Integrity...

I once read somewhere that integrity meant being the same person in any environment or situation one might be in, being the same man in the light or in the dark.

There have been times when I think that I speak a little too much, and other times when I clutch on to the silence I hold, and utter little words of response in a conversation. But in all, I try to tell it like it is, and tell it all, so I do not have to struggle to recall the fine details of any conversation had for fear that when it came up again I might misquote facts. And some day in the future when I do get called to duty, be it in the late hours of the night, thousands of miles away, I will leave a rested wife at home who could share the details of my weekly schedule to her colleagues at work, knowing that when it was time to return, I would be coming back home almost like I hadn’t left.

Yesterday I bumped into an old acquaintance in town, on my way back from the supermarket, and we got talking by the curb on the roadside, right underneath the white streetlight. We shared stories of men who had set out on a journey far away from home for greener pastures, and all of the struggles they faced on daily basis: the stress of acculturation, the dilemmas of culture shocks, the long days and nights of feeling alone and longing for family, and being broke with all of the vulnerabilities it brought.

Usually, I would think that I was having a rough time having been away in JA for four years working on getting my degree. Well, actually I do. And as a student, I have my many broke days. But it is in these broke and difficult days that, somehow, I manage to stand at the tip of my wit, and come alive with a sense of creativity and productivity. And even though the days get really hard, I do get by with a smile on my face, enough to infect others with.

But this friend of mine had had it rough the past two weeks. He was evicted out of his house for having no money to pay rent; slept on the streets-at the court house to be precise. In his own words, “the worst part about being homeless is not knowing where to sleep when night falls upon you, and wearing dirty socks that become so dingy you can’t even find a place to wash. It starts to eat on the skin of your toes…” His story made mine seem like I was royalty, and somehow I found myself masking some of the details of mine just to match his. I couldn’t help but share the little money I had on me. My heart went to him, to his humility. He reminded me, again, why I needed to be humble and grateful, even for the little things- like being able to wash my socks whenever I chose.

I have my daily struggles, some like when I pray to the Lord to wean me off my constant need for self; for approval and affirmation from these lost crowd; to wean me off the need to constantly have something to prove, and grant me the grace to be truly humble.

Today, everywhere, it seems like a world of pretty facades and rotten cores. And it seems like sometimes these situations fall upon us helplessly. But It would add more meaning to the word integrity when people, even from state podiums and religious altars really practice what they preach and begin truly to see a brother’s need without turning a blind eye.