Amber's hope
What follows is a work of fiction. It has no facts, yet it speaks the truth. Enjoy!
“Amber will arrive soon. Her job is to paint the furniture you have been polishing.” This is how I first learnt of Amber. An expat with a care-free personality who chose to work for fun. Amber’s family were well-off and she grew up having everything she had ever asked for. She was not spoilt though, much to my surprise. Her relaxed demeanour was profound, although I was initially sceptical of it. I suspect she had the kind of experiences that show you how absurd your entitlement is. Or, perhaps, having all your wishes granted teaches you how to be more selective with what you are voicing as a desire… I cannot tell.
I had always had a negative view of rich kids. The ones I met in my formative years were obnoxious and maladjusted. They would ruin our games and make it all about themselves. What Amber taught me through her deeds and outlook is that my impression was wrong: correlation is not causation. Those kids were indeed rich, though it is not necessarily their materially comfortable upbringing that turned them into bullies. It could be that they were neglected by their parents, who were too busy raising the company’s stock instead of spending quality time with their children. Or they had been overly protected as little kids and did not socialise with us common folk, making it hard for them to eventually fit in. It is so easy to pass judgement on someone. It saves us from the hard work of giving them the benefit of the doubt while acknowledging that our information about them is incomplete.
My first encounter with Amber gave me mixed feelings. She appeared friendly though I did not think particularly highly of her. My bias was strong at the time. I mistook her attitude for the kind of ne’er-do-well that is glorified in American TV series. You know, those where the protagonists are only good at spending papa’s money on vanity projects. She seemed arrogant to me, as if she was saying “I work for my entertainment, while you work to survive, losers!” Those were just my thoughts. Amber never behaved with smugness nor mistreated anyone. Yet all I could imagine was how she would reveal her deep-seated contempt for us bread-winners.
One’s prejudices say a lot about their own person. In my case, I was fundamentally ashamed of my financial predicament. Here I was, a metic with no place to go and with no end goal in life. My friend, Craig, took me in at his place, guaranteeing shelter and food over the short-term. I could stay for three or four months, while building up the skills necessary to go my own way in this country. I did start learning the local tongue and was confident that I could make the next step. I proved as much when I did several weekend-long gigs for Peter, the guy who ran a restaurant that served soup to hikers. I made myself useful by doing a lot of the donkey work around the establishment and then as a waiter. Same for my attitude towards Craig. On weekdays I was working for free to renovate some of the rooms at the house. This was my way of paying for the food and accommodation I was receiving.
This was an old building. The walls were badly discoloured, the wallpapers had to be replaced, and the floor needed to be broken and redone. My experience in construction work proved to be a valuable asset. Instead of just doing some minor tasks here and there I ended up assuming most of the workload. I was labouring non-stop from early in the morning until late in the evening. And because I only eat a meal a day, I did not pause for lunch. I did it with alacrity out of a sense of duty towards Craig; duty that was ultimately not reciprocated.
Early on, my friend showed signs of hostility towards me. One day I worked extra hard, wielding heavy machinery for many hours. Holding those power tools exerts a lot of pressure on the body. You almost feel paralysed afterwards. The one I was using was especially tough for the forearms. I did it without complaint, as usual. The added toll on my body meant that I needed plenty of food to recover. Craig told me there is some pasta ready for me upstairs. “You can have it all”, he reassured me. And so I did, devouring what probably was a generous serving for two people. I ended up regretting it, when my friend became passive aggressive about it: “wow, how am I supposed to feed you!”, he exclaimed while insisting it was a joke. It was not meant to trigger laughter though: I noticed more of these kinds of remarks as time went on, but I fainted ignorance. I knew our dynamic was no longer the same. I would leave peacefully.
It is why I had decided to abort this plan and start anew in a place that would allow me to begin from scratch. I had had enough with my pathetic attitude of tacitly seeking the validation of others. Instead of them recognising my hard work, they would routinely underappreciate it and ultimately abuse my strong sense of loyalty towards them. Not anymore! If one person mistreats you, they probably are a bully, but if everybody does it, then you are the problem. Such was the conclusion I had arrived at. This time, I was poised to make things work my own way.
With great sadness I had learnt that circumstances change and people are not who they used to be. The Craig I once knew and spent long hours with was no more. It had been years since we had last met and a lot had happened in the meantime. He got married to a woman he did not fancy, yielding to pressure from his family. I could tell that he was not happy. The natural enthusiasm he had was snuffed out. He had become a husband and father, whose sole concern was to make money; money which they did not really need as they already had plenty, with no outstanding debts whatsoever. I never blamed Craig, though I knew it was over for our friendship. It had reached a natural terminus and an amicable one at that.
This may also be why I did not want to give Amber a fair chance. I needed to withdraw, to not be vulnerable to anyone anymore, to make an exit before I would grow to love someone again. Those who are traumatised develop a sense of ownership towards their wounds. They identify strongly with them and cling on to them without realising it. This was my situation. I was not prepared to let go of who I had become and was thus choosing to remain a victim. Change takes time; time which I did not have back then to share it with those in my midst..
The tickets were booked: I was flying on a Tuesday. I paid for them with money I earned while working for Peter. The restaurant was a busy place. It attracted locals from the surrounding regions as well as tourists from other countries. The hill it was located on was picturesque. There was a river flowing at its base, crossing a dense forest. In the distance, there were taller mountain peaks, which were covered in snow while I was there.
Peter would venture into the forest frequently to collect mushrooms or hunt big game, depending on the season. He was a man of action and seemed to know lots of survival skills. I used to have a negative opinion about hunters, thinking that all they did was recklessly kill wild animals. Peter was conscientious though. He never bragged about his exploits. “I do it because I have to”, he told me once, “nature made it such that we have no choice but to consume life for sustenance.” I was about to interrupt him, to point out that we do have a choice about the types of food we eat, but I let him complete his train of thought: “plant or animal, both are life, and all we do is decide where to draw the lines of what is acceptable.” I remained silent in the face of his wisdom. It is those real-life scenaria you do not learn about in academic circles. Would I be right to pontificate that his rationale was misguided, given that I had never eaten anything non-living myself? What even is non-life? I could not tell. I recognised that plants are living organisms as well. The more we experience in this world, the better we understand that our simplistic model of good versus evil distorts what the reality is. Things are nuanced. Those who are quick to judge are consistently proven to be ignorant.
Peter was a man of discipline and hard work. He expected excellence from his peers, which I admired about him. There was no idle moment at the restaurant. We would start work at six in the morning, when it was still dark outside. Peter had shown me how to wield an axe. I would use it to cut wood for the fireplace. He would prepare the kitchen and then we would both set up the tables. The first guests would arrive at around eleven o’clock. Other than soup, we served cheese, sausage, and fruit, as well as a wide range of beverages. At noon is when it would get really busy. People were hungry and we were running up and down to serve everybody as fast as we could. Peter was a one-man-army: he would prepare the soup and then serve the tables. The work was over once the supplies ran out. Peter was thus confirming he was not greedy. He did not want to toil all day just to earn a little bit extra. The goal was to earn enough to make ends meet, yet still preserve a reasonable work-life balance. This is a rare quality in people. Most will rationalise their obsession with money and overwork themselves to death or chronic illness. Or, if it is not out of obstinacy and inertia, they are forced to do it because of their indebtedness towards some banking institution. At any rate, it is not nice.
I could not put my communication skills to good use at the restaurant. I did not know the language yet, though I had picked up a few words. Some basic expressions and plenty of gesticulating will often suffice. I could make sense of what was being conveyed and was aided by the fact that our menu was straightforward. People are alike regardless of cultural and individual differences. Our evident diversity does not run counter to our shared nature. We value peace, love those close to us, feel connected to some place, and wish to have a good time doing leisurely activities while expressing our self in earnest. If we do not have those, we seek them. Else we suffer in uneasiness. Each of us needs a place to call “home”: a safe space for authentic expression.
I told Peter I was leaving the country. He seemed bewildered, given how nicely I had adapted in such a short time. The locals were kind to me and I was helpful to them, always smiling and eager to improve. “If you stay here, I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities for you. Someone with your work ethic cannot get lost. My door is always open if you ever return.” Those were his words. Perhaps he was right, though I had already made up my mind. “Sometimes we have to take a step back in order to move forward”, I pointed out while thanking him for the trust he had put in me and for the good moments we shared together, busily feeding the mountaineers. We shacked hands and I left, never to see him again.
Life moves on. All we can do is be in the present. There was a week left. I learnt about Amber shortly after I had bought the plane tickets. She arrived at the place the next morning. We had until Monday to finish the renovations. It was an ambitious deadline, though we were confident we would meet it. I introduced myself to Amber without revealing much about my background. I was just the labourer who would handle the heavy duty tasks. She told me about herself and her family. It was then when I learnt that she was not working to earn a living. “Was she fooling around? Is this some peculiar form of irresponsibility?” I wondered in confusion. The model of reality I had was proving to be defective. But I needed to learn more before I could figure out what was amiss.
“Which colour do you prefer? I fancy the pink one. Just imagine it with a touch of gold on the sides. So pretty!” I was not sure why the painter would ask an amateur like myself about such a technical issue. Back then I was of the opinion that only specialists are entitled to an opinion on their subject matter and everyone else should remain silent. I now consider this inaccurate, incorrect, or outright dangerous, depending on the subject. “Pink feels too opinionated to me. I would opt for this faint green instead. It blends nicely with the white colour of the walls. Add that dark blue if you need an accent. They give a more neutral vibe, like the nearby woods.” I had never painted anything, but spoke my mind fearlessly without hedging my statements. She seemed to appreciate it, contrary to my expectation that she would take offence at someone challenging her expertise. In truth, it was not a challenge at all, but a different perspective. Amber was asking the question exactly because of her profound knowledge of the craft: colour is subjective, which makes its truth more complex, though not less truthful.
She ended up implementing my preference, adding her own spin to it. She had brought with her a comprehensive collection of pigments, from reds to magentas, blues, and greens. There was a bit of everything. I saw her match olive green with teal, yellow with turquoise, and some variations on the combination I had suggested. I was impressed when I discovered that she did not use pink at all. She seemed so excited about that colour scheme! It takes courage to change your opinion. Amber showed she had that intellectual capacity. I was expecting her to act like a spoilt child, due to my bias against rich kids, but there she was proving how magnanimous one can be.
The first day of our collaboration, if I may call it such, was largely uneventful. I was handling some power tool and barely uttered a word all day. She was in the other room, painting a piece of furniture. At noon, she interrupted me briefly to ask if I would join her for lunch. I explained my one meal policy and thanked her for the offer. In truth, I was just hiding, protecting those traumas like a prised possession. A couple of hours later, she called me again to ask if I wanted to take a coffee break. I kindly declined it, citing that I was in the process of an extremely demanding task. Again, this was but an excuse: I could put the tool down for thirty minutes and resume what I was doing later. But no, that would make me vulnerable by potentially getting to like this person.
The next day was basically the same. I started work before she had even gotten out of bed and was done long after she had left for dinner. I told her again that I am okay without lunch and how those coffee breaks come at inopportune moments. In hindsight, I have a clear idea of what I was doing, though in the moment I was believing those words. Though there were some cracks in that hardened carapace I had developed and I could begin to sense that something was not right.
The third day went largely the same way, as did the fourth one except for its night. A friend of Amber had ordered pizza dough and all the accompanying ingredients. We were to make our own pizza for dinner. Although I would rather not join in the fun, I was starving and really needed a full meal. Pizza is not healthy, when prepared the usual way, though I could salvage it in this case. The portions were enough to provide for one large pizza per person. I was confident I would eat mine without issues. As I was preparing my serving, Amber asked me if I was willing to share my meal with her. Why would she pose such a question, given there was plenty of food for everyone? I agreed to her offer, mixed in the ingredients she preferred, baked it, and then sat down with her for the duration of our meal.
At the table we got to know each other. It started with her telling me how she was not hungry and wanted to not waste any food. I found that laudable and silently admitted to myself that I was wrong about her. I knew how poor people tend not to be eclectic about what they eat, as they are well aware that beggars cannot be choosers. But for this well-off woman to treat resources the same way I would was unexpected. My prejudice had conditioned me to think that she would rather make a lavish dish only to realise she did not want to eat it, after all, and then throw it away without hesitation. Perhaps we judge others because we do not want to pay attention to our condition. By pointing a finger at them, we take it away from our person. In the process, we assume to be faultless as arbiters of morality and appease our conscience accordingly. Such is our dissonance.
I could not tolerate the injustice I was bringing upon her. “I have to make a confession”, I said. Her eyes sparkled in curiosity, as if to acknowledge that there was more to me than a silent worker. “I misjudged you. When you said you are not working to make a living, I thought you were being childish. Such was my narrow-mindedness. Now I have learnt that you are pursuing your passion.” With a grin on her face, she noted how she was understood: “yeah, I do this because I love it. Plus, I get to meet interesting people and visit new places.” She did not comment on my initial value judgement. I guess this was her way of passing it off as part of the process towards understanding others. We will err many times before we eventually figure out how to interpret phenomena and deal with the actuality of the case.
“I have travelled around the world. Everywhere I go, I discover something new about myself. Recently, I developed a keen interest in old artefacts. There are many at the cemetery nearby. I even found this rusty shield in the fields. Farmers unearth them every now and then. It must be several centuries old, probably from a skirmish that took place here.” She kept revealing more about her personality and interests, as I listened attentively. “Do you want to join me one of these days? I will show you how many cool things we can find!” I was taken aback, as I had never expressed any desire to learn more about her penchant for archaeology. “Let us finish what we are here for and then we will see”, I remarked as we carried on with our dinner. “It sounds intriguing”, I added.
I did not disclose the fact that I had booked a one-way flight and was about to leave. Amber was turning out to be a fine person, though I was still afraid that I might actually change my mind about my departure. I had to leave to become who I needed to be. Feeling a connection to Amber, to Peter, or anyone else would upset my plans, possibly condemning me to many more years of non-self-actualisation. I could no longer afford this state of victimhood. I was ready to sacrifice any potentially fulfilling relationships to remake myself.
The half pizza was not sufficient to sate me, but I did not complain about it. I was happy to meet this multifaceted person and to be proven wrong about my assumptions. I did not want to waste food either. As soon as we were done, I wished everybody a pleasant night and retreated to my room. I went to bed uncertain and troubled about my immediate future. I was about to perform a huge leap of faith. All I could do is trust that I had made the right choice and would not come down crashing. Knowing that everything was set in motion, I did not think it further. What is to happen, shall happen. I readied myself for another day of intense work. And so it was.
Amber tried to approach me many times after our shared meal, but I kept avoiding her, giving her just enough attention to not appear rude. Maybe I was impolite despite my best intentions, but I had to maintain some distance. Were I to befriend her or, worse, fall in love with her, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Perhaps I was just too pessimistic about the potential of others to be instrumental in my process of self-discovery. However, I knew that counterfactual reasoning was not going to be helpful. I could only pick a course and commit to it unequivocally, learning whatever secrets it had in store for me. Whatever regrets I could have had, I did not let them grow and take hold. I would not be led astray.
The morning of my flight, Amber had woken up earlier than usual, as if she knew the end was near. Could Craig have told her? She was already having her breakfast while brewing a cup of coffee. I could not avoid her this time. It was the one and only case we had a drink together, despite the numerous opportunities on each day. “Where are you going?”, she asked as soon as she noticed my suitcase. Typical of my behaviour towards her, I responded in a cryptic fashion: “I have important business to tend to”. Then I smiled and changed subject: “wow, this coffee has such a rich aroma!” There are many reasons why people smile. One of them is to hide their suffering and obfuscate their inner conflict. Amber must have known this all along. She never took my behaviour as a personal insult and remained friendly towards me. “Indeed, it is a nice blend”, she said as she smiled back at me. We can be self-absorbed at times, oblivious to the woes of others. I would no longer think that I am the only one who is struggling. Each person has their own troubles. That smile may have been a facade, like the one I was displaying. I will never know.
“We cannot force things to happen. You will only be available when you are ready. Until then, all you can do is wish for the best and try what you can. I had hoped for a different outcome.” These were her words. I could sense she was disappointed, either in me or in the prevailing conditions that compelled me into action. But I could not understand why she would care about a vagabond like myself. I had not given her the attention she deserved, did not treat her as a friend even though I could, and did not tell her where I was heading to. Nobody knew that important detail and I would not trust her with it either. So why would she even bother? I did not have the courage to verbalise that question. I knew then that all would be over in an hour. Our paths would diverge and I would find a new beginning away from everything I had grown accustomed to.
“I forgot to tell you that pink and gold is a pretty combination. I would actually experiment with some deep magenta as a third hue. Or a shade of red to produce a striking impression!” I uttered those words out of an appreciation for her commitment to the activity that fulfilled her. “I will remember this for my next project”, she noted. “Good. There will be more of them”, is all I could add.
Perhaps Amber could tell by the way I stared into her eyes that I was holding something back. In a different world, I would have expressed my feelings in earnest. Yet there is only this world to be lived, this trail to be traversed, and these moments to be experienced, with or without others. The people and situations we like the most may not be available when we are. Such is our predicament. There is no rewind button for us to replay events. Nor is there a script editor, where we can modify some parameters to have everything arranged the way that best suits our whimsy. We learn from our choices and, if we are lucky, we will get to choose again. Pain is benign and formative in this regard. It helps us reach clarity about what our needs and wants are. By pushing against our limitations, we might discover that it often is our mindset that holds us hostage, partly or fully, to states of affairs that are unfavourable to our being. We may then trust in our devices to start anew. Sometimes, this means begrudgingly boarding that plane in order not to lose sight of the goal we have set for ourselves.
Ever the professional, I extended my hand, ready to bid her farewell. She extended hers, without saying anything. We shacked hands and, after we let go, we spontaneously hugged each other. I did not establish eye contact afterwards, out of fear that I would jeopardise everything I was committed to. My plane was waiting for me. I had to write my own destiny. I turned my back to her and headed for the door. Craig was waiting for me at the threshold. He would drive me to the train station, which was five minutes away. The rest was up to me. “Take care”, I said out loud, “keep adding colour to your life and that of others.” At the train station, I hugged Craig for the last time. I forgave him, even though I knew we could not be friends anymore. Just as I had to act a certain way, so was he restrained by the prevailing conditions.
I wish to believe that Amber hoped for the same thing I do: that we experience each other unencumbered by grand schemes and peremptory rules. Will this ever happen?