the other

I just left a conversation over skype with a friend who just recently returned from living in Brazil's notorious favelas.
Leaving my computer, I was overwhelmed with anger.
I sat down. "Caroline, what am I so angry about."
And some how I already knew.
Im angry at the world. Im angry at people. And maybe Im just a little bit angry with myself.
Old emotions that I will never fully come to terms with.
After working with the same organization that focused on suffering and poverty, it seems that only the few people who have shared your experience are the only ones who really understand.
Others may politely listen and become bothered by your words; attempting empathy they may even cry. But you will you never look into their eyes and with an instance glance realize that they get it. No more words have to be said.
I should never pre judge people. I do not know what they have lived because I can only see the mask they wear.
But what made me so angry today?
When I first returned from Bangkok, I volunteered to teach a bible study at a youth camp. After one of the students pressed to know more about what I did overseas, I shared a few of my experiences. The youth were surprisingly receptive, but I had no idea how talking would effect me. As soon as the students left the room, I landed back into a small orange plastic chair and began to have flashbacks of a certain child I worked with. I started breathing heavily..I became a little dizzy..what was happening?
Upset after this experience, I talked to a man who had done loads of counseling. "What's going on with me? What was that? "oh," he gently replied, "your grieving."
what was I grieving? No one had died.
But in a way, maybe someone had died.
Fastforward to months later. I was watching a movie that showed, in just a flash, a cambodian woman standing on the street selling her body. And in an instant, I had a very similar experience: flashbacks, images, overwhelming sadness, tears boiling under the surface..
And its these kind of experiences that only a few people will understand. Only a few people will be able to provide some kind of solace. But in coping with these memories, I discovered, only today, something else evolve.
back to my conversation with my friend:
"caleb, what makes me so angry is that people will never understand what I experienced; they will never really see the world, and worst of all, they have their lives perfectly formulated in order to make sense of all this suffering. As they conjure up simplified answers to these colossal problems, they will be shielded from the reality of how life if. Yes, I accept a loving God who brings peace and brings healing..but I cant accept simple answers. You will never be able to emotionally and intellectually come to terms with that you have experienced. You have to accept that these issues are irreconcilable.
"Caroline, are you talking about yourself?"
And then something so profound and convicting hit me: I was not only angry at the world that creates this suffering, or the people who stand by idle and watch it happen; in the depths of my heart, I was angry at myself. You see, I realized that in not being able to cope with this hurt I've experience, I have hardened myself in some ways to not feel these pains anymore. I have become that person. Although vocally I still stand for the poor and the oppressed, my lifestyle screams apathy.
I guess this is what I really want to get down to and address: Why do we become "that something else we detest?" A few weeks ago, a seemingly homeless man started talking to me on the train. I had no idea where this vagabond had been or where exactly he was going; the only thing I really KNEW was that in that moment I saw something so profound concerning the human condition.
Our conversation started after he commented that I had "positive energy." "People's lives here are hard and superficial..that is why they dont smile. I like your energy though." Intrigued by this man's observations, I continued to listen to his stories. Trying to not stare at his snaggled teeth and tattered clothes, or turn my head at his breathe that REEKED of alcohol, I really tried to see his humanity and not objectify him because of his appearance.
The sojourner announced that he had become interested in martial arts from an early age to protect women. "You see," he explained, "my father abused me and my mother when I was a child. Now, I protect women," he added with a grin that reveal pockets in his gums where previous snaggled teeth existed.
I froze. I just couldnt come to terms with all of it. Here was a man who had a genuinely sweet and tender heart that desired to help others. In a sense, he had triumphed his father. He would give life in place of where his father had stolen it. But I couldnt ignore the overwhelming defeat I rationalized about the whole situation. He was homeless. He was a drunk. He scared children. So although in some ways he had the victory, I couldnt help but pity the loss. He couldnt deal with reality. His father took a part of him. So, he became that which is loathsome; he became the other.
Next example. A teenage boy who is raped, drugged, forced to dress as a woman, and prostituted. The boy cant deal with the reality or pain he has experienced. He is victorious because he chooses to love the innocent instead of rape them; he triumphs because the way he treats people makes the world a better place. But he is also defeated. As he looks in the mirror and runs his hands down his frail body, he continues in the identity he has been given because real life might literally kill him. So, the boy straps on his stilettos and continues down that street that has become all to familiar to him. He becomes that which he detests; he becomes the other.
But maybe most people's situations are not this extreme. Maybe most people dont experience the kind of traumatic experiences that provoke these reactions. But dont we all do it to an extent?
And so I return to that anger inside me, sitting patiently under the surface of my heart, waiting for some realization that would purge this *oh so unwanted* stream of emotions.
Why do we become that which we detest? Will I become that "other?"
And so I grieve the death of my innocence; I pray for my heart to be vulnerable, that I may feel the sorrows of the world and through the pain return the life that has been taken.