What will they say of you?

Choose your words
carefully.

At 17 years old, I've seen but a sliver of what life has to offer. I could go on about what I expect from my future, from my career, my marriage and family life, or from my old age, but then I would just be fumbling in the dark. I don’t know what twists and bends await me, nor do I want to spoil those surprises for myself. Yet I have my hopes and dreams like the next person. Whether I die at a ripe old age, or at any unexpected time, I want others to say that I led an honorable life that was true to who I am. They say that in the afterlife, if there is such a thing, you leave everything behind. That’s not very much at the moment, but in the coming years, I hope it will be a good lasting impression on the people in my life. I want it to be a legacy that I will adhere to everyday. To wrap up my blog, I’m leaving you with a potential epitaph that I would like written on my tombstone (although it is rather long, so I’ll need a really big rock). This series started at birth; it seems only right to go full cycle. Every blog I’ve written has been a build up to this moment, because each one depicted a moment that contributed to who I am today, and it’s exactly that person I want to give homage to in this future final farewell.

Strong, frightening, fearless, caring.

HERE lies a man,

Grown old and weary in time,

No longer a boy who ran,

In whose spirit still blossoms the youthful vine.

He died on his feet,

Strong, fearless, frightening yet caring.

Undefeated by every foe, every fleet,

Occasionally despairing, yet always daring.

He was unafraid of the menace of the years ¹

Of how charged with punishments was his scroll; ¹

He lived his life in high gear,

It was the one thing he could control.

Break free. Transcend.

He was a defender of the weak,

For he too once lacked the strength,

To stand up for being unique,

To preserve that which he believed in, at length.

He existed to inspire,

To rally others until his last breath did expire.

Born into a world he mistrusted,

The task of spreading love and justice, he was entrusted.

His purpose was to transcend mortal limits,

To break free of the shackles that restrained his kind,

And so to surmise his life within minutes,

Is an injustice to his state of mind.

To the family he left behind,

Rise, Captain!

Both blood and bond combined,

The legacy that he most prized,

Was the simple act to LIVE TO RISE.

“Remember me”, he began,

“Know that I was my own man.

That the burdens of life are a minor toll,

When you are the captain of your own soul.” ¹

References: 

¹ "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley 

To travel is to learn

The simplest and wisest piece of advice given to me was to travel. Not just from Windsor to Toronto, but to see the world as far as it stretched. Eleven days ago, I did just that, and journeyed not only to Quito, the capital of Ecuador, but deep within the Amazon rain forest. Upon my return, I could vouch that traveling merits its own stage of life.

In my very first entry, I stated that this blog was destined with a glorious purpose: to reveal the moments of existence that have changed me and made up who I am, as well as dictating the essence of other people. I find that garnering a new perspective on life befits that role, and it is remarkably easy to accomplish. We begin in an airport, which is already a strange place; where else are strict and brooding law enforcers placed only 10 feet away from genial salesmen? Then you board a plane, and discover how men have conquered the skies

as well as the earth and the seas. Flying above the clouds, seemingly so close to the stars, makes you feel like Rulers of the Universe, until you realize you can’t even stop the kid in the front row from drowning the plane with their noisy tears.

You arrive at your destination, and find that the people are just as exotic as your novel surroundings. The people of Quito not only have a different skin color, but different beliefs and ways of life. My group met with one very singular Quichua woman who was still deeply devoted to the old ways of her people, before the Spanish invaded the region and enforced their own religion. Through her, we learned a version of history that is scarcely told, and participated in many of the traditions and ceremonies of the Quichua. Outside the sacred keep, the locals were celebrating the canonization

of Pope John Paul II.

The following day, you arrive in the Amazon rain forest, and are struck dumb by the vastness of the lush green of the trees. In contrast to this richness of nature, you meet the children and parents of impoverished communities. One such place was named Bella Vista Baja, in which our group helped build an additional wing to the overpopulated school, because the government ended funding for surrounding schools and packed those students here. You would expect the language barrier to hinder our work, yet the essence of a minga (a community coming together) is understood by all. The locals were helpful and instructive, but it was the children that taught us the most.

Small, dirty, barefoot and simple, they derived no end of joy from our presence. They welcomed complete strangers of white skin with short, open arms and trusted us with the few material possessions they had. Whenever there was spare time, we would find a group of these pure-hearted children and play a game of soccer on the muddy fields, or else hoist them onto our shoulders and run around with the sound of their laughter ringing in our ears. They would blow bubbles from some of the foamy soap we brought along, or wear our cool shades and rock them better than we ever could, or draw pictures of their families with the paper and pencils they themselves provided. They spoke Spanish, we did not, but that hardly made a difference when two good friends from different parts of the world understood what being wanted and accepted meant.

On my last day among the locals, I met a young girl named Clara, who was perfection incarnate. At only 5 years old, she smiled the widest and most genuine smile you could receive (some of her teeth were missing), so that you couldn't help but feel goose bumps. I picked her up and carried her and hoisted her above me, so that she too could have a new point-of-view on the world from on high. We sang a tune without words that sounded strangely like the music from Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. She helped me carry our building materials back to the boat that would take us back to the mainland. I had known her for less than half an hour, and already she had been a more authentic friend than some I have known for years. When finally it was time to say Adieu, I looked her in the eyes and saw an untarnished soul, a hope for humanity imprisoned by the shackles of her cruel fate. She would stay in Bella Vista, living in poverty and forced to drink dirty water and consume meager meals, waiting on a friend that she would never see again; I would return to my own life, where luxuries I had taken for granted are abundant and a lack of basic needs is unheard of. Yet that’s why I admire the people of that community, for they are strong through the bonds between family and friends, without a care for material needs; if offered the world, they would give it all away to the ones who need it more.

On the plane ride home, you no longer feel like some all-powerful champion, but puny and pathetic in the shadow of the Ecuadoreans. You couldn't even substantially improve the life of a single child, let alone control the skies. Then it hits you that you did make a difference, even if it was just for a little while and nothing more than making a new friend in an hour that you’ll remember for years to come. Small changes have a big impact. Do a good deed, and it will be paid forward.