How can we care - really care - in our modern world?

For the last few days I have cared full-time for my dad. And it's like the world has slowed down...

First I tried to impose my rhythm on my dad. Of course, I failed miserably. Even if he wanted to (which I doubt), he can no longer move at my pace. And as my frustration grew, I realised I had to slow down to match his "speed".

So I made the conscious decision to adapt to him, instead of expecting him to adapt to me.
And suddenly, as I slowed down, time slowed down too. No longer was I chasing time, whipping the horse, struggling; as I slowed down, I realised caring could only ever happen on his schedule.
How could I properly care if I spent my time trying to "achieve" something?

On the contrary, caring is all about being at the other's disposal, listening to their needs and forgetting for a brief moment our own...

And then I saw a parallel to my role as a parent: only too often have I tried achieving something and given my children neither the time nor the space to unfold themselves.

By following my thoughts, my agenda, on what my father or my children "need", I forgot to listen, really listen, and tried (mostly unsuccessfully, thank god) to bully them into following my schedule.
Of course I meant well, but as always, good intentions are paving the way to hell - in this case making everything so much harder.

So now I am trying my best to follow the natural rhythm, which happens to be very, very slow, and am starting to really enjoy our interactions as I'm giving myself the time to actually appreciate them.

And every little moment when I am truly there for my dad, when I am "in the moment", I realise how lucky I am to still be able to enjoy his company.

Culture and identity, and migration

The other day I had a chat with one my friends about culture and identity, trying to come to some agreement on definitions.

We both thought that culture and identity are overlapping completely when people come from one cultural background AND grow up in it, i.e. "I'm French as I was born in France and I've always lived there".

The situation is more complicated once we take into account migration, so prevalent for Australians. For people who migrated in their early adulthood to Australia, their culture will be the one of their country of origin. Their identity - well, that depends on how much they feel at home here I guess... For some that makes them Australians, for others not.

Where it gets a bit more tricky, is when you've been born here, but with both parents from the same overseas country. Odds are that you grew up with the original culture of your parents, yet you will probably identify as Australian.

And then there are people like some of my friends and me, who have 3 or more different cultural backgrounds (Swedish, German, Iranian for me), then grew up and lived for a long time in another country (France), only to settle in Australia at age 28. When asked the question "where are you from?" I usually answer "how much time do you have"... which of course is just a cop-out.

The reality is, I am not sure "what" I am. Mainly because I am simply not just one thing. My bloodline is as mentioned above, yet culturally I am mainly French, German, Iranian.

My identity? I identify as German, as French and now also as Australian. It probably is not a coincidence that I also lived the majority of my life in those 3 countries. Which makes me wonder whether being culturally so diverse hasn't given me an incentive? a motivation? an easiness? to actually make myself fit into whatever culture I was born/parachuted/migrated into.

My personal experience?
If you want people to embrace your culture, make sure your food is really nice :)
If you want people to identify with your country, make sure you welcome them, and give them the possibility to become part of it.

As much as I miss certain aspects of Europe - my friends, the bakery around the corner from my flat in Paris, the way people dress - I found that being welcomed here, making my own friends, the great diversity of fabulous food, my children who are Australian, and my house that is my home all make up for it.

But I realise I am one of the very lucky ones: I came here by choice, speaking fluent English, to follow my love. I came with 14 boxes of books - i.e. my prized possessions. I didn't have to give up my whole life. I could transplant some of it, and also keep alive the rest of it.

So why is it that those like me who have so much, are welcomed so well, and those who have so little, are not? Shouldn't it be the opposite?

And before I hear your outcry that giving migrants "things" is to set them up to be helpless, or to have expectations of being looked after - what I actually would like everyone to get, is a true welcome.

For us to "love our neighbour" - particularly if that neighbour does not look like us.

Because every human being is valuable, has a story to tell, and deserves love, safety and to be welcomed.