In this section:
Sunday
I used to think I knew everything. I thought love was eternal. I thought hatred had a resolve. I thought anger could be soothed. I thought all people were good. I thought pain could be healed. I thought the world was black and white. I thought everything could be explained. I thought every question could be answered. I thought I knew my friends. I thought I knew my family. I thought I knew myself. And I thought that nothing in my life would ever change.
Grandma called last night. Mum and Dad weren't home so I talked to her. I said I'm sorry we haven't talked in such a long time. I told her that I miss her a lot. She asked who she was talking to and I told her it is me. I told her that her that it is her favourite grand daughter on the phone. I told her it is her early morning jogging partner asking how she is feeling. I told her it is her rival in wit telling her that she is missing her a lot. She began to yell at me, she screamed that I was lying, that I was an impostor, that I couldn't possibly be her grand daughter. I sobbed into the phone Grandma, please, it is me. My palms holding the phone were sticky with sweat. My head hurt. There was a silence so thick I thought I would choke. A voice, a weak, feeble voice spoke into the phone. I heard my name, she spoke it soft and slow and she asked, "it is you, yes?" She apologised and apologised, she said she was so sorry. She cried and said she loves me more than she can admit. Her voice trembled as she told me how upset she is for hurting me. She sounded fragile and old, sick and frail. No longer the strong, tall woman who taught me how to eat grapefruit, who held my hand so I wouldn't fall. When I finally got off the phone, I realised my hands were shaking. I started to talk and sobs came out. The vision I had of my life, my family, perfect and secure was shattered. Last night, I cried myself to sleep.
Monday
We like to think that somewhere in the world is a little niche, especially for us. A space defined and unchanging. A safe space where we fit perfectly. A box framed by our opinions. A little box that describes who we are and what we believe. But the world is not made up of boxes. There is water, always moving, in and out. There are seasons, always transforming, around and around. there is life, always unfolding, things are born and things die. there is the day, always new, the sun coming up and going down. Nothing is ever the same as it was before, as it will be, as anything else. The world changes around us. How can we be fixed in a box amidst a world that is never the same?
I was thinking about Grandma all day. I couldn't work, I couldn't think, I couldn't eat. What happens when the shoulder you're leaning on starts to fall? What happens when your world falls apart in front of your eyes? What happens when you have to question the very people you were born to trust? I sat on the couch and watched my family move around me. I said nothing, I did nothing. I watched my brother do crosswords and I wished that one of the answers was me. I wished that the four little letters of my name would fit somewhere into the crossword. I wished that I was a question that could be answered. I wished I could understand.
Tuesday
Opinions change, they are effected by anything and everything that happens around us. an opinion is only a statement of what we feel in that space, in that place, at a moment in time. What we feel, what we know, what we choose to say, to understand. It all depends. We are framed, framed by the who, the when, the where, the why. We never really know, what we know is always changing. We can't ever know what is really true, what is really right. We only see one perspective. And although we may come to understand each other's perspectives, we never know which is right, which is truth.
Today a speaker came to school. She talked about apartheid in South Africa. She said segregation is evil, she said discrimination is shameful, she said racism is disgusting. Then she told us the story of a white woman who was shot in the head for trying to take her baby out of her car because a black guy wanted to steal it. And she gave us figures and statistics about crime before and after apartheid. She convinced us that although it's bad, apartheid should have been only taken away gradually, not immediately. She convinced us; convinced us that apartheid should have remained, removed slowly, over time. And by the end, I, fighter for human rights and equality, attendee of numerous rallies against racism, believed her. I believed that the apartheid should not have been taken away as it was. Only then did she turn to us, she looked into our eyes and she told us that we are gullible. It was obvious that we all believed her. That in our naiveté we agreed with and were persuaded by everything she had said. Within minutes she had reshaped our opinions, our beliefs. She reframed our perception of right and wrong, she moved the thin line and redefined good and evil. She searched us, she forced us to search ourselves. She made us come to understand, to see the power of authority, the power of facts and figures, the power of the mind. She declared openly that apartheid is wrong, that apartheid is evil. Nothing may allow for prejudice. No matter what, the removal of apartheid was good, its eradication was right. When she left, she said only one thing. She told us not to be so easily convinced.
Wednesday
The statements of my youth are no longer. The older I get, the less I realise I know. My statements have become questions, forever undefined.
I talked to Mum and Dad tonight. I told them about what happened with Grandma. They told me that she is sick. That she doesn't know. That she is confused. That she is getting old. That she is becoming demented. They told me that Grandma loves me very much, that she loves all of us but her mind is forbidding the memory. They said that she wants to go on but the physical prevents her. She is finally at a point in her life where she can look back and say, I have accomplished, but there's little cognisance left to think it. And we cried together. Just Mum, Dad and I. We cried for Grandma, and we cried for ourselves. We cried for the weak and we cried for the confused. We cried for the helpless and we cried for those who won't help themselves. Although there is no cure, there is comfort in sharing the pain.
Thursday
So often we say things or even believe things not because we think of it ourselves, or because it sounds true but because it sounds like what we think we should feel or say. We complain about 'society and fashion' but then we in our own minds have a little voice that shapes our opinions and thoughts so that they sound "right". 'Society and fashion' are not an ambiguous everybody. 'Society and fashion' is the little voice in our heads that feels the need to fit in, that molds everything we do, think or say.
I went to get the prescription on my glasses renewed today. I sorted through different frames and decided on a pair. They were sitting on the desk and I realised that I didn't like them. It occurred to me that I had only picked them up and chosen them because they had a little 'Gucci' label on the side. They didn't suit my face or my style. It came to me that we all wear glasses. We all have different prescriptions and different frames. Often, our frames are not defined by who we really are. But then again, we wear many different pairs of glasses. And we switch and change constantly, sometimes even wearing more than one pair at a time. But we never seem to manage that 20-20 vision. When I prayed tonight, I prayed for Grandma. I prayed to G-d to look after her. And I prayed to G-d to look after us all. Friday
Maturity is the growth of understanding, the understanding that we don't know everything and that we all understand differently. We move through life like water, always changing, moving and flowing in and out never contained or defined. We can't know what is right or wrong. We don't know what is truth but G-d does. G-d knows. G-d sees all. And in his infinite kindness he has told us, he has guided us, he has molded the banks of the river so that we can run through them.
I read a reader with my little brother this afternoon. When he finished he turned to me and he told me that "I know everything now". If he says he knows everything, then what does that leave to be said for those adults who still say "I know everything". Being an intellectual is knowing that you don't know.
Saturday
G-d give me the power to change what must be changed.
G-d give me the strength to accept that which must be accepted.
and dear G-d, please grant me the wisdom to know the difference.
Elka
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