THE past two years of living through the pandemic, in and out of isolation, have made me relentlessly overthink and reevaluate who I truly am in the multitude of parts that make me. From a career founded on exploring the world and the many countries and cultures ingrained with it, to the personal and intimate relationships shared in the quiet moments of in-between. Mainly, conflicted with the idea of myself belonging to this world before the virus took over, and the idea of who I've become and the unforeseeable direction I am heading as the pandemic continues. It is only recently that I've come to terms with the thought that when you are born, you are complete as you are. A child of curiosity, of wonder, of solitude, full of life and excitement. We tend to perceive that as we grow older, we think we are made more complete by the many lessons, labels, degrees, positions and experiences we come to garner. We learn new skills and abilities from the arts to the sciences. A new set of talents, hobbies, professions, and of passions that add value to these impressions, possibly illusions, of our already complete selves based on our internal and external relations. For — maybe adding inquiry to the definition of what it means to be complete as a person or in being whole — it is only in children who are the only ones instinctively and innately capable of doing so. No preconceived judgments, no racial biases, trusting, oblivious, and naïve to the sociological, economical and political environments and threats they are born within, may it be forced on them helplessly such as the virus. As Carl Jung would say, a phase of unconsciousness, only building our ego represented by the conscious mind from our gradually increasing awareness of the particular experiences and environment we are surrounded by. How possibly our ego, our ideas of ourselves, exist within the context and moment given to us, not chosen. How children choose no time, nor space to play, to just be themselves. When they are sad or hurt, they cry. When happy, they laugh. Hungry, they eat. Thirsty, they find milk and water.
But then life strikes, cutting pieces and holes from our already complete selves. Parents and guardians form ideas in our minds, thinking what they believe and know to be imposed on us, forced unwittingly — inflicting trauma or teaching understanding, nurturing hate or nurturing love, showing judgment or being kind. A set of certain expectations and beliefs of how we ultimately react to the experiences that life gives us. Then it continues, forcing us to find meaning in the externalities of our current selves. Getting popularity and influence through social media, finding a partner, a mate, a lover only to radicalize our expectations and hearts inevitably meant to be broken. Finding purpose — meaningful moments that will fulfill us through this process of life, and finding a meaningful process of meaningless moments. Like how for us this pandemic may have made no sense in the beginning through the lockdowns, living day-to-day in isolation (a meaningless moment), only coming to terms two years later or so realizing the grave impact it has made to change our lives as it unfolds (a meaningful process). Contrarily, how the moments we've shared with family, friends, partners and communities with whom we have made meaningful moments and memories, maybe positive or negative, ultimately create new holes in ourselves. Sharing trauma, healing the pain, trying again and beginning anew with these many holes to carry on to what and where it will lead us in our formation and growth.
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