the sense of life

A few days ago 1300 people died in a chemical weapons attack in Syria. My father, who I have come to visit here in Austria, is from Syria and, naturally, the television is set to the news all evening.

Arabic channels - delivered via satellite - apply much less censorship to the reality of a situation than American news stations and thus I was completely taken aback when I was shown images of dead children I would _never_ dare to look at following my own research of the Weltgeschehen. Not because I want to shield myself from the reality of the world outside my protected Western industrialized existence but because I don't need a visual to experience the pain and empathy a story like this ignites in me. However, seeing these videos has most definitely brought me much closer to the tragedy and horror of this crisis. It made me think about how deeply I have been suffering about a death I, thank God, did not witness personally and how completely and utterly worse all of these THOUSANDS of people over there (and in all the other crises areas on this planet) must feel. Death is such an omnipresent part of life and we - here in our modern world - so easily forget that because we are constantly shielded from it. At least, that is my personal experience.

In either case, it made me wonder about the fairness or lack thereof in life. Why am I allowed to recuperate from the passing of my most beloved man in the world, why am I allowed to enjoy the security and beauty of my home country (Austria), why do I have what I have and live where I live?

My father mentioned the other day how lucky and grateful he feels: Living here in Austria, having his house, good people in his life, health, financial security. "I always say, God must be content with me that he is giving me all these good things in my life." -- Although, I'm sure he didn't mean to be offensive, I find this statement to be thoughtless. What does that mean? All the other people who are suffering in this world aren't good people??! ... That can't be it, right. So, then why is there this discrepancy ...or, randomness, rather. Or, ...is it randomness?

The only way I can explain this seeming unfairness or random assignment of one's lot in life is by considering the concept of reincarnation. If there is such a thing as reincarnation then I can accept the divine set-up, so to say, because it would mean that, eventually, we all get a life in which we have to learn about true suffering. And in between all of our  lessons on human suffering we get to rest and have a good life, too. But, then again - this would only apply to extremes. Most lives aren't just black or white. They are a journey of fulfillment and suffering both.

As hard as these images are to look at, I think, they are a good reminder to be grateful - every day - for what we have.

And, last but not least, as horrifying as this is to see, I know now that death isn't the end and these children (and people) are now liberated from the suffering and the fear they have experienced for so long. It is the ones who are left behind who are left with the burden to carry and the deep emotional injuries to tend to. But - despite all my rationalizing, speculations about an after-life, or even reincarnation - sadness and a sense of injustice are still most prevalent in the emotional turbulence this incident has caused in me.



More information at:
http://thelede.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/08/21/video-and-images-of-victims-of-suspected-syrian-chemical-attack/

fear of return

I don't want to go home. Our date for departure is more than two weeks from now but I'm already upset that I have to leave. I am dreading a return to New York City, the town I once loved more than any other place in the world. Every visit to Austria is usually accompanied by home-sickness come week two of my trip. Not this time.

Because this time I will be returning to an apartment without J but full of things that remind me of him. I haven't been able to dispose of his clothes, his shoes, his toothbrush, his inhaler, his USB sticks, his mail, his stuff. I don't want to see any of these reminders of his beating heart but I also don't want to lose any of it. It makes no sense. It's like this desire of wanting to look at his pictures and not at the same time. I want to see them because I miss him and his face is fading in my memory but when I look at them, my stomach is instantly full of butterflies and my chest aches as I simultaneously experience the sensation of love and loss.

If my older daughter wouldn't be so attached to her father, I would look into returning to Austria for good.
Just coming here to vacation was hard for the kid. She is eleven years old now and, I suppose, leaving her Dad so far behind made her feel as if she is losing a father all over again. She cried for days before I finally got to the root of all the pain, which I had originally thought to be mere home-sickness. "I'm afraid that Daddy will die", she admitted sobbingly and so I fought my inner urge to tell her, we can never know when someone will die and that there is no point in worrying about it, and instead responded the way I had to: "Daddy isn't going to die. No way. Not gonna happen. I guarantee it."

And just like that - she stopped crying.

a cross that i can bear?

This is the first summer in many years that I have left my NY home for more than 3 weeks of away time.  What hasn't changed, however, is the destination of this yearly vacation: Austria - the place where I grew up.

Since my arrival here a few weeks ago, I haven't shed daily tears as I have at home. I suppose, it's because this place  fosters no associations to J and is full with childhood memories everywhere I look.

This is pre-relationship territory so-to-say because, believe it or not, I despised the idea of a boyfriend when I was in my teens. I found relationships restrictive and annoying, at least from where I was standing. I loved hanging out with my friends and the few times I let a boy come close, I felt suffocated by the constant need of said boy to hold hands or claim any part of my time for himself.

I guess, my former self would have never understood my later capacity and desire to be glued to this love of mine for 24 hours a day (if it would have been possible, that is).

Yesterday, as I sat outside in my father's garden, the tears came to find me despite my recent and unexpected emotional escape. I don't know what triggered the thought but I was suddenly reminded that J wasn't just far away - across the ocean - in New York. He was dead. He died!! It's real. And then I thought of his face in the open casket and then I was done. I couldn't hold my tears. As if to stop me before I lost it completely, a line in the song playing gently on the radio next to me spoke: "Don't you worry....time will heal all wounds, " it said and then continued: "...all your life has led up to this.." or something like that, which - I suppose - could mean that I have been prepared for this fate of mine. Subtly maybe - but prepared, nonetheless. In other words possibly then (and I paraphrase): "God will only give you a cross as heavy to bear as you can handle." ...