At the age of 10, it's very unlikely to have revelations. You have them later on in your life when you hear a sentence or see a scene that brings the memory back to you. Sometimes, when you reflect on these memories, you may come to a realization about what they really meant.
For me, this happened few days ago. I remembered my early school years, when I was about 10. Attending one of the best (and most expensive) schools in Egypt did not grant you a sweet escape from the strongest form of pet conditioning: Pain.
Pain is a the best teacher. And for us, pain took different forms, relative to our age. In our early school years, it took the form of a stick. Later on, an open hand landing on your cheek. And finally, a closed fist that would land in your stomach or if you were lucky, you would get you butt, literally, kicked.
I was 10 and I only knew level 1 of punishment: the stick. However, the stick took many forms and shapes that provided different sublevels of pain. A flat stick landing flat on your palm meant that the teacher liked you, but she would not like you to "do that again". A flat stick landing edge-down on your palm means that the teacher was really getting pissed at you. A round stick landing on your palm, hence increasing pain by limiting the contact surface, meant that the teacher had some problems in her life that she would rather not deal with at home. And a round stick landing on the back of your hands, the one that came right in contact with the bones, meant that the teacher should not have been hired in the first place to teach 10 year olds.
I tried to be good student so I did not get punished so much - mostly in "group punishment" where the teacher would make the whole class stand up, tend their hands forward, and she would dedicate a good ten minutes going around delivering the stick left and right like a skilled factory worker working her way through a conveyer belt. I was always curious to know what was going in her head as she walked between us. Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds : the "whoosh" sound as the stick cut through the air, the "whapp" sound as it came in contact with a helpless palm, and the creative vowel sounds of painful reactions that some kids vocalized. I tried to imagine a symphony , with the teacher being a maestro instrumenting these creative sounds, and with each note playing closer to my ear meaning that my part in the symphony is approaching.
I learned from pain. And I learned fear.
However, there was a kid in my class who never learned. Or at least that's how I thought back then.
Randal was an American student who came with his dad on a temporary stay in Egypt. He came from a place where these small acts of violence were punishable by their law. On the other hand, our law was simple: "teach me a word and I'd become your slave".
It took Randal a while to get pet trained. He first screamed and yelled at the teacher, and he was thrown out of the class. We would not see him for few days after. Then Randal tried outsmarting the teacher by pulling his hand as the stick landed. She did not like that. And the result was that stick would land on its edge over Randal's palm. He screamed. He yelled. He cursed her in American words that I only learned the meaning of when I came to the U.S. few years ago, and he got expelled time after time.
Then one day, Randal was called to the teacher's desk for talking to his desk-mate. The punishment for this act was standard: a flat stick slap on the palm. Basic level 1-a. Randal walked to the teacher very calmly that day. I like to believe that he did not have any reason to talk to his desk-mate. He just wanted to do it. He wanted to walk the path to the teacher. And he did, with his eyes looking straight into the teacher's eyes. It was not a challenging look. It was not an arrogant or an insulting one. He just looked confidently into her eyes as if he was trying to make a statement that I did not understand then.
He made it to the desk and opened his palm forward. Though I could not see his eyes, I could tell by the teacher's look that he still looking into her soul. The stick rose up, then came down with the whoo and whaap sound, confirming the standard procedure. Usually, you tend to lower your hand as the stick comes in contact with it so that the impact is reduced. Randal's hand did not move. He received the full impact. What happened afterwards made the whole class speechless. Randal lowered his right hand and raised his left one, face up. The teacher looked puzzled, with her gaze moving between his hand and his eyes. For the first time in my life, I could see an expression that her eyes never had before: fear. It was her turn to answer the challenge, and she did. The stick did not make the whoo sound. Its edge came in contact with the back of Randal's little hand. I did not see his face then, but I could tell from the tense reaction of his shoulder moving slightly upward that he was in so much pain.
Without a word, Randal turned around to walk to his desk. And on his face, I was an expression that I would never forget for the rest of my life. With hot tears flowing down his cheeks, his face showed a faint smile. Not a smile of irony, or mischief. It was a different smile. A peaceful one.
Randal was in so much pain. I could tell by the tears flowing down his face and his shaking hands that he did not try to rub against each other like we always did to reduce the pain on our way back from the executor.
His act was not a challenge, but a statement. A statement that the teacher understood and feared.
Even though Randal was in pain, he was not hurt. He knew that the teacher's power can only inflict pain on him, but he would never get hurt unless he accepted it. And he didn't.
He never talked about it. He never even cursed the teacher behind her back like he used to do. And I think that he never even tried to forgive her, because to forgive, one must be hurt in the first place. And he was incapable of forgiveness because he was incapable of getting hurt despite his pain.
"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." (Matthew 5:38-42, NIV)
My religion instructors always told me that turning the other cheek was the highest act of Christianity: being able to forgive. But this is not about forgiveness, it's simply about being awake. When you are awake, no one can hurt you, and no one can cause you to behave in a certain way due to their actions or words. When you wake up, you will understand that you can live in a state of mind that is not in constant reaction to what others do or say. You'll be like a lake, with the winds only causing small waves on its surface, and its heart constantly still and undisturbed. Then you will turn your other cheek, not as an act of forgiveness, but as an act of strength. You will not resist your evil, because the more you resist it, the more powerful it becomes. You will simply accept it, contain it, and drown it into your deep consciousness. You will realize that there are things that others can never take away from you, unless you decide to give them away.
One day, a friend of mine told me "A predictable man is a dead man". Today, I know what she meant. And I hope that one day, you will also be able to realize it. Because I can only tell you the words, and the word is not the thing.
Image Courtesy of AshesAndSnow.com
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