A stranger, as a friend

It is often surprising how good it feels to open up about one’s life to a total stranger. Maybe it’s because there is the no-strings-attached relationship: the dialogue lasts only that moment, and then it’s all gone, forever. Although problems still remain, the cathartic effect would have, for some time, calmed down the troubled waters preventing us from resting at night.

Friendly strangers can also be a kind of family, of a special category. It’s like that crazy uncle who travels all around the world, about whom you’ve always heard (usually negative things, in the sense of how irresponsible he his, etc), but towards whose mysterious image there was always a certain sense of admiration. Then one day this uncle visits, and you start talking about life… and there is a certain intimacy of thoughts, where talking is not about fickle daily events, but touches on the deeper meaning of life: the perspective, a guiding philosophy, how it is put into action, the sacrifices and the joys that come with it. There is the understanding that this conversation is carried out simply for the pleasure of exchanging ideas, in order to pick on each other’s brains, to listen. There will be no tomorrow where there would be the moral judgment of ‘you should do this, you should not do that’; there is an acceptance of the person, in its whole totality.

This is what makes such conversations unique and memorable. Unlike close relatives, with ‘strangers’ there is no one to impinge upon us their own worldview. We are allowed to be just as we are, with our faults and weaknesses, without having to perform, without having to be afraid that we would not live up to ‘their’ standards.

Yesterday I met two strangers, in the morning and in the night. The first one saluted, and asked the simple commonplace question of how I was doing. My face gave me away, I winced, could not reply superficially. Was honest about the frustration of having lost all those years of specialization and studying on migration due to the corruption on the island. He listened. He understood. He told me to hang on in there, that there is a future ahead of me. I went to work, there where I now understand what marginalized people must feel like, for I am not treated equal as the others, not even in the most base of employments – and I could carry on my work, silently, but without too much spiritual sorrow. At night, I met another stranger while walking with my dog. He liked her; we struck a conversation. A professional bodybuilder who had to retire because of failed kidneys and a back tumour, he listened to me, as much as I listened to how much he gets odd looks from doctors because of using performance enhancers when he was younger. I talked about my present predicament, surrendering myself to a bleak reality, which, however temporarily, is nevertheless difficult to digest, and he asked question, just to get me to talk more. It felt better to reaffirm to myself that life is hard, but it must be fought for what we believe in. He understood; at 37, it’s not easy to be hooked to a dialysis machine for the rest of your life. We ate our pizzas. Cara, my dog, look on at the ongoing traffic. I hugged her a lot. She is the best thing there is in my life. Then we parted on our separate ways.

A stranger as a friend, the unknown rekindling the candle within.

 

 

– Meanwhile, the world keeps on spinning –

As necessity is the mother of invention, so does it compel is to think laterally and take decisions that, normally, would not be included in our plans. But it is in these moments that the greatest insights can be reaped. Things being what they are, I found myself doing manual work in a warehouse. In the team there are about seven other men whose age is predominantly over 45, married, and with children. Most have been working in the same place for ten years and over.

To understand what it means, place yourself in a hot, stuffy, big concrete room, surrounded by boxes containing all sorts of things: BBQ charcoal next to compost (making the place very hot), brown goods, stationary, car parts, etc. With no windows to circulate air, and not a single natural object in sight, hours pass like limbo: you don’t think about the time, or anything else, but do your duty just so to earn your wage. There is no excitement, no novelty, and no marvel: it is a dead-end job for the sake of the monthly wage. You sort, stack, pack, day after day. In these men’s case, it’s year after year. They don’t talk much, not even during the 30-minute break. Do your job, period. To break the ice, I was asking them for how long was their employment with this company. The answer was always the same – a flat tone, with a dead ring to it.

They do it because they have a family to maintain. The pay is above the minimum wage, and the hours are pretty nice; it’s a nine-to-fiver, allowing time to go home and be with wife and kids, or work a part-time. What impressed me is that some of these men are truly intelligent – one is a supervisor, but he has worked in the same place for 13 years, and is still getting dirty like the rest of us. What makes people willing to sacrifice their lives like this, instead of looking for something more interesting?

The answer is as simple as it is fascinating – family life. Work is work is work, and for them that is where it stops. They need to do it in order to get the money needed to feed and clothe their family, and to pay the bills. For them, family comes first. It is what gives them the courage to get up every day for what is possibly the rest of their working life to go to a job to which they become desensitised and totally alienated. To be sure, there were many other employees who came and left. But these men – and here one sees a certain nobleness of spirit – decided that for them there are other things that matter more than what they are working. After eight hours all will be over, and they can then devote themselves to what makes them happy.

In their own way, these men teach me a lesson about the true nature of being in the world: Happiness is not a constant: one must work for it. Like lapping waves at the edge of the shore, it ebbs and returns, and one must, just as children do, be ready to enjoy the moment it comes back. The idea of a life that comes easy is just a story. The reality has a different telling. What is work then? It is just a job; just something one does in order to keep on enjoying the rest of what’s left to life.

And yet, the other side of the coin is has a dark shade to it. For those eight hours daily, 40 hours a week, are a considerable chunk of our lives. The men’s dead tone when answering my question is the give away: there is a longing for something more interesting. Their mistake is to stop where they are, without working to move on. Their reason for living – the family – ultimately became their own prison, their own limbo. And when something within the bubble they have made for themselves bursts – could be anything, from a child’s poor grades in school, to marital issues – there you see that there is no longer a human being, but a shadow of his former self.

But the world keeps on spinning.

One just has to ask himself only one question: which way do you want to face the dance the world spins to?

 

Dark night of my soul

Picture yourself walking along a long, sandy beach. We have all experienced such moments: watching the setting sun, being absorbed so much in it that nothing else seems to exist. Now imagine that suddenly time takes a leap, and you find yourself in pitch darkness: there is no one in sight, and the moon seems to be playing a game of hiding behind dark clouds, surfacing only for short instances, a mockery reminding us that we are lost, while giving brief glimpses of what surrounds us.

Enter the dark night of the soul. Like art, this is a moment that should comfort the disturbed and discomfort the comfortable. It is a moment of transcendence, of true realization, or actualisation of a soul that for too long was left to rot in the decadence of the world surrounding us. As the sun sets, there is a knowing that in the glorious colours a change is about to set in -

And in the luck of night
In secret places where no one spied
I went without my sight
Without a light to guide
Except the heart that lit me from inside.

It guided me and shone
Surer than noonday sunlight over me,
And led me to the one
Whom only I could see
Deep in a place where only we could be.

As I travelled with my dog across Europe, I met incredible people, human beings that are impossible to come across in a small island like Malta. They were the moon peering over the clouds, lighting my way as I sought to return back home, home being the life source, there where happiness thrives and completeness triumphs. In between these rays of light, dark shadows haunted me: all hope, all aspirations, my entire life plans seemed to vanish like wisps of smoke in the wind.

Tormented by such thoughts, I walked deeper into the bush, and here is where at present I find myself. Tattered clothes and dirty hands, blood stains and thorns have marked me, but yet, I smile. For it is in these moments that the spirit can shine through and come to its full circle. We are not made to suffer, but it is suffering that tempers our souls.

Stop, suddenly, and look about. Listen, it’s the heart that calls out. Sit for a moment. There is a stone. Clear it of the grass and the overgrowth. Does it look familiar? Look closer; it is a structure. Follow it, remove all the moss. Warm light, a sense of ancient reckoning seems to hail itself. For it is in these dark moments, when all hopes seem lost in the sea of dejection that old flames rekindle. We were all children – and we are supposed to remain as such. But we stop dreaming, we stop seeing with the mind’s eyes, and suddenly, the castles we build all disappear.

Thus I now find myself uncovering these ruins. Each shrub is a thorn gathered in all the years leading to, and including, adulthood. I remove one, and a stone is uncovered. With each stone that is uncovered, the world seems less dark: dawn is approaching. The process is not easy, the task takes time. Like most others, I have abused the Earth Child in me to silence and oblivion; now, I must nurse him back to health. But slowly – there is no rushing this time. Digging out the true light from within us is a process of reflection. It requires a calm disposition and the willingness to accept truths about ourselves that would make enemies out of present friends we have. In this calmness, I come across a quote by Robert Luis Stevenson, and it sparks a smile of understanding:

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.

 

Power games in Migration

The madness I was working in has finally surfaced. My thoughts are that this, in itself, is a blessing. For once, after so many months, I can sit down and write a blog entry. It is not easy to think straight when the environment around you is warped, your own sense of self becomes distorted, while your humanity is reduced to ashes.

Seven years ago I decided to take as my B.A. dissertation in anthropology the topic of asylum seekers in Malta, more specifically in relation to identity studies which at the time were gaining momentum in the discipline. Anthropology is a vast subject – but the market is limited. After all, who is interested in stories when nowadays policy-makers rely more on numbers than the human experience? Myself, I am no sociologist. Statistics are useful, but only up to a point. I believe that even the best-conducted survey methods are, at the end of the day, merely scratching the surface. Words and experiences draw a more complex picture of the dynamics that the people go through.

I chose migration studies because that is where EU funds seem to be invested; I was studying for a career, so I took a line that seemed fertile. At the same time I also wanted to be with Africans (the type of migrants I have specialized on) because I am, in effect, a sensitive person; I feel for the underdog, and whenever possible I try to stand up for him.

What I did not take into consideration is the kind of man I am vis-à-vis the sector I was aiming at. The first variable is covered above; the second one is more complex, but can be summarised thus: in a sphere where there is a lot of power and money involved, it (now, in retrospection) stands to reason that the stakes are high; individuals will take profit from (initial) slight discrepancies and loop-holes. These variances then gather their own momentum. Like a snowball, they start growing bigger as more time elapses and more people join the game. Situate all of this in a small island like Malta, with its 300 square kilometres and circa 1500 inhabitants per square kilometre – and the ripples become waves. Those who are already at the top want to keep their status (and pay-cheques), while new players have to pass their criteria. What are these? Simple: the ability to turn a blind eye on what really matters – what can in effect create a better situation for those for which the system has been (purportedly) been set up – while focusing on what I simply call navel gazing. Conferences, talks, meetings and ethnic events are set up. NGOs talk ad nauseam about rights and obligations of the government to the vulnerable people in question – but the fact still remains that all discourse goes round and round in circles. There are good people within these micro-movements, and they do try their best to take act, for they sincerely do believe that something can be changed for the better. Yet from afar it is like screaming underwater: nothing comes out of it, simply because they are placed into definite pigeon-holes, those where the mileage gained in where matters is kept to a minimum. Even if a street protest is staged (and this has been done before), the powers that be already know that this will be simply a fickle news, of transient interest, talked about publicly in that day’s tabloids, only to end as an ‘interesting topic of discussion’ in the coffee shops where these ‘hippies’ hang out (“and how dare they say that there is no democracy in the country when we let them clown about!”, goes the common man’s thinking).

Before CGI took over in the cinema industry, Greek-Roman movies would involve a lot of people for casting. Of particular interest to the present blog is the 1981 movie, Clash of the Titans. I remember watching the bit where miniature figures were placed in their niches by the gods, and thinking in awe, ‘how could there be so much power in someone’s hands?’; the question remains with me, more ardent than ever: how can anyone be allowed to manipulate truth and even a person’s own individuality – and life – only for egoistic, self-centred motives? The game outlined above is exactly that: people, playing gods, toying around with countless lives. It is not only the Africans or the people who try to stand up for their rights that are silenced; it is also for those who are in the system, and are being denied the opportunities to do what they are good at, in the sector they are working in.

I have spoken with many people, from police officers to engineers. This dynamic is endemic in little Malta.

So many opt to remain silent. They joke about it. Others simply quit, and find something else, something less than their capacities, reasoning out that if you cannot beat them, nor join them, then quit and be at least peaceful.

I knew, from since working in the Open Centre for asylum seekers, that my fate was sealed. Have I applied with other organizations? I have. Did I fare well in the interviews? I have, where I was given the opportunity. But, why should someone, relatively anonymous in the public eye, be preferred over someone with more contacts with those who really count – i.e. the stakeholders? All the knowledge in the world counts for nothing, if you are no one in the public eye. And by this I do not mean being prominent in the rights for asylum seekers; no – to be someone that counts, you have to know how to manipulate people and events to suit your needs and the lush comforts of those who wield the sceptre.

Alas, I am not like that.

So I get the worst treatment. I get beaten to a pulp, in a very subtle psychological manner. I am devaluated until I started to believe the fiction that was being forced on me.

Until, by some grace, I happened to do my duty, as always, and suddenly the tables were reversed. Suddenly I could see beyond the cell that I was segregated into. And this time, I had also other people to see for themselves that I was worth something good – and through their eyes, I finally awoke from the manipulative game that, like a sedative, I was falling into; a small voice was still calling out for me to wake up, but I was becoming too numb to listen to it any longer. All I wanted to get enough money, and leave everything behind me.

Upon waking up, we are all hazy for the first few seconds. But imagine a day when you are still stuck in between dreaming and your daily affairs, when reality just becomes one big mess. The reaction is to go on the defensive. Luckily I read enough warfare strategy by the masters of the old to realise what was happening – and I reacted according to the events’ flow.

Now, the stakes are up, and each side has set up its own barricades. I can say that so far I have played a good game. It is a game, for in light of death, nothing really matters, all is evanescent. But the game has high implications nevertheless.

Now it’s a matter of seeing what the next move is. I have not run away. I decided to stand my ground. In so doing, I have lost much. I have lost a job, and my career opportunities in migration are totally over. I have stood up against people who have too much to loose. A man like me is an inconvenience that is better to segregate in the doldrums.

So now I wait for the next move.

And, yet, deep down, I am at peace. I know that I have not bent to the corruption that pervades the migration sector in Malta. In the meanwhile, I write, read, and look for another job, be whatever it is, to get by with the Malamute whose life I rescued, and whose happiness is all I really need.

 

a modern day Hero: Jim Gilliam

An inspiring person in what, by all rights, appears to be an ever fragmenting world is Jim Gilliam. An activist and a fighter in what would, at first glance, appear to be a wuss.In the video below he talks about the internet as his ‘religion’. At first I thought it was a joke.  But pushing the play button proved more interesting than ever imagined. This is because the world, as I see it, has lost the deeper  connections that were bread and butter of up to a few decades ago. Presently, there are way too many possibilities, and although the world has become smaller through the internet, cheap flights, instant news coverage, and Google Earth, nevertheless we are getting to know less of each other. Take a look at Facebook for instance. The internet application that commoditized friendship – and if you are out of it, then even the people you knew for years start eying you. You have to post photos of you on Facebook – for otherwise you have no life at all. What started out as a program to help a few students keep connected has become the manager and director of our lives.

 

And, if you ask me, I think it is sad. The internet in itself is not harmful – what is devastating is instead what we do with the internet. I am not referring to the usual porn-site theme. I believe that this has been exhausted ad nauseum by religious figures and holier-than-thou advocates of the ‘rightful way’ to use the internet. Instead, taking hint from Jim Gilliam, the internet can truly be used to push forward what we human being are best at – and what really differentiates us from the animal kingdom – the ability to reflect and communicate, in order to create a world of ideas. With the internet, even the poorest person can have access to the greatest works ever written, to contemporary articles, and to a body of knowledge which, until a decade ago, would be reserved only to academics or the most privileged classes. The internet is where true egalitarianism can be found. Where ideas are valued not because of who you are, but for what you know. There is no mistake – it is misused, but that is only because we are not teaching our adults and children alike the worth of this goldmine we are sitting on.

 

Jim Gilliam is truly a modern hero. He defeated all odds, fought cancer many times over. His exterior belies the strong person that he is. It is people like these who have a lesson to teach us about the possibilities of being human are about in these atomized lifestyles.

 

Everything fades, but Love’s light

Everything fades,
Youthful beauty and childhood laughter,
Soft skin and flawless faces.
Like footsteps at the edge of a beach,
Washed away by a gently wave.

Everything fades.
Loving words spoken between lovers,
Sweet whispers lost in dark nights,
Like a rose, once fragrant and inspiring,
Now withered away, shedding its’ petals.

All fades, that is the law,
Ever repeating, never stopping.
Only one element remains,
Like a rock, unshakable.

For love once realised is eternally cherished.
As all dissolves, only that light remains,
Like a candle, in the dark caves of our existence.

 

Impermanence in Equal Measure

These last months have been heavy on me, and, after so many years, I was tired. I felt that the end of the journey was near, not because it was time to stop, but I wanted to simply giving up. Then, these last four weeks something happened, and I started to really see.

In a weeks’s time, ten years ago, my father died. Acceptance was very difficult, and the mourning took the best of me for over two years; I was in sorrow for seven. Yet, gradually I realised that death is our reality, and there is nothing that we do in this world that matters – nothing, except for the way we live our lives; not because there is a heaven or a hell, for I do not believe in Christian cosmology. I simply accepted it, together with the truth that the time was still not ripe to understand why I believed so.

Fast forward ten years later, and I realised that happiness and the self are inexhaustibly linked. The more we see our selves as an individual, with an identity and a life, a personhood, the less happy we are. How often do we seek satisfaction by doing this or that, completing a project, going to the next one; loose a friend or person loved, we cry, but soon as someone new comes up, all worries are soon forgotten. We want to be accepted and we work hard for that acceptance; when it doesn’t come, we either hate the person, or else we try even harder to be liked. We go in a relationship seeking to be completed, only to become attached to it. Like any other thing we own, the other person (be this be a lover, companion, or simply a friend) becomes a property, and we do not see the person for who he or she is; becomes simply an ‘it’ an object of our fantasies. We do not see the person changing, we actually resent change, and we want to control how the person is in our lives. Or else, the person is not as important as others are, we don’t care for the person as much as we care of the other one.

Ironic is it not? After father died, I accepted death as part of our being, but nevertheless, I could not still realise the law of impermanence. I was thinking, just like a donkey with a carrot in front of him, that my happiness depended on other people. I was, and still am, like a hamster in his wheel, running, running, running, but never quite reaching anywhere, because no matter how fast, no matter how smart, no matter what good intentions there are – I am still in the same place. I still hurt people, I was still – and do emphasise, that presently am still in the process of – never-ending suffering. Day after day, month after month, year after year – life after life – the loop never stops.

So finally I did give up. I gave up the fight. Instead, I am accepting the fundamental realities of our existence. We are can be our own masters or our own worst enemies. We create the suffering and the pain we feel in this life.

The world we perceive is not real, but only an illusion created by our mind to keep us surviving. In this  ignorance, the mind perceives only this material world, but not disciplined to see beyond its’ limitations, it fails to see that once this is realised, then nothing else remains. Only the very impermanence of what is around us stands. Nothing lasts. Nothing is. Nothing and everything becomes. It is mu, is there but it is not, it is but it is not.

My caring for one person more than for the other is only a bias that arises out of this lack of understanding. I think I am, when I am not. When I think I am, then others become something, or nothing to me. But the reality is that – there is no up or down, no forward or backward, no close or far. We are all related, in equal measure.

So, I am growing in these realisations on a daily basis. When I am not learning, as the Buddha said, I am thankful that I am not sick; when I am sick, I am thankful for I am still alive. Being alive I can learn more about the way, and thus, there is never a day that goes to waste.