This is my last night in our home of 18 ½ years, this home which has been the place of many happy memories, and also some of the most difficult times. It has been a challenging week…sorting through all the stuff that accumulates over such a long period of time, and the even harder work of sorting through all the emotions that are triggered in the process.

There is unspeakable sadness in leaving, knowing that my dad spent his last days here in this home, and most of the last year of his illness. Throughout the week, I have felt the need to recall as many memories of him as possible, as though somehow those too will be gone when we leave tomorrow. Of course, I know that is not the case. But with my mom finally moving out of this house, there is a sense of finality to it all.

I spent a lot of time outside in the garden this week. I remember my dad most fondly out there. The garden was his sanctuary. He poured his love and energy into his plants, and they blossomed under his care. This was where I got to see my dad’s softer side, though he was otherwise a pretty serious academic. When his backyard began to get too full, he started planting out in the golf course just beyond our fence, despite the sign that clearly stated, “No Trespassing.” The lawyer in me warned him against it. He was “just ‘beautifying’ the area,” he told me, “so it didn’t count as trespass.” Memories like this one make me smile.

But then there are those of my dad dealing with cancer…the countless trips we made to the hospital to replace the “stents” which had been surgically placed to drain his bile ducts – “palliative care,” as they call it, and eventually the hospice care that he received at home. Those were the worst of times…and yet amidst all that, we still had some of our best times too. There was much joy and laughter brought into our lives by little Sophia, my newly born niece. There was the beautiful surprise proposal by Darshan, and our intimate wedding that followed, which my dad got to help plan and be a part of. There was my ankle fracture, which, in hindsight, was a blessing that took me away from work for a whole month…a month that I got to spend at home with my dad just weeks before he passed away. Though seemingly short, it was time that some families never get, and I am so grateful for it.

Life truly is a bittersweet symphony. They say you have to take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad, love what you’ve got, and remember what you had.

It certainly will be difficult leaving tomorrow… but here’s to life’s ever-changing journey…

“I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now…”

Day after day, in the hot sun, I would see Baby Peter working away quietly. Whenever I would wave and say hello, he would return the greeting with a big smile and a wave back, and when I asked how he was doing, he always answered, “Very fine.” He was the sweetest old man. It was hard not to feel sorry for him, as he slaved away with his shears from morning until night. But never did he give the impression that anything was wrong or amiss. He carried along with his laborious work with apparent contentment.

After many days of seeing him around with just his shears, I became concerned and even a little angry with how long it was taking to get the lawnmower repaired. One day, my friend Kathleen and I decided to make a fruit and snack basket for Baby Peter. Thinking that he might get overlooked amidst all the other staff at the resort, we wanted to be sure we left him a nice tip for all his efforts to keep the grounds looking so nice. When we went to give him the basket and tip, and thank him for all his care and hard work, he was overwhelmed with gratitude and had tears in his eyes as he earnestly shook our hands. The three of us took a picture together. He asked me for a copy of the picture. I told him I couldn’t give him a copy until I had the pictures printed off the camera, but that I could mail it to him when I went back home and printed it out. So he gave us his address, and then asked for both of our addresses, telling us he would write to us! I was shocked to learn that not only could Baby Peter speak a fair amount of English, but he was also literate (not so common among laborers in rural India). We found a piece of paper on which to write all our addresses. While writing down his address for us, Baby Peter told us that his home was actually several hours away, much further in the south. He usually spent about 3 months working at one of the resorts, and then would go home for just 5 days before coming back to work for another few months. My heart started to feel heavy upon hearing this. I wished Baby Peter could be at home with his family, enjoying these years with his kids and grandkids, rather than in the solitude of this hard physical toil.

After trading addresses with Baby Peter, Kathleen and I went back to our room and sympathized about his tough life. We decided that when we got back to the US, we would send him a care package along with the pictures. Baby Peter could share it with his family, and they would be proud to see how much his work was appreciated by the guests of the resort where he worked. This made us feel a little better, at least for the time being.

That night when I went to sleep, I kept thinking about Baby Peter. I realized that he reminded me very much of my father. My father had a passion for gardening. He worked relentlessly in the yard: planting, watering, mowing, fertilizing, trimming, cleaning. Every season, he planted new flowers, bushes and trees of all varieties. It was the one activity he never stopped doing, even after he got diagnosed with cancer. Despite his growing weakness and fragile condition, he continued to pour his love and energy into his garden right up until the last days of his illness.

The next time I saw Baby Peter, I decided to tell him a little bit about my father and how he reminded me of him. It was then that Baby Peter shared with me the harsh reality of his own life: his wife passed away many years ago, and he had no children or grandchildren. He told me he was very lonely, especially in his old age, and that he couldn’t really understand the purpose of his life. It broke my heart to hear this. To think that he was all alone, with no one to look after him or share his life with—especially in India, where the extended family unit is such a common and important part of one’s support system—filled me with sadness. I tried to control my tears, but it was near impossible to fight them back when I saw them in Baby Peter’s eyes. My heart ached for this man. Until a few days ago, I did not even know his name. And here I was now, overwhelmed with love and compassion for him.

Life was far from good for Baby Peter. But he quietly accepted it for what it was. Sure, things could be worse. Baby Peter wasn’t starving to death, like millions of others around India. He wasn’t missing any limbs or physically disabled. But I could feel his emotional pain. And I desperately wished I could alleviate it somehow. All I could do was listen and empathize…maybe that was enough.

This simple encounter with Baby Peter added so much to my experience in Kerala. These connections are what make life meaningful. We are all struggling in some way or another—be it with our jobs, our relationships, or our health. Ultimately, we are all looking for the same thing. Happiness. Where we find that may differ for each of us, but the important thing is to be able to connect with others we meet along our path…to take the time to think beyond ourselves and our desires…to relate to others and understand their circumstances and struggles…to identify with one another’s pain and suffering…and to feel joy in each other’s success and happiness…this is what the human experience is all about.

For my friend, Baby Peter, thank you for your sweet letter. Thank you for touching my heart. Thank you for brightening my days with your smile.

For me, traveling provides an escape.  An escape from the boredom of comfortable existence.  An escape from the illusion that the world is in perfect harmony.  And while things may be just fine and dandy in the world of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, where one’s greatest cause for anxiety may be missing a botox injection or not being the first to get the season’s latest must-have accessory, such is not the case for the vast majority of people around the world.    

Traveling gives you the chance to see the world as it really is, rather than through someone else’s filter or lens.  It gives you the chance to meet people from different economic, social and cultural backgrounds.  It allows you to study the human condition, and to come face to face with its realities…poverty, disease, hunger, oppression, discrimination.  It allows you to experience a world where simply to endure is to triumph.  It is humbling to see how people survive in the face of such harsh realities.  What gives them strength?  What makes them weak?  What gives them hope?

Upon witnessing such things, you begin to wonder… Despite all the social and scientific advancements that we have made over the last hundred years, has quality of life improved for the masses?  We have found treatments and cures for some of the most perplexing illnesses of the last century, and yet the common and treatable disease of tuberculosis still claimed the lives of 1.8 million people in 2008, with its highest incidence in places like Haiti, the former Soviet Union, and countries throughout Asia and Africa.  We have become so “well-fed” that 58 million people in the US are overweight, 40 million are obese, and 3 million are morbidly obese; and yet starvation currently affects more than one billion people around the world, with 36 million people dying of hunger each year, predominantly in Asian and African countries.  We have seen women climb the ranks as top executives and heads of government, we even elected our first black American President; and yet the oppression and degradation of women and people of color is still extremely prevalent in our society.  We outlawed slavery well over a century ago, and most of the world has since outlawed and banned slavery in accordance with UN treaties, yet each year 800,000 to 900,000 human beings are bought, sold or forced across the world’s borders.

Upon hearing these statistics, you have to wonder…what the hell are we doing to solve these problems?!  How can we invade a country when it serves our economic interests but turn our heads when there is genocide taking place?  How can we send a man to the moon but fail to send aid where it is needed most? 

In order for there to be change, our attitudes must change.  Only when we begin to think beyond ourselves and our microcosm…when we begin to feel a sense of connectedness and respect for all other beings…when we begin to believe, as Paul Farmer, that “the only real nation is humanity”…that is when we will be able to solve the world’s most pressing problems.

So go out into the world.  Observe.  Inquire.  Introspect.  Contemplate.  Meditate.

Beware though.  Your travels may open a window into your soul.  You may find yourself overwhelmed with empathy, compassion and a new sense of purpose.  You may feel compelled to act, compelled to help others, compelled to alleviate at least some of the suffering that you see out there.  You may try to find ways to reach out, to give back, to make this world a bit of a better place.  No matter how far or close of a distance you travel, the journey may change you forever.  Keep the doors of your mind and heart open, and pave the way for awakening.    

If what I’ve said so far interests you, check back on this blog from time to time as I share stories about my travel experiences, what I’ve learned from them, and where they’re leading me to.

Enjoy the journey!

 ~Your Fellow Sojourner