Tuned in

For not being much of a TV-watcher, I sometimes get made fun of for ordering two (count 'em, two!) premium channels: TV5Monde (French) and RaiItalia (Italian). But tonight I was reminded of why I keep them in my package. Not only do they help me maintain language skills, but they also consistently have beautiful, artistic films I would never find through Netflix or iTunes; and vegging out is still somewhat intellectually engaging when I turn to one of these channels instead of the reality TV alternatives.

Tonight I happened to catch the last two-thirds of a WWII movie called 'Zone Libre' (Free Zone). I won't go into too much detail but the movie focuses on one part of a family that is split up and hiding with a French peasant who is protecting them from Nazi sympathizers. The quality of the acting and the cinematic storytelling were top-notch. I noticed aspects of the experience I had never thought of from previous exposure to other WWII movies and books. In one scene, the peasant Monsieur Maury stops to check on three of the women he is protecting -- two sisters and their mother -- at the isolated farmhouse and he brings them a bouquet of lilacs. Their expressions of delight and gratitude spurred me to think of the profound nature and impact this seemingly tiny gesture offers.

***

To anybody else it's just a bouquet.
But to us - we who are stuck in the shadows of a hostile world,
denied the luxury of 'normalcies' and faced instead with
yellow stars, boxcars, family losses and death camps -
these flowers remind us of the beauty that can still grow
in a world as crazy as ours,
where men engineer systems of annihilation
and lose sight of humanity.

These flowers show us the kindness
that can survive despite the bleak times,
of the humanity and goodness in some
that rise to outdo the evil of the day.

These remind us that we can choose who we become,
even in the worst-case scenario
we can mimic or defy our captors
in the adopted attitudes and values we display.

These blooms may be the only sweet-smelling fragrance
we encounter while hiding out on this farm,
here with the smells of sweat and sh*t and animals.

They may be our only visible sign of hope
and they sustain our will to live
when we think of the beauty this world can offer,
the goodness of those around us,
and we take a sensual escape from our imprisonment.

But to anybody else, it's just a bouquet.

Witness

Crushed by the pain that only another human can inflict, her voice rose shrilly above the silence in our hallway. My neighbor had just been told over the phone that her husband, the father of her infant, was having an affair. The heartache hung from the uncontrollable shrieks strung together to confront him. How could he, if not in consideration for her than for their child? she asked him.

There is no pain so deeply felt than that inflicted by the carelessness or malice of another human being. I stood in my entrance hall paralyzed by the raw emotion and involuntarily sharing a pivotal, tragic moment in three lives: the breakup of a marriage. "Happily ever after" was ending. Real life had hijacked the fairy tale. My innocence shattered alongside her hope: No matter how much we believe in and plan on an end result (happy marriage, etc.), life offers no guarantees. Unpleasant realities arise without an invitation.

As I stood a silent witness to the demise of this woman's imagined future, I knew that there are few things in the world so ugly as the death of hope -- whether it be in the broken heart of a betrayed spouse, or the glazed eyes of refugees living in limbo.

Hope is that life-substance that helps us look past our current disappointments to have faith in the future. It is the vaccine that gives immunity against the pathogen of despair. It moves us past life at a standstill, past our static selves paralyzed by pain, to open our eyes to the possibilities of finding joy again. Slowly, at first, we learn to trust, to allow ourselves gradually to lose that chapter and be captured by life's goodness again -- the chance to practice our passions, whatever they may be, and to impact positively our world one person at a time. For the truth is this: Just as we can inflict the greatest pain over each other, we also can lift each other up to great heights.

I worried about this woman into whose life I had been pulled without ever having met her. Pain was our common denominator. I worried for her reaction today and for her healing in the future. Would she be one of those bitter colleagues at the office, an "empty-shell" person that Sandra Oh describes in Under the Tuscan Sun? Or would she be like Frances Mayes who grieved, grew and got a new beginning? I sincerely hope it will be the latter for her, the child's and the world's sake. When these huge hurts are overcome, one becomes an ambassador of hope, of which our world is in great need.

I eventually did get to meet her. I worried in her pain and grief, she'd do something regretful. I imagined that she must feel so alone and so I knocked on her door. I asked her if she needed anything and she smiled and calmly apologized for shouting earlier. "I was having an argument," she explained. I reassured her that I understood. She briefly teared up, thanked me and shut the door. Her discretion impressed me. I could relate with her pride.

I prayed that what she truly needs she receives and that she may find and walk the road to healing. My decision today: I will not be a silent witness when faced with despair.

--February 3, 2008

***

Inspired by that encounter I wrote the following two poems: 

Phoenix

The news breaks.
The cold shower soaks you to the bone:
You've been betrayed
by the one closest to you.

Reality hijacks the fairy tale.
Castles in the cloud crumble to dust.
All that you knew and took for granted is shattered.
Your life is a blank slate.
Your comfort zone evaporates,
sparing not even the immediate perimeter around you
You are not even at home in yourself.

A monumental task lies before you
as you stand dazed on quivering knees:
Rise phoenix-like from the ashes of your former life
to rediscover yourself beyond
the comforts of the hypnotizing routine
that carried you up to the moment of truth.
Your tears will someday bring life to another in this situation.
You will be a testament to courage,
an ambassador of hope.

For now, grieve
but surround yourself with supportive friends
who will share in your loss
and pull you from despair's quicksand.

***

Untitled

Pain strikes like a snake
at your most vulnerable spot
The venom of despair and anger
burn through your blood,
paralyzing your thoughts

You cry out and collapse
expecting death is near
But you awake the next morning
with the ache
surprised by your body's ability to run
without your participation

Some sit with the venom
as if it were medicine for their pain
It overtakes them and
transforms them
into a poisonous presence

Others spit it out and
detoxify their wound
the scar will always be there
but its power and the pain fade

A very few find they are
strengthened by their wounds
discovering new purpose and drive in their lives.
They are an enviable lot --
seemingly immune to the venom
that swallowed so many
But it is their pain management, not immunity,
that is their secret strength.
They open themselves to the
challenging effects of suffering
and rise above it all.