Wednesday, November 7
Cars rush by my window, hurrying to somewhere from somewhere else. Passing by here, of all places. To think that just this morning I was rushing, too; boarding a plane, hurrying to be on time, nervous but hopeful. As I watch them all go by, I realize that here is where I stop. The Global Youth Forum is where we all have paused, for just a moment, to take a breath- but I can only guess what lies in store for me. In a world where everyone and everything must be faster and faster to keep up, a few of us have stopped to catch our breath.
At home it is approaching midnight, Mountain Daylight Savings Time (or not… time changes confuse me… anyway, its really late). Today has been so long; it feels as if weeks have passed since I last embraced my family in farewell. Months since I last sat in a classroom hundreds of miles away, doing nothing, really. Now I realize that I can do something more, right here, right now. I am already meeting new people, sharing ideas and realizing, again and again, that we can do something to change the world, as silly as that sounds. We are doing something.
Mary Jean Eisenhower inspired genuine hope. Conversations at dinner inspired the beginnings of friendships. A movie about child soldiers in Uganda inspired sorrow and tears. It has only been one day. I think to myself in awe that this is only the smallest beginning. Tomorrow I will learn so much more- how many words and ideas can fit in one day? One week? I might just find out.
Thursday, November 8
If yesterday was full of new experiences, today is full to bursting with inspiration. During a presentation on genocide in the 21st century (specifically Darfur in Africa), so much had happened that morning already that it felt like the end of the day. It was only 11 AM. I am now determined to be part of the defense against genocide, to expand my P2P student chapter back home, and to live my life to the fullest. I met Josh Parolin today- I can’t believe someone so young could be so much. I had read his blog about his life in Uganda on the plane, and it was breathtaking. The best part is that he is one of us- he’s only 20-something. I can just feel the inspiration radiating from him. He’s going to give a presentation tonight- I can’t wait!
Yesterday I was so worried that I wouldn’t make any friends- honestly! But I have. And it’s only the second day.
································································································
Josh’s presentation brought me to the edge of tears and set my heart pounding. This is what I have been waiting for- not just this week, but my whole life- I have been waiting for a reason to change the world. A real, genuinely life-inspiring reason. This is it. People can always say they want to change the world, but those words are too often just that- empty words of tense and distracted Americans. Finally, I know that my life will be different; instead of just telling myself that ‘I’ll be a better person’. It is no longer completely about me- it’s about how I can help others. It’s about who I can be. I have long worried that hope is ignorance and love is a waste of time. Honestly, I still do, but something, something real is screaming that I can’t really believe that- that that my actions will define my meaning on Earth. (A sculptor, after all, isn’t told what to carve by the marble; the sculptor chooses what and where to carve. With each previous stroke, the next ones are changed permanently.) This screaming in my heart makes me feel tears pool behind my eyes, and my hands begin to shake with something bigger than myself. All day I have felt waves of emotion and some inexplicable beauty wash over my head. I am dizzy with hope. In an intensely profound way, this is the beginning of the rest of my life. And I LOVE IT.
I realize now that I can and will change the world, even if it only starts with the smallest of steps.
How can I tell you this? The truth is that I can’t. You will never know how the GYF changed my life; you will never understand how I feel right now; you will think that this is a very wonderful but also that you don’t quite care. This has changed who I am (it’s only Thursday- I’m still changing!). I can’t force you to be a part of this, I can’t explain it if you ask me about it. But I want you to know that I love it (so do my shoes- hearts and sincere signatures are beginning to cover them).
I write this as a plane roars over the Windy City and Christmas lights begin to grow on trees, one by one, like luminous vines suddenly blooming in the cold night. I write this, and I know, nothing will ever be the same. Even if I don’t save the world overnight, by myself, the collective energy of 200 kids is monumental. I still can’t quite believe how much power I felt in the room full of hundreds of teens with hundreds of dreams. I literally felt how much change we were capable of- words could never describe it. I could fill pages upon pages with this feeling, I could spend all night remembering this week, but for now, this is just enough to let out some of the pressure that has built up inside of me. With this journal I am releasing the weight of a thousand nations, a million tears, a billion smiles, countless problems, infinite solutions, 200 kids, one dream, and one me.
Friday, November 9
Today the intense passion of Josh and Mr. Hanis gave way to an intensely blissful, sad joy.
Smiling faces and eyes greeted me and around twenty other kids at Lincoln/Sheffield Senior apartments. That is the thing that strikes me most about these people- their eyes. In a retirement home for low-income seniors that cannot afford to provide food for its tenants, the people smile when we walk in. As we serve them breakfast and play bingo with them, a man tells that he traveled the U.S. for a good part of his life before having to retire in Chicago- we shared memories of fiery southwestern sunsets, of the brilliantly clear, starry nights of New Mexico. His creased and wrinkled eyes held such a full and great life; I was astonished. There was an honest twinkle there, too, a silent laugh behind his eyes that told me he was completely truthful when he said he was glad to meet me.
Later that day we ate lunch at HARD ROCK CAFÉ! It was amazing, and I used an entire disposable camera on the tour of Chicago after lunch! Memories of that tour play out in my head again and again, even now. It was not so much the breathtaking city that echoes in my head, but the memories of new friends. Laughing, taking pictures, sharing memories. The memories will never leave me.
After dinner Gandhi’s grandson, Arun Gandhi came and talked with all of us- yes, Mahatma Gandhi’s grandson. It was incredible. He talked about his grandfather’s message of non-violence and the difference between passive violence and active violence. Physical violence is active crime and cruelty, while passive violence is everything that creates physical violence- economic unbalance, social injustice, religious conflict, and wasted resources. Physical violence is a crime against an individual or group, but to commit passive violence is to violate Nature and humanity.
I can barely believe it, but I actually got up in front of the whole room and asked Mr. Gandhi a question on the microphone: Is there ever a situation when violence is absolutely unavoidable? I was so nervous I was literally shaking, but it was so worth it. The answer was yes- sometimes a small act of violence is necessary to avoid massive conflict. He cited September 11th as an example, reminding us that the passengers on the plane heading for the White House crashed in a field to avoid a national tragedy. This answer may seem self-evident, but I needed it answered after debating it in middle school.
Today was so extraordinary that I will honestly never be the same.
Saturday, November 10
Just as cars flash by my window at the speed of light, memories fly back and forth through my mind, vivid memories that flash with every time I close my eyes:
Madeleine’s smile. So genuine, so honest, so beautiful. She spent two years being forced to fight and kill for the LRA in northern Uganda. And yet she smiles while she speaks to us in a beautiful, lyrical French, brightening the room in an intense way. Madeleine’s smile is one I can not help but mirror. Josh said it many times, and I will say it again: the people of Uganda are beautiful.
Sitting with new friends on the bus tour.
The tears in everyone’s eyes during Josh’s presentation.
Singing at dinner while Josh smiled the sad smile of someone who wishes to relive their fondest memories.
Making our poster for the NGO fair; the compliments, the laughs.
The cold, refreshing, slap-in-the-face air of Chicago.
The way Barb said Oh my God! in her wonderful New York accent after Josh’s presentation.
The ironic event of feeling small and big at the same time that I get from looking up at the towers and buildings scraping the sky.
The long hugs and open tears at the dance.
Playing air hockey while Josh watched with a smile.
The deep, wonderful eyes of the senior citizenss on Friday.
The waves of hope and inspiration when Mary Jean or Mark Hanis or Jimmie Briggs or Josh or Madeleine were talking to us.
The small things.
································································································
Hugs were exchanged, tears were shared, words were said, but none of it was necessary: We all know we’ll miss each other. We might see each other next year in Denver, or maybe not. Whatever happens, we all shared the joy, hope, peace, and intense, life-changing sense of a bright future. It will stay in out hearts and minds forever, but as Mr. Gandhi said, it will die with us unless we spread and share it. It will be planted like so many grains of wheat in fields around the world and grow and grow until the world is different.
I can’t explain it; I can’t possibly describe it. You have to be there yourself. I can’t tell you how hope and sorrow and beauty and peace literally feel like electricity washing over me. I am a different person now, and I don’t care how foolish it is to think that a bunch of kids can change the world, or that five days can change one person so profoundly. The only thing is, this feeling of hope and inspiration is fragile- I can feel it. I am afraid that once I leave Chicago, I will forget this feeling. So I have written this journal to remind me, to remind everyone else from the GYF; maybe someone who has never been to a GYF will read this and think a little differently about me- who knows?
I fall asleep with the beating heart of a different person. I love it.
Ian Kerstetter
Global Youth Forum
November 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment