Maasai Warriors

Since April, I've been corresponding with a man named Ezekiel Noah Moirana. He is my age, about three years older. He is from Tanzania. We were put in touch by my doctor, Kimberly Shriner. She specializes in infectious diseases and is the one responsible for keeping me bug free over two years of wound care. I would not be healed today without her. In 1996, Dr. Shriner founded the Phil Simon Clinic, a premier nonprofit, multidisciplinary HIV/AIDS facility & organization operating out of Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena. In addition to the incredibly comprehensive service the clinic provides to the San Gabriel Valley, there is also the Tanzania Project. This is a small, but effective, community-based approach to bringing the same kind of service to East Africa, where it is desperately needed. Each year, the Phil Simon group tends to Tanzania with the care, attention, and skilled medical background that the group possesses.

Kimberly and Ezekiel met, somewhat fortuitously, several years ago. She and all the Tanzania Project people were so impressed with him, with what he's all about, that the Phil Simon Clinic took on another goal: to help Ezekiel earn his medical degree. It's not an exaggeration to say that Ezekiel is an amazing person. His goal is to help make things better for his country, and he says that the best way for him to do that is through medicine, and I could not agree more. He told me that the ratio of doctors to patients in his country is 1 to 26,000. So, he feels an enormous duty to set an example and show other people that love and a desire to help others should be our priority. He is a warm, gentle, and yet strong person. I recall how he touched my arm with both hands when he said hello. He has a way of embracing each person strongly in a greeting without smothering. That is his way in all things. He talked to me about treating people with an affliction like HIV or even some kind of addiction. He pointed out that these persons are not just bodies filled with symptoms, and that we are, all of us, not any better or worse than these persons. Don't treat them with anger or contempt, or pity. Look them in the eye, and interact with them, person to person. The Phil Simon Clinic donors funded Ezekiel's education in medicine. I believe that he is now one year away from his residency.

He and I communicated through e-mail for about six months. Although our words were sometimes confused, we spoke the same language. This past October, Ezekiel came to the states for a month with another doctor, Dr. Palapala, to gain invaluable experience learning and working at the Huntington. It was near the end of this time that we were able to finally meet and visit. We had a nice, long conversation in the afternoon on October 26. It was a very special time, and that is when he gave me a very special gift. Ezekiel is a member of the Maasai, a tribe whose name is not usually recognized in America but its distinctive bright red clothing is. Ezekiel is also a morani, or warrior. He presented me with a morani shuka, a sheet used for clothing. He made me a Maasai Warrior, telling everyone that, "Jonathan is a warrior." Later, he came back on Halloween to see me one last time before he returned home to his wife Jessica, his daughter Nancy, and his newborn son Collin. He said that he would not say goodbye, only "see you later," and that he would be back next year.

I'm really still processing everything that happened in Ezekiel's visits. He's not much of a small talker as it is, even though we spent some time on American football. These were quite momentous visits, the kind where you give each other the Cliff's Notes of your lives. Ezekiel and I are certainly very similar, so we were able to easily talk about things like the ways of the world, the meaning of life, how you should best perceive society, and how you could impact it. Ezekiel is the kind of guy where, when he looks you in the eye and says something, you believe absolutely that he is telling the truth and that he will accomplish what he sets out to do. He could tell you he was going to swan dive Niagara Falls and you'd be at the shoreline with a towel for him. So, when he talked about his goal to help his fellow Tanzanians, especially by turning the tide against HIV, I had no doubt. When he said he hoped to one day talk to Hashim Thabeet, the 7'3" NBA rookie from Tanzania, about donating money to the cause, I believed unequivocally that he would follow that up and get to Thabeet on sheer will alone if he had to.

Ezekiel taught me some extremely important things. He taught me that kindred spirits are real. He taught me that a soulmate does not have to be tied to a romantic connection. That two men, from most different backgrounds & circumstances, living on near opposite sides of the world, with no blood relation and never having met before in person, can be brothers. Think about that. I mean it. Brothers. That's remarkable. For me, that realization changed some of my perceptions and strengthened some others. He taught me about love. Here, we are so used to trying to redirect those overwhelming feelings of love & desires to share our hearts from the relationships that do not involve sex or romance to the ones that do.

For Ezekiel, he is so much more open and giving and free with his love to all. I'm certain that he loves his wife Jessica dearly and I'm certain that they have an incredible bond. But Ezekiel doesn't let that stop him from also sharing his heart with others. He also listens to his heart, with surprising clarity considering how intelligent he is. My experience with brilliant people is that they are sometimes up in their own heads too much. It only took a couple of minutes in my house for Ezekiel to feel in his heart that my parents are special people and that we have a happy home. So, Ezekiel has taught me to trust my instincts more. He taught me about hope. Because he has so much wisdom, when he says to always have hope, no matter what, that's something you take to heart.

Ezekiel seems so full of his emotions and his life and yet simultaneously not at all controlled or dominated by his emotions or his own concern for his life. He has a fullness to him without any trace of excess. No hurry, no stress. No pressure. In speech or deed. Everything he did was slow and calm and measured. It seems like he wants to genuinely do everything with the utmost honesty & concentration. He would tell a story and maintain eye contact the whole way, but I never felt like he was staring at me. He would say a phrase or sentence and then pause and let it sink in, without the silence being uncomfortable or without him making a noise like, "um," to fill it in. Then, he would continue. It took me a few times to figure this out and not feel like he was waiting for me to break in. He just has such a deliberate way about him, and again, without being boring or something like that.

What I haven't been able to figure out is how someone like Ezekiel can get as much done, and actually more so, while also having that calm & mellow demeanor and way of going through life. Honestly, they must have 30 hour days in Tanzania. I don't know why, but the phrase I keep coming back to for describing him and his people is to say that the Maasai are people of the earth. Ezekiel was born in a mud hut in Arusha, one of the most-used base towns for African safaris. I think there is something to that, that closeness with the natural world. Obviously, there are things that need to change in Tanzania. There are ways of ours that the Tanzanians need. However, it gives me pause to think about the external factors Ezekiel faced growing up, as well as my own. Although I know that Ezekiel & I both feel like we're simply living the way were supposed to live, I can take a step back and see that we are probably special people. So, it gives me pause to think about changing anything that helps to shape people like that. There's something to be said about struggling through adversity and living "closer to the ground."

He talked about what I have called: maximizing the experience, which is learning from every situation, every experience. He said that he thought you could find the good in every person and learn from it, and accept that we all have the bad but you don't have to put the emphasis on it. Continuing with the natural world thing, he also talked about learning from the animals. One of his goals, I believe, is to learn from everything and put it into practice. He wants to help people and get others to help as well, but he doesn't think you can tell people to do these things. He is all about learning & acting, and being the example. If people change themselves and become a part of the solution, great, if not, then we will just keep on going.

Another thing that Ezekiel showed me was what it is to interact with another person and gain knowledge in doing so. He talked about how, when I meet you, I am now connected to you so that your special qualities are now mine and my special qualities are now yours. So, too, are your problems mine and my problems yours. In this way, we strengthen each other. Perhaps something that makes you special can help me with my problem, and vice versa. As Ezekiel pointed out, he is a doctor and I need medical care, while I am a writer and he needs someone who believes what he believes and can conceptualize it more succinctly. It is simply a matter of connecting with each person and finding how we each strengthen each other. Here again, Ezekiel teaches me a way to reconcile individualism with communalism, just as he can maintain eye contact without staring or be my kindred spirit without it feeling weird. That is one large reason why he is remarkable. He is not about division. He is about union.

Ezekiel is the closest thing to being Heaven sent that I've ever experienced. And I know that that's putting a lot on him, but I also know that he has a similar feeling about me. He told me that, at first, he thought maybe I was told what to write to him in my e-mails because my beliefs & feelings were so close to the beliefs he has and the way he sees the world. I went back and read a couple and realized that most of the things I expressed to him, I came to feel strongly about well before I had even met Dr. Shriner, let alone heard of Ezekiel. It is interesting to me that my name means "gift of God," while his name means "God strengthens." I am not someone who reads into coincidence or leaves his faith up to the happenings of events & institutions, but there is such a synergy in everything to do with Ezekiel that I can't deny that it's a real God-strengthening experience for me. Without any notion that I'm forgoing reason or logic, there's true happiness there, a feeling that it's right.

Ireland Forever

A quick entry today, in commemoration of St. Patrick's Day 2008. It has always made me uneasy to think of myself as being defined by the geographical location of my ancestors' birth. At the same time, however, I cannot deny having a particular affinity for all things Irish. I have always felt that one of the greatest mistakes an American can make is to not realize they are an American. I love who I am and I wouldn't have it any other way. While it may be literally true in this case, I don't think the grass is greener on the other side, figuratively speaking.

However, when I hear those familiar melodies of traditional Irish folk music, I feel a deep connection inside to all those people and all those events that contributed to putting me where I am. I cannot deny that the Irish fiddle & flute and the Uilleann pipes strike a chord within me. I envision some kind of cinematic flyover across the ocean as the mist and clouds give way to lush, green fields appearing right before my eyes. Admittedly, it's a grand, romanticized vision, but it's mine nonetheless. Perhaps certain traditions from certain cultures do that for all of us.

Whatever it is, it is a blessing to be a part of, and as I learn more and more, the connections between the me of today and my ancestors of the past become eerie. After all, my family name means: "sea warrior".

All best.


EDITOR'S NOTE: Soon, I'll be doing a full write-up of my impressions of the film, INTO THE WILD, which I give my highest recommendation. See it in the very near future, if you can. I don't want to spoil anything for those who are looking forward to it.

Snow in South Pasadena

"Grams, this is so cool," he said, at least five times. I was able to get up and spend some time with my nephew and niece the other day. We invited my sister-in-law to bring them over because there was a commercial being shot, no doubt, for the Christmas season. It was snowing, in a way, in South Pasadena. My four-year-old nephew was in heaven.

There were trucks galore, all kinds of equipment, and it was really cool for him to see the two houses dressed up for Christmas. There were two or three cherry pickers that he really spent a lot of time watching, although when he first heard about coming over, he was worried because we had no cherry trees. His eyes lit up when we pointed out that the driver was all the way up in the basket, moving his vehicle down the street. Soon my nephew saw how the production used the cherry pickers as they took up cameras for various shots and air hoses to help spray out the snow. "Uncle Jon," he said, "this is awesome."

I think back to what a magical time it was for me when I was four. When I watch my nephew, I'm amazed by how much a boy at that age understands, and I know it was probably the same for me. It was the age I asked my godfather if he "remembered when we were fishermen" and I do not doubt his assessment of my consciousness, if you will. A four-year-old knows many things, and in some ways, appreciates more things than older people do. More things are special and cool and awesome. There is still magic. One thing that is true, especially for this nephew, is that they know when they are given responsibility and they treat it responsibly.

At eight years old, I actually played in a commercial. It was nothing like the one we watched together the other day, though. We gathered on the porch, my niece and nephew, their mother, their grandparents, and even their uncle. We ate while the production was set up, and while my nephew ran around and observed like the foreman of a construction site. Of course, my niece behaved and ate like a prim and proper young lady, or maybe it was because she's still young enough for the high chair and had no escape. My nephew was more of a challenge, but I gave him his props once he got a whole helping of applesauce down. And at last, the biggest treat, the biggest desert besides the candy corn, he got to walk down the street and stand by the directors. I hope he gave his seal of approval. He certainly gave it to us.

"Grams, this is so cool."

Leaving the walls of Troy

After six years at the University of Southern California, this will be the first in which I am no longer associated with that institution's undergraduate education. I had an amazing experience there, and the beauty of USC is that the thing they call the Trojan Family is real. I have found there is a vast, and generous, network of Trojans and people associated with USC in some way who are willing to be of help to me and other people in many capacities. This type of network means that I am not ending my time as a Trojan or my association with the University, though I have concluded my technical education. I have many fond memories of that education.

I began as a broadcast journalism major, bright eyed and bushy tailed. For me, as a freshman, that really didn't mean very much. It took about a year of core classes before I was able to take a course at the Annenberg school. Ultimately, I ended up leaving the school and the major, but as one of many hundreds of students, every day I attended, I was treated like the next big thing in journalism. I had a wonderful adviser named Annie who guided me through the three and a half years I was registered there. She was technically the broadcast adviser, but even when I got mysteriously dosed with some common sense and switched to print journalism, she stayed with me. I worked with Jabari, the print adviser, a little and he was a great, big, friendly guy. Annie and I, however, had a great rapport.

In the fall semester of my fourth year, I took the course that was called the Newswriting Module. Essentially, it consisted of the three core writing classes, one each for broadcast, print, and online. In reality it is a brilliant set up by Annenberg to train students for what is a dwindling job market. It became clear a week or two into the semester that my limitations would put limitations on me in these courses without some assistance. Before hand, I didn't see any obstacles and neither did Annenberg, but there were obstacles. USC has another fantastic department called Disability Services & Programs (DSP) that facilitates notetaking, test taking, et al., for students with both physical and learning disabilities. In the blink of an eye, Annie was on the phone with the head of DSP setting up interdepartmental (six syllables -- and they say we don't go to class) meetings to get me what I needed.

So, I met with Annie, Jabari, my three newswriting profs, the head of DSP, the head of the Annenberg IT, and probably a couple bigwigs way beyond my pay grade. To someone more accustomed to professional expenses and problem-solving, this wasn't that big a deal. To me, I was very positively astounded at the speed, planning, and expense to which these people and the school went for me. They hooked me up with three Annenberg students for notetakers and an empty office and computer for in-class projects equipped with the mouse and microphone I needed to get my work done. That semester went great, and I do still believe the quality of my writing made all that work worth it. Unfortunately, I repaid those efforts by changing majors!

Annenberg's wise move to make students capable in any form of journalism (which I agree with) ultimately hurt me as a pure writer. The next semester would have been the Reporting Module and I would have been responsible for $625 worth of equipment to take to an assigned city to cover news there. It was double the work of newswriting, and the work had a minimal amount of writing involved. I was, expectedly, hesitant to disappoint all the people who had worked so hard for me, but they would have done that for any student and Annie always treated me like she wanted what was best for me. She pushed minors and double majors all the time, but she never pushed me.

That, at last, led me to the Creative Writing major and it has really been off to the races since then. And I certainly owe much of my success in this brand of writing to a few of the people who make up that great Trojan Family.

He may leave the walls of Troy, but he takes a piece of her in his heart, and leaves a piece of his heart behind.

My Year in Review (Part Two)

Note: I move into my next year Sunday, when I turn 24. Here are my thoughts as one year impacts the next.

As I begin to look forward, it is important for me to internalize those lessons I've learned over the past year. I'm not sure there's really any sort of process which will allow me to do that, but I think a simple awareness that those lessons are important is all that is necessary.

Some of the lessons a person might take from my friend Chuck's death are age-old lessons, and ones that I am already intimately familiar with. The fragility of life, appreciating each day, time being so fleeting, trying not to waste life on the negatives, those are things that I already know, but it never hurts to have them reconfirmed. Or better yet, it always hurts and that's why they need to be reconfirmed.

The other lessons are most certainly not cookie-cutter optimism, but they are real, and true optimism for me is about taking a realistic fact of life and applying it to myself in a positive way. Death doesn't wait for someone even if they are important, or young, or have things to do. That doesn't make loss any easier. Dealing with it, in fact or in potential, is a constant struggle. But it tells me that it's not worth individual stress. It's out of my control, and if I can let go of that, I think about all the other things in life that I can let go. There is positivity in the finality of death. It brings many realizations. The hard part is keeping those realizations vivid in mind when everyday life begins to take its toll. If I can do that, maybe I won't be scared to tell this person how I feel or maybe I won't find reasons not to do this thing I want to do. That's a liberating feeling.

I will take my lessons into the next year. I expect to continue prioritizing my quality of life and continue doing things the way that is right for me. Knowing now that it's not so simple as just supporting or not supporting myself emotionally, I can trust others with my burdens. I can trust that my strength is, in fact, a source of love. Continuing on, I'll use that source of love in the depth I feel it for others. My meaning of life is simple: to love, to be loved, and to do what I love.

Being able to step back from a situation and observe it from many sides has always been a skill of mine. I also feel I have a talent for self-analysis, and as I grow older, I find I can do more than just spot my weaknesses or areas I need to improve. At this point in my life, I find myself able to see my strengths and not only that, but I can be confident in those talents. I know I can write. When I combine that with my other abilities, the path through which I should take my writing becomes clear. After some conversations and some deep thinking, I have learned how to make this blog part of an active writing project. I'm certainly excited to begin writing my story, which is what I'll be doing now and then.

My new year begins Sunday. I plan to officially end my education at USC by writing a letter to the administration that did so much for me, and to the people I owe a great deal of appreciation. I plan to appreciate, and enjoy and love, all the loved ones that fill up my life. And I plan to begin writing the stories that have made me who I am.

My Year in Review (Part One)

Note: my 24th year is drawing to a close and will end on my 24th birthday, Sunday. I've decided to take a look back today in Part One.

There's no way around it: it has been a long, hard year for me. Like I've always said, I'm a positive guy, but even I have to admit that I faced a lot of negatives. You might say it was a rebuilding year, if I may use a sports analogy. The negatives will follow me into the next year in many ways, but I still foresee the significant shift that hopefully comes with each new year. First, however, I take stock.

I lost my dear friend, Chuck, about a month after my last birthday. He was my long-time orthopedic doctor who did my spinal fusion, recommended me to USC, and was really a stalwart ally. He "got" my sense of humor and used it in each of the many times I had to go see him to assess my condition. To this day, I still sometimes feel like it's vulgar to use him for some sort of lesson, but then I think that we are always learning and the best teachers are those people we meet who become our friends. I think about my spinal fusion surgery. One of the things I wrote after Chuck died was that if you had to have a scar like the one I did, you would be lucky to have one this beautiful. I said it in a mostly facetious manner, but if I had to take away a lesson it would be what I wrote, and I have Chuck to thank for that.

Some months later, thankfully after the USC Trojans demolished Michigan in the Rose Bowl, my right lung collapsed. The pain of the reinflation procedure was quite literally the worst in my life. There is no other way I can put it than to say, I felt messed up after that. I'm used to feeling vulnerable as there is a continual process of accepting certain realities. But the fear of that happening again, of that pain and that vulnerability, will be with me for a long time. I did a lot of growing up that day, as I think about it. I didn't have anyone there to comfort me during the procedure, but in this case I was glad. It's difficult to explain beyond that.

The hospital stay that followed was difficult. However, it reconfirmed in me the belief that the way I go about my life and the way I approach things is right for me. I wouldn't have gotten through that without my m.o., and the fact that it has worked and continues to do so says a lot to me. While I got through the hospital stay, the hospital stay, unfortunately, got through me. I had a nice little souvenir called a wound care situation with which I was left. This one is testing my endurance, but I have much precedent in the way of battles won, therefore I take comfort in the fact that I will soon turn a corner.

There were many worrisome events, but what I found in direct proportion to that stress & tension was the depth of love from my loved ones. Mentally and emotionally, I have always been a self-starter and more so, a self supporter. I was probably so effective at that because I didn't have that ability physically. This was a year, however, where I needed my loved ones. I really really needed support from the outside-in. I received that support, many times over. My family took on many burdens and made sure I was well taken care of. My nieces and nephews came over to play and watch movies. The visits from my friends were numerous and heartfelt. Some friends helped me find entertainment. Another showed me that my strength was a source of love. I noticed, as well, that my love for others deepened and in many cases, did so in a way that many people will not know or understand.

This year marked the end of my education at USC. While I was sad to say goodbye to the yearly life force I found there, to many of the people I met, and to the wonderful educators, it also marked the beginning of my foray into professional writing. I was so fortunate to work with Jason and feel so indebted to the people involved (all of them). Especially considering the fact that I finished the project before any health concerns began, of course it was right under the wire, I feel very lucky. Soon after that, I began this very weblog which has very effectively kept me connected to my writing.

Family

Family means a lot to me. True Family, the idea of "family", carries my personal values to their utmost. Although I'm lucky enough to have experienced Family with fellow members related by both blood & bond, it is my belief that Family has nothing to do with biology.

We were fortunate enough this year to continue our family's 30-year tradition once again on this night. There were some circumstances that could have derailed tonight's annual dinner, but luckily the tradition went on and we remembered in spirit those who could not be here literally. Really, it is a dinner like any other except for the night's inspiration and what it means to those in attendance. Those people are Family, gathered at table and sharing in food & drink.

Sometimes, the dinner is very formal, with courses and protocol. Other times we just get a mess of food and we sit back and enjoy. Every time, there is ritual. It is the one day & night where the head of the family acts as patriarch. He takes care of every aspect of the meal so that all his loved ones can relax and enjoy the experience. The rest of us delight in each other's company and look to the good. This is the time for Family to take refuge in being a family, above all else.

We take refuge in each other throughout the year, whenever we need support. This night is the place where we dedicate & acknowledge the sanctity of our bonds, even if we do it silently. And we realize who is a part of our family.

There are grandparents, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends. And a family member is not limited to being just one of those, is not limited to blood relation. When I call someone, "Brother" or "Sister", I mean it as sincerely as possible. I am more than lucky in the fact that I use those terms of endearment often and towards many people.

I am more than lucky that I will always have family members who can help me continue this tradition, no matter who they are. Food & drink at a table... it is a simple, common occurrence, just like family. Yet, its depth is so great. This is even true for lighthearted moments. Perhaps my appreciation of the simple is why, in my view, I understand and have such a great relationship with the emotional and the spiritual. Whatever it is, it works for me.

I'm so fortunate to be carrying on these traditions in this Family.