"Your face doesn't show that you have suffered"

I was out at dinner a few weeks ago when I found out that Lawrence Fishburne is directing a movie based on one of my favorite books, the Alchemist. I wanted to write a post describing how this book was a good place to begin the telling of my story, but for whatever reason, I've hesitated to do so. And now for whatever reason, I feel as though it's as good a time as any to speak on it.

Some would say this book isn't for everyone. I disagree, which is not to say that I think the book is for everyone, but instead to say it is a book that is best discovered of one's on accord. I figure, however, that it might be a good place to start because in many ways it's where I first gained a sense of purpose and awareness in my own journey.

I was seventeen years old when I first read the Alchemist. I won't credit the book for the transformation itself, but it was most certainly one of many catalysts that offset my paradigm shift. For the first time I started to think of life as a narrative complete with occasional tests and miracles, and from that point on, I understood that part of enjoying life was recognizing how well things come together. I was beginning to see the bigger picture.

My story begins a long time ago, but since this is a simple blog, it's best that I start my story the day I began the long journey home from my study abroad in Quito, Ecuador. The trip was depressing for a number of reasons. First, it was unbearably hot. Second, the fact that my experience in Ecuador was over finally began to sink in; and third, albeit temporarily at the time, I was heading back to suburban central Pennsylvania, which I feared would be a difficult transistion from an emotional standpoint.

At some point during one of the flights, I found myself conversing with a woman who had spent much of her childhood growing up in Africa. She began speaking about the Congo with such passion and intensity that the subject immediately sparked my interest. I spoke of my desire to go and like any considerate being she assuaged my joy just enough to make me think realistically, but not enough to make me altogether lose the urge to visit the African continent.

She spoke of how the scarcity of electricity in some places would be shocking to me. She met every romantic notion I had with words of caution about what the African reality truly entails. And for the most part I listened and resolved myself that my trip would be like nothing I had ever experienced before.

At one point, I said something to the extent of, "well, I've spent the past seven months in a foreign, third-world country so I should be able to adapt accordingly". She responded in saying, "you'll stick out like a sore thumb". Surprised, I asked her why I would not be able to learn to fit in if I were to spend genuine time with the people and immerse myself in their daily culture. After thinking for a few seconds, she replied, "your face doesn't show that you have suffered. The people in my country have suffered a great deal and it shows in their faces."

Truth be told, I was a little offended at first. Who is she to say I haven't suffered? I've suffered,I thought to myself. She was right, though. What I have suffered is not and can never be comparable to the suffering of the people of her country, for I have always had the luxury of hope and the protection from knowing raw fear and shear desperation.

So, at the core of my narrative is this notion that no one should suffer. And since that realization I have tried to keep my eyes open to opportunites where I can be of service to this dream and its realization.

Over time I have acquired a conviction that there is no value in determining who suffers more, only purpose. The question then becomes, what do I do about the existence of such suffering? And the answer, I believe, is to fight for more brothers and sisters around the world to be able to live a life like I've been blessed to have.

My thoughts...

Thanks for reading.