Some books and certain authors enter your life at transforming moments and remain there, even as fashions change and seasons shift from torrid summers to autumnal tranquility.
I first encountered The Labyrinth of Solitude by Octavio Paz long before he won the Nobel Prize for Literature, becoming the fourth Latin American writer to accomplish this feat. Perhaps it was during my time as a budding clinician at the teaching halls of the University of Melbourne, where I still carry the influence of those days, while also indulging in the oenological science of my home state, Victoria.
Australia, with its scientific influences more prominent than literary ones, proved to be a fertile ground for me at that age and time. Prior to that, I had ventured to the USA, completing part of my medical training at the University of Miami School of Medicine. It was there that I incidentally fell in love with Yucatan and the city of Merida.
I often pondered the perennial question: why do immigrants to the USA often negate or even hate their country of origin? Is this a peculiar immigrant phenomenon or a reflection of the United States of America itself? Why do Mexican immigrants and their descendants in the USA not celebrate Montezuma but instead seek their cultural identity in the Pilgrims who arrived in Plymouth two centuries later to found the USA?
In the land of the Free, are people truly free? Octavio Paz, Mexico’s ambassador to India, who wrote books of poetry during his time in the land of the Monkey God, could perhaps explain what freedom truly means.
Years later, a friend from Tabriz in Iran admonished me, saying, 'You truly do not understand what freedom is all about because you have never been superficially or deeply denied it.' I responded, 'No, my dear, I do understand what you mean.' To many Americans, freedom is merely the choice between Del Monte tomato sauce or Heinz tomato sauce. For me, freedom is the ability to be the person I want to be, breaking loose from all societal barriers. I learned this during my turbulent years of formation, reading the works of Octavio Paz.
I learned to enjoy solitude without loneliness, seeking meaningful connections rather than searching for love. It doesn't have to be an intellectual conversation, but rather a connection to the mythical world we all share. Last night, it was Wissal, a young Arab Moroccan, with a constant smile, standing in front of a restaurant, urging passersby to try its delicacies. As Octavio Paz cautioned, do not objectify this person, do not make her 'The Other,' but accept her in this short interaction as she is. It was a beautiful moment, never to be repeated with Wissal but perhaps with others. Thank you, Octavio Paz.
