limited love

Currently typing this at the Chicago airport after a long 14-hour flight from Delhi. I got tired from standing by the magazine rack and decided to sit down and blog a bit. Starbucks Coffee, bagel stands, and those miscellaneous souvenir gift shops you’d only find at the airport are within reach for me now.

I’m surprised at myself because although everything looks different, I’m okay. But deep down, I don’t want to be okay. I want to be sad and miss India and feel the gravity of the privilege to live here, in the land of plenty. I’m afraid that with this rush of comfort, I would forget. I’m a bit confused because in the past, my return from developing countries would give me fresh eyes to see the wealth that I lived in.

But, this time is different. A bit of rewinding and reflecting helped me realize what is different. Working with a non-profit this summer shed light onto the worldly definition of serving others. What I found working with Unite for Sight was a sort of barrier that always stood between the Indian people and me. I felt detached, probably because of multiple things such as language and culture, but also from the distinct labels that categorized me as the “giver” and the Indian people as the “receivers.” I felt that I stood on a different platform as I served these people, and rarely got to see them eye-to-eye.

Of course, my wish to see eye-to-eye would be too much to ask for especially because of the mass amount of people that the organization reached out to. No criticism on the clinic’s behalf because hundreds of people got free reading glasses or cataract surgeries who couldn’t have otherwise afforded. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking the limitedness of this kind of social work. Sure people’s eyes were fixed, but let me bet, the needs of their hearts were far from met. And that’s where the most obvious feeling of detachment stemmed from…because when matters of the heart arise, two people must see eye-to-eye. Okay and I won’t be subtle, what I mean by “matters of the heart” is my yearning for them to see the unlimited love from God.

So this expected reverse culture shock didn’t hit me, at least not yet. And I wonder if this lack of feeling results from a lack of really knowing the hearts of the Indian people. Whoever reading this might see a hint of regret in my writing, that I missed out on knowing India deeper or whatever. And sure, I can always wish what could have been, but I’m hoping regret doesn’t speak loudest here at all, but my realization of the limitedness of pure humanitarian work…because from what I see, love that only heals physically is a love still confined.

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well, actually, currently i'm at home now. back in san diego :) wrote the above on microsoft word yesterday at the airport. what a feeling it is to be home. i love friends and family hehe. more to come!