No war in Ba Sing Se.
Growing up, I spent a lot of time away from my family. First, it was boarding school for all of high school, and then I left again for university. With every major departure, as I stood ready to leave, one thing either of my parents would say after the usual bout of prayers was, “Always remember the son of whom you are.”
That phrase is my foundation. Sometimes they would even say it in Yoruba, my native language: Ranti ọmọ ẹnì tí ìwọ ṣe. It meant I was my father’s child, my mother’s son. This is an identity I share with only two other people (that I know of): my younger brother and my elder sister.
I find that it grounds me. Somehow, I attribute a lot of my individuality to this simple phrase. Because the son of who I am is, most likely, not the son of who you are. And that distinction is everything.
It allows me to come to terms with my reality, not an imagined one. And that reality, the world we all live in, is full of challenges, pressures, and ‘wars’ big and small. My parents’ words were never meant to deny their existence.
They were the opposite of the famous lie told in Ba Sing Se. The officials of that city built walls and an illusion to deny reality, whispering ‘There is no war here.’ My parents gave me something far stronger: not a wall, but a compass for navigating the truth.
My foundation isn’t ‘there is no war.’
My foundation is, ‘When you are in the war, remember who you are’. I am really grateful for this life I live.
Notes: This post was heavily inspired by countless listens to this lovely tune: