The Move

I settle into the couch in this new space before me and am aware of the incessant debate that rages in my conscience even now, and I embrace it. Thank you all who shared your personal reactions to my conundrum; I appreciate your wisdom. I am at 1714 Avenida Santa Fe, 7th floor, #704. This tri-level space fits my personality, and its height above the whizzing avenue below brings me a sense of relief. I am in a prime neighborhood, undoubtedly, and some of the nicest stores line this thoroughfare. But there are many other realities to be discovered, and I am opened to becoming humbled as my stereotypes melt away. Several other World Peace Scholars are within blocks of me here, and I am a 20-minute walk from class, so I find myself gratefully in a solid place from which to launch.

Moving was an act of friendship. My landlord, a young Argentinean law student who had studied for a year in Reading, PA, was supposed to come by with his car. He showed up at my host family’s building on his bike with the saga of a broken elevator in his car garage. Several minutes later, I found myself following my host brother and my landlord as each rolled one of my 50-lb duffles through the Buenos Aires blocks. I joked with them that I felt like a “diosa” (goddess), and inside beamed at the gloriousness of our interconnection. In just three short weeks in this new country we moved my life in ten short minutes. It wasn’t easy to leave the apartment, especially after having been allowed in at such an intimate level to the life of this family. However, I am just five short blocks away, and will continue to have dinner there for as long as it feels right.

I learned a lesson as to the role I can play in such a relationship as I had with this middle class family. In the kitchen this morning washing dishes, my host brother Agustín called me to his room as he does on occasion. Many times it’s for to take in a off-color comedy show or something of the sort, but this time I was heartened to peek around to his TV on the wall and see CNN in Spanish casting a special on the gravity of the hunger and AIDS crisis in Uganda. He had seen me watching something similar previously, and had exited the room at first opportunity, but he clearly was in tune to what my passions are. This time we took time to discuss what is so wrong with our world that these kinds of injustices have to exist. As I voiced my concern that TV specials clearly do little to inspire action, Agustín admitted to having heard about the extreme poverty in Africa since he was little. How can we get more creative and inspire people to true and immediate action?

Overall, it was empowering to be able to share my deep concerns and frustrations with this 30-year old “hip” Argentinean whose interests mainly revolve around women, and to feel that he was listening to me… and not just because I’m a woman, but on a truly human level out of respect for each other. I used to be timid to discuss my anger at world inequalities for fear of being the “party pooper,” so to speak, but I find that there is a way to speak my spirit without shutting down the person with whom I’m speaking. The key seems to be looking deep into my own heart and articulating with complete sincerity what passions lay there. For what other reasons are we beings here together, but to share our passions and through the open exchange and attempted understanding of these, make better sense of our lives?