Thought Picnic: We are not as connected as we think we are

The tears for fears

It was a strange feeling of regret and partly self-pity that one would not normally admit to when I went through a list of 15 job roles that I somehow felt I could not apply for. This, for all sorts of reasons as I felt the warmth of tears welling up around my eyes. It has been a long while since I have cried for myself and I do wonder if there is any relief in it.

The fact is and I would point it out in its own paragraph, people are a lot more vulnerable than they say or present, they are not as alright as they seem, they are not as happy and cheerful as they appear, and they need a lot more than just checking up on to ascertain how they are.

Out-of-date interventions

Yet, it is the assumptions that people make about others that I can be painfully aware of, that torches with flames of anguish or something like it. When I think of the other day and there are many to consider, the day some prayers were prayed that I thought could have been so useful, so many months before they seemed desperate and even out-of-date for the suffering that has been endured, it leaves a sense of abandonment and unease, that one should do the best not to attend to.

The other other (written for effect) day was another who called to determine how one was getting on and the core of his advice was I should not lose my confidence. Heck! I could have done with that kind of encouragement six or months ago, how do you light a fire in ashes already dampened in a storm? Still, from the ashes, the phoenix rises or something to that effect.

These totally out-of-date interventions may seem productive but that touch at the heart of another reality, that we are not as connected with our friends and family as we assume we are. There is an unquantifiable distance in what we think are thriving relationships for which familiarity has replaced discerning and discernment to elicit the full truth. Maybe I help myself better through what I write for my speech has the sophistication of concealment that is both trained and curtailed.

How I feel lost

There are days I am probably entirely myself, as many consciences are quickly salved with the rudimentary as one battles with an Esau complex, wherein has one served up birthright for a pot of soup? The judgement on him was tough even as he did prosper in a way. One is left wondering about the vicissitudes of life, maybe a time to reflect in Ecclesiastes. Even the comfort I seek therein seems to elude me.

I often get asked that question that probably a sense of pride promptly denies, it does loom about and I refuse to countenance it, I refuse to give it any rein, which does not mean it doesn’t yap at my heels, every now and again. I want to believe and at the same time one is losing grip, there is apparently so much love out there as I wrestle in my mind about things present, things existential, and things beyond, that sleep will not repair.

As one would expect, there is someone somewhere who would read this and genuflect to feigned apoplexy with the opinion, “It seems he is giving up and losing hope.” Thank you for your very genuine concern, after that, what has changed? 

The battle is always in our minds, in our heads, in our dreams, and sometimes interfered with by reality, but it is one we dare to fight to win, and, on this score, I will wipe away the tears and look up because it is not over until it is done.

In the consolation of tears

Brimming with realisation

Almost a decade ago, I was walking towards the Weerwater in Almere, The Netherlands and I started to shed tears. In one moment, it dawned on me that I had survived cancer, been out of work for 18 months, lost my home of 10 and a half years, and was staying with a young Indian family, the only possession I had being my bed.

The tears were not one of pity or despair, just that I had all through my ordeal never thought of what I had been through, what I had suffered, and the toll on my mental and physical state, I had just kept going, taking each day as it came. Yet, I was in the mire of stagnation, I needed to shift something to get moving again.

Facing up to reality

My over 12-year sojourn in Holland had come to its natural end, and it was time to return home to the UK. This was against every advice or counsel of people around me, but I was convinced that phase of my life was over. It was necessary for me to find that time of release because I took hold of my vulnerability and humanity to begin to seek opportunity.

Then, I wrote to six friends, who in my mind’s eye I would have chosen to be my pallbearers as I was also too aware of my mortality considering what I had survived to tell them of my plans and what my wishes were if anything were to happen to me. I was being pragmatic and practical even if some thought I was giving up hope. What I had experienced was nothing like Job in the Bible but considering the catastrophic loss I had borne starting with my illness, I had my own story.

Things best left unsaid

There wasn’t much I could say to those who thought I was not putting up a fight or one who even said I needed a boot up my backside. I took what they had to say with grace, and not once did I suggest to them if only you knew from whence, I came to this adversity, you will fear misfortune and it happens to good people too, and I barely scraped the standard of good. I know good people who died from cancer that ravaged their bodies, robbed them of dignity, left them destitute and literally without hope in this world, I was spared, I had the good fortune, I was lucky, I was blessed, I am grateful.

And so, in the tenth year of my returning to the UK, I think about my departure from the Netherlands, the way things changed radically for me that within 6 days of my return, I was offered a job to go travelling Europe in my field of expertise. I have not returned to the community in which I found support, sometimes grudging, sometimes burdening. It was at a time of seismic change in that community too, I could not be that demanding. I am thankful for the ways in which they held me up from falling totally to the ground.

To thank them all

I constantly think about a long visit to the Netherlands, to see the consultant who took on the responsibility for my care, the friends who have kept in contact all this time, and just to see the places that gave me a sense of belonging and thriving in the Netherlands.

This all was set in motion from that afternoon when I found solace and consolation in my tears. At once, I was man and human, strong and weak, vulnerable and determined, never hopeless, just beginning to see where things can change for the better.

15 Seconds on the Soft Shoulder

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I’ll cry if I want to

Every once in a while I give my eyes the routine maintenance of giving the tear ducts a flush. There is no switch to set off the channels that bring water to my eyes.

By a deliberate act, I might chop onions and that is hardly a task I enjoy, for years, I used a mandolin and then I found Spar does diced onions, I guess the efficient rather the lazy part of me decided I had hit the gold dust of cooking ingredients. Most of the time, the onions go into the cooking pot rather than the frying pan, I store the diced onions in the freezer and when needed, crack the bag on a shelf and pour in what I need.

Sowing kindness

I started the evening with a Facebook post that talked of a hungry boy who asked for a glass of water and was given a glass of milk. He had only a dime and asked what he could pay for the glass of milk, the lady answered that her mother told never to take money for an act of kindness. The boy thankfully blessed her from his heart.

Decades down the line, the lady fell seriously ill and was transferred to a city hospital where a consultant was engaged to monitor and treat her condition. He saw where she came from and on checking on her, realised she was the lady who gave him a glass of milk, many years before. He dedicated himself to her wellbeing and care until she was well. Her hospital bill came to over $28,000 which she did not have.

The consultant had intercepted the bill and added a note before having the bill presented to the lady. She read the bill and then the note, all it said was, “Paid for with a glass of milk.” The tears welled up in my eyes, how kindness gets repaid, you can never know.

Stories that move the heart

The annual charade of the BBC Children In Need is on again, this charity has raised over £1 billion pounds since 1980 for disadvantaged children and young people in the UK. Gosh! I miss Sir Terry Wogan, but I switched to the channel and it was being presented tonight by Ade Adepitan and Tess Daly.

There are so many stories of kindness, hope over adversity and the overcoming of infirmity, human strength and resilience coming from young kids who have faced cancer, life-changing injuries and all sorts of crises, yet, none have a sense defeat but are living examples of grace, love and fortitude.

Each story told is a miracle of our humanity, those who suffer and those who succour bound together in the refrain of that song, “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.”

I have been blessed by kindness

In my life, I remember the many who have come into my life in times of need, of great adversity and difficulty, friends and strangers alike who found the common cause of human kindness and unconditional love whose acts towards me have been to carry me, unconcerned about the burden, to the questions that might have crossed their minds, they have answered back, “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.”

What a blessing it has been for me to have means and opportunity, not necessarily to repay the kindness directly, but to others. To each and many, I hope I never have to faint, but be girded with much more strength to say, “They ain’t heavy, they’re my brothers, my sisters, my fathers, my mothers, my aunts, my uncles, my nephews, my nieces, my relations, my friends, my neighbours, my community, my people, my humanity and whatever diversity and inclusivity I am blessed to be part of.”

My tears on the soft shoulder of love

I have shed many a tear watching acts of kindness, things that bring happiness and joy to others, to ease the pain, pacify the perturbed, demonstrate the amazing and incredible, the whole celebration of humankind. For the kindnesses I have received too, my tear ducts have opened like sluice gates and I am not afraid to cry, it can be a wonderful release and expression of our humanity.

Maybe I have found 15 seconds on the soft shoulder, I know one shoulder on which I could cry for as long as I want, he is the one I love, and we hope to soon be together again.

Courtesy of the William Kentridge exhibition at Zeitz MOCAA, Cape Town.