “Still, Janeth, I can’t take this. I know how much you love it.”

“But now you can have it, and think of me,” she said, her brown eyes shining into my blue eyes as she pushed the teddy bear back into my arms. “You have given us peace with how our house was built. You have played with me, and watched the cows with me; you have played games with me and talked with me; you have listened to me and learned Spanish for me. You have given us a new house, yes, but you have spoken our language with us. I want you to have this.”

My arms went limp as I accepted the gift into my arms. And when I enclosed my arms around Janeth, she threw both of her arms around my neck.

As we were driving away, the mother came up to the car window said, “Thank you… for everything. I can’t tell you what you’ve done for our family.”

I can’t say I helped them achieve a better understanding of our culture, or that I helped them achieve a congeniality towards the American people, because I believe that how that family behaved and lived was a tribute to their peace, joy, and understanding. I can say with absolute certainty that they helped me achieve a completely different perspective of how I live my life and instilled in me a passion for change, for understanding, and for love that I don’t know how I can ever thank them. But perhaps the thanks is not what they want—all they want is for me to pass on their message.

[**Sapphire**]

Nice work Aussie! :thumb:

I have more along the lines of some thoughts to post here today.

All this dangerou & crazy weather we are experiencing really has me wondering if there is anywhere that I can go that will be pretty safe from the dangers of "mother nature". It's been raining here since Friday morning early with a few breaks here & there. I watch the news & see all the flooding all kinds of people all around the US are experiencing due to hurricanes or even just flooding here & it breaks my heart. I feel for these people, do they have flood insurance, will they wind up losing everything they have worked so hard to build up their whole lives. Where are they going to live in the mean time? The people that didn't evacuate, are they going to be OK? Did they finally get to a safe place? Is the place they went to even safe? :(