The fire to all research is that single burning question... perhaps it begins with "Why?" "How?" or "What if?". I'm currently listening to "Deja Vu" by Crosby, Stills and Nash and the lyrics turn in circles with "Do you know? Do you wonder?...We have all been here before" and I can't help but relate that to my research.
It's human nature to ask questions. Think of a child in this situation: Mommy, what is that yellow thing? That's the sun, dear. What does it do? It gives us energy to live and makes the plants grow. When did it start being the sun? well... a long time ago I think... Who invented it?... I don't ... mmm... God. Why?... Well... and so on and so on. But the main point is that "we have all been here before". We're all a part of the question, which means we must all be part of the answer. We are all we know. We are the fools and folly and fumbling, but we are also the bold and brave and beautiful. The brains. The body. We have the capacity to solve all the problems we've created in this modern-day society. We must.
So, how do we get past the question and the daydreaming and start doing something about finding the answer? Unfortunately, I'm still in the mindset that the question itself is romantic and it's been very hard for me to do the practical work, but I'm trying. Really. In the midst of final exams, work, and performances... I'm trying to find that inspiration.
Luckily, I get a swift kick in the butt to be proactive every time I go to International Friends Play. These people inspire me: the women that volunteer as well as the women that live in the AZC here in Maastricht. The stories of the women and children that boarded a boat with no wheel, prayed for calm seas and left everything they knew to pursue a better life. What's astonishing to me is the amount of sheer happiness and optimism that these women exude. Their lives have not been easy... in fact some would say their agony is insurmountable. But they push on - every week they enjoy coffee and cookies and music. And every week we all get a little closer. The hellos have turned to hugs, to kisses on the cheek and heartfelt smiles.
I know now that little Ferris loves to joke and shake maracas. His mom just turned 30 two weeks ago and is always wearing a smile. John, Ivan and Iman are the three children of a beautiful woman who speaks Farsi, not Arabic. Her language barrier from the other refugees and volunteers doesn't stop her or her children from participating with gusto. The oldest girl is now very active in music class and even participates in Microphone solos! John, the middle child, peers at me with a smile from the sides of his eyes. He trusts me, but likes to act like he doesn't. And Ivan, the smallest girl with pitch black hair and tiny gold earrings, bounces and dances to any and all rhythms. She likes to have a shaker in her hand when she dances! However, all three kids get a look of intense terror when their mom goes out of sight, if even for just a moment. It makes me wonder what they've seen, what trauma they may associate with mom being gone. Of course, it could just be separation anxiety - happens all the time when kids can't see their moms. But with their situation, their known struggle... I can't help but feel there isa little more sadness to their story.
Last Tuesday, a woman with a small baby girl and a toddler boy (both with HUGE beautiful brown eyes and the sweetest demeanor) asked me in broken English if I had kids. She must have been surprised when I said no, because my bond with her own tiny daughter has gotten quite strong in the last couple weeks. I would hold her and sing when her mom needed to speak to the other volunteers about clothing or furniture requests. The little baby girl would just stare and smile at me for what seemed like hours. She must have seen the mommy-to-be in me (NOT YET). I tried to explain that I wanted kids, but later. "Not ready now... A Couple Years... Next time... Volgende" I resorted to Dutch, which I actually don't know, but the women and children are learning that more than English. Still, the message was not delivered. She didn't understand, and we ended up giving up chatting and using signals and smiles to communicate instead.
What was strange was that there was a connection - more than I feel with people I've known for months. I felt happy looking at her, and could feel her happy energy looking upon me. It was like we knew that we would be very good friends - if we could only say that in whatever language we spoke. At the end of the playgroup, the moms packed up their kids and the volunteers started their clean-up routine. The woman looked at me, smiled, and said directly and without hesitation - "I love you". I was stunned, but said "I love you too." She smiled a little bigger, took her two kids and waved goodbye.
See you next week then. Could you imagine what would happen if everyone left social situations by saying "I love you" instead of "I have so much to do... hope I can make it next week... let me know what happens with your tax guy"...etc.
Just "I love you". Genuine. Unabashedly genuine.
I love you too.
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