The Power Of One… Plus One

Is it inherent in our human nature to be stuck on the concept of what is best for me? When something bad happens in our life, many of us tend to blame that terrible feeling eating us up on the inside on everyone and everything else. It can never be our own fault that this unmentionable negative thing has crash-landed on our perfect bubble. It is even harder to accept any responsibility or brush off that funk – not in the cool 70s music way, no sir – and pick ourselves up when we caused this ripple of terror or even to just say, “I’m sorry.” Forgiveness is divine, but to say this last sentence seems to be increasingly superhuman or an alien dialect. I suppose, should this reality be otherwise, psychologists and therapists of all sorts would be out of a job.

Everyone always looks to gain the upper hand

On Sundays, I usually kick off the end of the week – or the beginning depending on which way you prefer to see things – with my weekly mass. It is a good time for reflection and spirituality, especially when our brave community leader seems to be out of touch with modern times. However, this past weekend, his sermon seemed to be spot on with where I was at in my train of thoughts. Maybe he has been getting into my blog to check up on his favourite churchgoer? Don't count me out! He encouraged his congregation to look beyond the “I” in aspects of life and embrace the Christian spirit of community and cooperation. Something he mentioned that really resonated with me was: “We always think we are so independent from others and never realize how many interdependencies we actually have.” This is a quote is definitely knowledge I tend to pass on to my children and future generations, much like my Pay It Forward mentality.

The need for material things and outdoing our brethren is crucial from the age we learn to walk and talk. Like the brother and sister playing jump rope on the sidewalk, the first one to quit will say: “I’m done. I’m going to MY house.” Although your sibling lives in the same house many times, you sense a need to exclude the other to somehow feel superior to another living, breathing, bag of bones just like you. Similarity is just no good. It just won't do, that’s why communism failed. How many of us have friends, neighbours, acquaintances, or even that person looking back at us defiantly in the mirror - let’s not kid ourselves, we’ve all been there – that are always stuck in the “I”.

For example:

a)      I wish I had a better car. (two “I”s in this one)

b)      My buddies’ TV is bigger than mine

c)      My girlfriend’s husband is cooler than you, or

d)      all of the above.

Undergraduate students in economics are taught the importance of a free market and that competition is in fact healthy. Tell that to the folks in the Eurozone! Even in Canada where there are so many monopolies, we are taught this from the very beginning. The PR campaign for the “I” is just gaining steam, leading us to believe that eventually, we all can the one calling the shots in Bay Street (the Canadian Wall Street) and earn those big bucks and bonuses, although there are really only a handful of banks in the entire country.

The truth is, interdependencies are everything. Take for example of the CEO of HSBC. Would he have a job and all that tremendous wealth that goes along with the position without the expendable customer service call centre lab rats? Would Michelangelo have had a Sistine Chapel to paint without labourers to erect it? When we decide to take that gigantic leap in a romantic relationship leading to marriage, the two parties enter a contract to make a life together. On my special day, the priest did not begin a process of negotiation where it was concluded my wife and I would be at a 60-40 or 30-70 split but there was an agreement to be there for each other in through thick and thin. Even the sanctity of holy matrimony has been soiled and is now just another victim to the ailment known as individuality. Wives and husband having individual accounts, almost as if reinforcing a sense of competition among each other. But wait a minute... When you tied the knot, did you not agree to make a life together? People appear to need much more convincing these days that working together can lead to greater accomplishments for the common good. There is still the need for great works out there. Rome was not built in a day by some divine intervention by the big guy upstairs (just look up to the heavens and you know you are looking in the right direction). It did take a large group of people to prop up those columns and run a government for the people, by the people and not for you dirty, unfashionable people called Barbarians.

Asked in Rome how long it took to get built, they shut me up with a gelato

I suppose what I am trying to say is that too many of us forget why we are where we are and forget to be thankful to who got us there. It was not some random act of chance or circumstances but to those in our team who drive us on to better things. People around us contribute in one way or another to our existence, and we should always be ready to thank them, forgive them and ask for forgiveness. When a community leader messes up, it is would be far easier (and better) if they fess up in order to make a mends, rather than let the entire neighbourhood burn down with a "My bad, dude" because of pride. Whether we are leaders, followers, wives, husbands, project manager, prophet, brother or sister, we all have interdependencies to be aware of and as such, to be grateful to have them in our lives. There is only one life to live and we have no say on how long we get to walk this green earth, so we might as well make the most of it. Some problems cannot be avoided but we can certainly all do with a little less stress, whether we cause it to someone else or to ourselves. ¡Aurrerá, nire jarrailek!

From Russia With Love

As I mentioned near the conclusion of my previous blog entry, the world has its own way of making things work out, returning a sense of balance. The same energies would come into my life during the next few months of being a High School freshman. I was feeling further alienated seeing my bridges burned after attempting to join the Peruvian population. It was no longer an option for me to continue to that end and I was not willing to take any more chances. If my environment would be subject to further bombardment, I would not make it through the posting. Two years could turn into an eternity when being on the wrong end of a conflict. I was now moving away from “adaptation” to more of a “coping” mode in regards to my situation. At this point I was able to find several similarities between my life and prison movies. If I was going to survive high school, I needed a plan: someone to watch my back. My brother had kindly volunteered to be my backup – perhaps noticing things were off to shaky start, to say the least, but I could not have my brother fight my battles. I needed my own posse.

Ivan Drago during a press conference

I figured the smaller groups of students were more closely knit, therefore harder to break into. Other groups were made up of Americans and other English-speaking kids and more quiet and distanced groups such as the Japanese and Koreans. I felt a sense of equal opportunity in evaluating my chances for proper integration as I shared the same ingredient with all of these other kids: a bunch of nothing. We were foreigners but, in my mind, this was not enough to click together. For a while, I navigated alone through the world of Roosevelt observing my peers during my classes and lunchtime. I saw from a distance how they interacted and I did not feel outgoing enough as I gauged my appetite for risk. I did not have any particular preferences, although I began to form a bond with Mario Lambert, a French-Canadian the son of the RCMP attaché in the Embassy and David Williford, whom I believe was the son of an American missionary or something of that nature. They were both in my Spanish and Debate classes and had a great sense of humour. Our Spanish teacher was a former Miss Peru – must have been a very long time ago – named Ms. Saco who had difficulty commanding respect and controlling her classroom. If you have ever seen an episode of Oz, well this was somewhat similar during the riot scenes. The only difference is that class would eventually come to an end while in Oz everyone’s sentences were different. The environment was so relaxed there, I was able to chat up a storm with both of them and build a closer connection.

During the course where I was regularly used for target practice (Physical Education) I began to befriend a Slavic-looking kid. He looked to me as a shorter and chubbier version of Ivan Drago, the Russian Red Army boxer who took on Rocky in one of Stallone’s movies. No one seemed to include him in their team when organized sports would take place. I did not want to pick a side, as I knew I would be picked on regardless of my decision. Students also seemed to periodically insult him using all sorts of words that I had never heard of before or care to repeat. It was evident to me he was another outsider. We seemed like a perfect match. If I was not liked, and I was an “alright” kind of kid, he must have been better at that time in my own mind than the average student. The first time I approached him, I attempted to communicate in English with him, as my Russian was nonexistent. I hoped this would be a common language. We were supposed to play volleyball and I did not have a partner and he did not appear to have one either. He responded verbally to my initial contact yet, although his lips were moving and his speech level struggled against the incessant sound of bouncing balls on the hardwood gym floor, I had no idea what he responded. We somehow managed to understand each other communicating through various gestures and facial expressions, such as waving towards each other so one would get closer and the almost universal thumbs up. We continued for a long time exchanging further gestures and actually laughing as we kept each other company during our sentence in the gym. It was funny but we seemed to find a connection without having to speak.

I later realized this Soviet buddy of mine was also in my World History class. Kevin “El Chivo” Jameson, who I swear to this date, was a clone of Woody Harrelson, taught this course. He was a young American, perhaps teaching high school kids for the first time in his career. He was a shy individual as well, something that was not a key to succeeding as a teacher there. The reason he was nicknamed el chivo (the goat) is because on several occasions, while he lectured on the topic of the day, a random person in the classroom would belt out “Kevin chivo” at the top of their lungs, and the rest of the class followed in unison with an “ey yeay yeay yeay”. Every yeays would get louder and given the day and circumstances, there could be several of them added on. He never seemed to have an answer to this behaviour and although I found this hilarious, I was also astonished at how little control teachers in this school had over their students and the overall lack of discipline. I had never seen this kind of behaviour in my life and in my other schools, there would be no place for this nonsense. This did not impede my newfound Eastern European buddy and my contributions to the chorus. We may have on occasion belted out our own chivos, creating the tsunami of ey yeay yeays. As a matter of fact, this was a very good stress relief technique. I remember leaving Mr. Jameson’s class usually feeling quite refreshed and ready to tackle the rest of my hostile surroundings. Kevin was a nice guy and did not exhibit any resentment or hostility from uproarism in his classroom. Perhaps he was just happy that the class would eventually come to an end. I often had chats with him about basketball as supposedly, he had played for Duke in the NCAA. I was young but that did not mean I was gullible. He did not seem to have the makings of a Varsity athlete.

Alejandro, Kensuke and I

The Russian and I finally began to speak once I realized his name was Alejandro. I now managed to discern the language as he tried to converse with me through a thick accent known internationally as Andaluz. It is close to Castilian (Spanish), but many letters are not pronounced, and the pace is somewhat quicker. It did not help that it was the first time I heard this regional accent. He did not have much English in his repertoire as this too was his first ever experience studying in the language. I possessed the advantage of having a prior oral record. Thanks to this new connection, I was reunited with my passion for basketball, playing at lunchtime with him and his Korean and Japanese ESL buddies. This was also where he introduced me to Kensuke Kobayashi, a good Japanese friend who became our gateway into a whole new language and culture. Kensuke taught me something I will never forget: Onara no nioigasuru (it smells like fart). This tied in to that lingering guano smell in the city air. He was a very nice kid and with a great sense of humour. Both of them also allowed me to learn a lot from cultures I had never been exposed to in the past, and share some knowledge of my own home. I had become a much prouder Canadian in response to the feeling of rejection that I felt originating from my hosts. It was now looking as I had finally found my place in the school where I could be at peace and let the good times roll. We were all kids in no man’s land.