Privileged Pity Party

Last week I was reading comments posted on my blog and I came across one from “Anonymous”. As anyone who knows me would agree, I am a huge fan of the freedom of speech, but firmly believe if one wants to say something, they should have the courage to stand behind their words, not merely sign something Anonymous.

The comment in response to my blog “Bitter” read:
It sounds like you must have a really terrible personality... Usually people that get hired because they "know" someone aren't incompetent, rather they're personable and the person that hires them does so because they know they can trust this applicant. You sure do have a surprising amount of self-pity for someone who has seen people in unimaginably hopeless situations.
You sound Christian - if so, you should remember Jesus reward for service - he was reviled and killed. He was homeless and solitary. But he was remembered. If you dedicate your life to service - your "dream job" - you should expect nothing in return, except some people might feel sorry when you die. And if you truly want to serve, no one can stop you. People can deny you scholarships and internships, but your ability to serve is still yours.
The word "great" should not be used to describe helping those less fortunate.
Anonymous, April 26, 2009

For days I have mulled over the comment – any opportunity for growth and self reflection is always a valuable experience.

I believe I am one to carefully consider my words, continually noting how fortunate I am, continually counting my blessings and struggling to remain focused, recognizing people walk gracefully though a life many would consider “unimaginably hopeless”, realizing this situation is only temporary, and that is not a luxury many have the opportunity to say. I am not a martyr, do not share stories for admiration and have never once shared something in search of sympathy. My sole intention of sharing is always to increase awareness about life, the joys and trials of daily life in a part of the world so far from the good fortune of the United States, where issues surrounding the stock market and John and Kate plus 8 take the back seat to a lack of clean drinking water and global warming which is destroying your only source of a remotely secure livelihood.

Part of the roller coaster of emotions I continually reference is directly related to the tug of war between reality and immediate circumstance. Increasingly I find myself irritated and exhausted by the little things… like having to boil water to bathe when it’s midnight and you’re tired and simply long for a nice hot quick shower or brushing your teeth with bottled water outside because someone is always in the bathroom and having to carry 20 liter jerry can of water through the house to the bathroom in order to flush the toilet at 3am. I miss doing laundry, I never thought I would say that, and the ease with which I used to be able to cook. I miss being able to sit in silence or dance around the house in my slippers singing at the top of my lungs, or sitting to eat a meal and not feeling like Linus from Charlie Brown as gnats and flies swarm my head and ants charge my plate.

Lately I have been fantasizing, making a list of the foods and beverages I will consume shortly after arriving back in Boston. Topping the list, A GREAT glass of white wine, a hamburger from The Public House, a tantalizing meal from the Washington Square Tavern, a chicken burrito and margarita from Border Café, an assortment of plates from a local Thai restaurant, Sushi, and a chocolate cake from Party Favors… then for home cooked meals stuffed cabbage, manicotti and SALAD… lots and lots of salad.

Last week, in between running around to different stores negotiating prices, I went into a local shop I frequent because the owner is the host mom of a fellow intern. I was talking about how exhausted I am from sleeping on the saggy foam mattress, listening to the dogs barking, waking to cockroaches in my bed and bending over for hours scrubbing my clothes. They started laughing when I expressed how difficult everything is here and how brutally long everything takes. As I was speaking I wondered how they perceived what I said. Does anything I say even resonate? There is no basis for them to judge the ease with which all of us in the States do everything.

Watching the kids play with broken toys or push tires with sticks and play games by tossing rocks I deeply wish my kids could find such enjoyment with the simplicity of life, I wish we as adults could find such contentment and simplicity in life. After returning from Sierra Leone I resolved when I have children someday I would like to only ever have a few toys and let them be content…teach them from the beginning how very blessed we are and live a life that reflects this awareness. This trip affirms that notion. Yet I fear one day my child resenting me because they don’t have the latest and greatest toys the neighbor kids do…and I wonder if that is the motivation behind so many parents buying the “world” for their children. I just don’t see a need for bins and bins of toys when they only have two hands.

I find such joy and peace watching the children here. Content with whatever they have, inquisitive with what they find – their imagination soars.

Sitting here continuing to mull over the comment from Anonymous I am thankful for my questioning and grappling with the juxtaposition between the life I have been blessed to receive and the raw reality of the environment in which I find myself. I recognize how trite and trivial my list of longings are. I hear how obnoxious my longing for a simple bathroom stop is. How ridiculous my grumblings about washing laundry and cooking in a kitchen where mice and cockroaches peer over your shoulder from the shelf. I know, poor poor me.

In a short while I will head out to the living room for a spoon of rice, another of beans and if I’m lucky – a slice of avocado or cucumber and that is it… I’ll mash the squishy food in my mouth and wonder why the fruits and vegetables in great abundance are not utilized to their full capacity. Meal time could be so enjoyable and fulfilling here yet it is the same exact thing every single day… for 60 days now… rice and beans. Boring, tasteless with lots of salt and oil, blah - texture less. Does the sheer absence of knowing what is possible make such a routine palatable? Same with living or work conditions here? Is that why toddlers can consume the jarred goo called baby food until the transition to solids and then turn to pushing the group out of their mouth to drip down their face?

Many will sit and read this post and think how lovely it is that I have the opportunity to have my blessings affirmed in such a tangible way… but how many will ponder their privileges too and make changes in the way they live based on vicarious living through my first hand experience? Be transformed through my wrestling, my grappling; positively changed, even in some small way, from reading my privileged pity party.