Patiently, I wait in line to get my book signed. I’m all butterflies,
still marveling that I’m only a few feet away from a personal hero of mine. I
usher my friends to go ahead of me – I want to savor this moment a bit longer.
I flashback to high school and see sixteen-year-old me who has
developed her first caffeine addiction to chai tea lattes. In this memory, I’m
in a different line, the coffee line at Starbucks and I’m pulled to a book
display featured at the front. The cover captivates and haunts: a lone boy
walks a rugged, jungle trail in torn flip-flops. An AK-47 dangles over his
shoulder.
I remember this moment clearly, the first time I saw Ishmael
Beah’s , A Long Way Gone while standing in line at Starbucks. It’s a moment of awakening. The book’s presence
interrupted my train of teenage thoughts centering on ACT prep, surviving AP
English, and school drama.
Beah’s memoir of war broke me open. His story revealed the worse and
best of human nature. He challenged my ability to empathize. His story sparked
a passion for advocacy, for championing human rights. And he did this through
WRITING.
Beah represents both my passion (writing) and my heartbreak (injustices
toward the innocent). He uses writing to spread awareness and provoke change. I
hold him in the highest esteem and this admiration for him grew even more as I
listened to him speak at UK. He radiated such presence and fully engaged with
the audience. Despite everything he’s survived and seen (or maybe because of
it), there wasn’t a hint of bitterness and anger in his voice. He still criticized the US media’s
portrayal of Africa and Hollywood’s misconstrued depictions of violence but he
spoke from a place of truth and those words were soothed with understanding and
peace.
I must confess that I wasn’t feeling entirely peaceful as I listened
to him speak. The bored, texting and talking freshmen sitting behind and around
me irritated me. UK’s incoming class was required to read Beah’s memoir, attend
discussion and come to his talk. For the most part, these budding young
scholars were polite and respectful. And then there were the ones that sat near
me.
At one point, I shot an evil glare to the three ladies chatting behind
me which only resulted in more angry whispers directed toward the back of my
head. And I sent angry thoughts to the dedicated texters sitting in front of
me. Here were my thoughts: there is a man standing on stage right now, exposed
in his truth, talking about overcoming PTSD because of his war experience as
twelve-year-old boy (who lost his family in the conflict and was fed drugs so
he could kill on command) and they don’t have the decency to not talk and text
for at least thirty minutes while he shares his story?
My frustration with this sea of freshmen humanity began to overshadow
my actual enjoyment of listening to Beah.
Let them be. Show Beah respect by
giving him your whole attention and just let the others simply be.
One of the signs of inner peace is a loss of interest in judging
others. I was giving away my energy to the surrounding people instead of
wholeheartedly listening to one of my favorite authors.
So, the ladies continued to chat and the texters kept busy, too, and yes I felt flare-ups of irritation, but I acknowledged, went back to the mantra above and then tuned back in to Beah’s talk.
At the end of his talk, as if he could read my mind, Beah spoke of the
importance of being peaceful in our actions, our words, and our thoughts.
In daring daydreams, I envision myself being out in the world fighting
the “real” fight for peace – like Beah who negotiates with war lords to rescue
child soldiers from the front lines.
Right now, though, my daily task is to cultivate a deeper sense of
understanding, forgiveness and peace toward others and myself. Every moment is
an opportunity to be present and peaceful, to be responsive and not reactive,
to show compassion and respect, even to the freshmen who chat and text around
me – they’re struggling and learning, too.
The freshmen waiting behind me in the book-signing line, however,
share my giddiness and butterflies. There’s a reverent hush. I watch as my
friends timidly step up to get their book signed, I love being a witness to
that moment for them.
I’m all starry-eyed as I hand him my book, saying a soft “hello” and
thanking him for his time. He’s been signing books for over an hour now and I
can tell he’s weary, but he still engages in conversation with me and takes care
to spell my name correctly (I wouldn’t have minded a misspelled name; I’m just thrilled
I had the opportunity to meet and speak to him).
Walking toward my beaming group of friends, I think back to my younger-self
reading Beah’s memoir. A Long Way Gone
held such significance in my young adult life. This momentary connection with
Beah offers fresh inspiration for my continuing journey. Just taking it one
peaceful breath at a time.
