He fixed his warm gaze on me and said, 'De donde eres?' Where are you from?
I was curious about his curiosity, so I replied in my potpourri of a Spanish accent -- Cuban-American peppered with Argentinian inflection -- 'De los Estados Unidos.' The United States.
His response was quick. 'Ahhhh... pero tus ojos... son Arabes.' Ahhhh... but your eyes... they are Arabic.
I shook my head. 'No. Mi familia es de Cuba.' No. My family is from Cuba.
'Y antes de Cuba?' And before Cuba?
A beam of Andean sunshine cut across the Cusqueño market and flickered inside his Incan eyes.
I paused for a moment, pensive, recalling the last time I asked my abuela the same question:
'Abuela, de donde viene nuestra familia?' Grandmother, where does our family come from?
'COO-BAH.' Cuba. Her resolute reply echoed through her Hialeah home.
'Pero abuela, mira el color de nuestro piel; no somos indigenas.' But Grandmother, look at the color of our skin; we are not indigenous.
'SOMOS CUBANOS.' WE ARE CUBAN. Her booming reaction told me the conversation was over. Carribbean culutral amnesia, I reasoned, and resolved not to bring it up again.
Back in Peru I peered at the old man and replied, with a hint of hesitation, 'Bueno, España... me parece.' Well, Spain... I suppose.
His eyes sparkled with triumph.
He took over the conversation, spilling generous details about his life. He spoke rapidly. He was a musician... He spent most evenings playing guitar at a cafe nearby...
My mind wandered away: Back to Abuela's kitchen in Hialeah, then to Abuela's Coo-bah -- a place I know through relayed memories, a place that now only exists in her mind.
Back in Cusco -- from the caverns of my mind, through my eyes veiled by wanderlust -- I noticed the gold sun receding behind the curved Andean peaks. The old man acknowledged his fading spotlight, pausing and peering around the market.
'Me tengo que ir.' I have to go. He extended a final, fiery glance and receded into the market.Our encounter was fleeting -- mere minutes long -- yet our conversation stuck with me for hours beyond our swift adios.
Perhaps his insight was right, I mused. Perhaps my eyes are Arab. Perhaps my eyes traveled with the Moors -- across continents, across oceans, across centuries...
My eyes now keep the Moors alive...
The old man -- a perfect stranger -- had offered me a new perspective: A new perspective on my family, my ancestors... and a new perspective on myself. He had, almost literally, given me new eyes.
And I have found that throughout my life I am constantly being offered new perspectives -- new eyes -- through people and through places, and, most of all, through experience:
Last year, I lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina -- Rotary District 4890. As a Rotary ambassadorial scholar, I was charged with continuing my legal studies at la Universidad de Buenos Aires, representing Rotary District 6930 and the United States at Rotary meetings and in daily interactions, and fulfilling Rotary's universal ideal of service above self by engaging in service projects in my host community.
The aggregate of this experience -- 11 months of studying and living as a foreigner in the novelty and familiarity of the city of porteños -- has given me new eyes to the effect that I no longer see the world as I once saw it. The difference is so pronounced, in fact, I find myself at present knowing a new world.
The old man -- a perfect stranger -- had offered me a new perspective: A new perspective on my family, my ancestors... and a new perspective on myself. He had, almost literally, given me new eyes.
And I have found that throughout my life I am constantly being offered new perspectives -- new eyes -- through people and through places, and, most of all, through experience:
Last year, I lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina -- Rotary District 4890. As a Rotary ambassadorial scholar, I was charged with continuing my legal studies at la Universidad de Buenos Aires, representing Rotary District 6930 and the United States at Rotary meetings and in daily interactions, and fulfilling Rotary's universal ideal of service above self by engaging in service projects in my host community.
The aggregate of this experience -- 11 months of studying and living as a foreigner in the novelty and familiarity of the city of porteños -- has given me new eyes to the effect that I no longer see the world as I once saw it. The difference is so pronounced, in fact, I find myself at present knowing a new world.
Nothing has changed, yet everything looks different.
We shall not cease from exploration / and the end of all our exploring / will be to arrive where we started / and know the place for the first time. (My closest reader-friends know my kinship with T.S. does not wane with time or distance.)
I returned to South Florida -- Rotary District 6930, the community that created me -- just over 3 months ago, and I tell you, reader-friend, I have never known the world as I now know it:
The South Florida sky as the sun rises and sets -- dynamic, smudged with pink, gold, blue, grey and purple; I have never known him to be so brilliant and vivid.
And the Atlantic Ocean at twilight -- like liquid cobalt glass; I never knew he was so beautiful.
And I have never known Palm Beach County -- where I grew up -- to be so... Pleasant.
And Miami. (Sigh.) She captured my heart when I was a child, and, like any first love, ours was reckless and innocent. She must intuitively sense that I found love in Buenos Aires, for I have never known her to be so... Unpleasant. Unwelcoming. Unfriendly.
And the future: I entered college immediately after high school, and law school immediately after college, and now I am entering the straits of life with a map of my making -- my conscience as my compass. I have never in my life known my future to be so... Uncertain.
And yet, curiously, my eyes -- for the first time in my life -- pierce the veil of uncertainty that teases me from the horizon. Instead of uncertainty in the future, I see infinite possibility. I gaze at the horizon of the future -- just as I often gaze at the Atlantic Ocean at sunrise, the colors of the brilliant South Florida sky smearing overhead -- and I see nothing but light.
I see light -- limitless possibility -- because -- reader-friend, can't you see! -- Rotary has given me new eyes.
We shall not cease from exploration / and the end of all our exploring / will be to arrive where we started / and know the place for the first time. (My closest reader-friends know my kinship with T.S. does not wane with time or distance.)
I returned to South Florida -- Rotary District 6930, the community that created me -- just over 3 months ago, and I tell you, reader-friend, I have never known the world as I now know it:
The South Florida sky as the sun rises and sets -- dynamic, smudged with pink, gold, blue, grey and purple; I have never known him to be so brilliant and vivid.
And the Atlantic Ocean at twilight -- like liquid cobalt glass; I never knew he was so beautiful.
And I have never known Palm Beach County -- where I grew up -- to be so... Pleasant.
And Miami. (Sigh.) She captured my heart when I was a child, and, like any first love, ours was reckless and innocent. She must intuitively sense that I found love in Buenos Aires, for I have never known her to be so... Unpleasant. Unwelcoming. Unfriendly.
And the future: I entered college immediately after high school, and law school immediately after college, and now I am entering the straits of life with a map of my making -- my conscience as my compass. I have never in my life known my future to be so... Uncertain.
And yet, curiously, my eyes -- for the first time in my life -- pierce the veil of uncertainty that teases me from the horizon. Instead of uncertainty in the future, I see infinite possibility. I gaze at the horizon of the future -- just as I often gaze at the Atlantic Ocean at sunrise, the colors of the brilliant South Florida sky smearing overhead -- and I see nothing but light.
I see light -- limitless possibility -- because -- reader-friend, can't you see! -- Rotary has given me new eyes.
