Story of Stories

A Story by Isa Ruffatti

… once upon a time an ordinary girl lived in an extraordinary world bustling with ordinary people living their lives, accumulating stories to tell the grand kids as proof that they existed. They are a story of stories. I am a story of stories and what you see: a short seventeen-year old with glasses and puffy hair not quite sure of who she is yet, is just a snapshot in a metaphorical snapshot gallery. Call me materialistic but objects have a profound significance to me. They remind me of what I cannot count on to be there tomorrow. Objects, or in this case, snapshots of these objects, are vessels that contain precious memories, stories. True, a snapshot doesn’t tell the whole story but what ever does…?

… in this metaphorical art gallery, the first snapshot is a letter from Sofia Alemparte, my best friend while I lived in Costa Rica. When I think of that letter, what comes to mind is not “Oh, look a letter” but a scene comes to life. It’s a sunny evening , and Sofi, my sister Lucia and I stand on our tiptoes, eagerly eyeing a piece of paper taped to a wall. We are in La Caraña, a place where people practice horseback-riding. The piece of paper assigned each newbie student a horse.

“I got la Pinguina!” my sister wailed, we watched her, a sincere feeling of pity in our hearts at her reasonable dismay. La Pinguina was an unusually stubborn pony. She would not trot. She would not gallop. She would not jump. And worse, she would not walk any faster than a turtle. Cross my heart, she wouldn’t budge for all the predators and emergencies in the world. Lucía would have to act as a rather unwilling motivational trainer to a lazy pony.

“I got Shakira” Sofi flashed us each a smile. Note that this Shakira is a horse not a person, yet not any less rebellious. Shakira, the horse, was a rebel without a cause, but unlike la Pinguina, starting slow wouldn’t be an issue.

“I got Tiburón…”, I smiled inwardly. Tiburón was old, but he was a gentle horse, not grumpy or lazy. We weren’t any different, girl or horse. We were a team, girl and horse. One by one, the horses were led out and we climbed on ecstatically.

Trembling with excitement, we kicked our heels inwards on the horses’ flank, communicating our desire to go on to the arena and we went on our jolly way...

...another snapshot in my gallery is that of me wearing my first glasses. I broke them a few days later. Actually, I broke them several times, 8 year old irresponsible me (sigh). Tío Milo, an ophthalmologist and my uncle, gave me my sight, figuratively speaking. Without my glasses, my eyesight is blurry, from up close and afar. I don’t like the blur, all annoying and metaphysical. Tío Milo took up the project of correcting that. At least once a year, I’d visit his office, which was quite unlike those of other doctors. Instead of the usual “merit wall,” as I am fond of calling the diploma-littered wall behind the typical doctor’s desk, family photos and ophthalmologist posters hung there. When I was last there, nothing had changed. He and my mom talked about surgery that could better my eyesight and rid me of my glasses, I wouldn’t need them save for reading and the likes. My mom and I thanked him, said our goodbyes and left. Tío Milo was a family man who time and time again went out of his way to help others till the day he died, a few months after being diagnosed with lung cancer. He’s dead now, so what can be said of him? He was not a great, wildly successful man. He wasn’t an incredibly rich man either, never charging a cent from his family or those who could not afford to pay. He was an ordinary person- beloved by family, friends, and employees- striving to do his best for those around him. And this is what I conclude: Good is not grand. Good is not supposed to be celebrated, it is supposed to be the simplest and purest act that human beings can do for each other…

...and the post for the last snapshot goes to (drumroll) my magnifying glass. Let me confess, I am a factual junkie. I love facts, knowledge, and evidence.My magnifying glass may just as well be a metaphor for myself. Research is more than a hobby, it’s a passion. I like knowing and if I don’t know, then I immerse myself in the process of knowing. Back in 8th grade, our history teacher taught a lesson we’d never forget. The desks, usually arranged in rows, were now grouped together, as they usually are if a teacher plans to have students work together. So we all sat down, quite ignorant of what was about to happen. Next, we were handed a practice sheet. A math practice sheet. Then our “commune leader” (a voice recording) explained that we should all do a certain number of problems. Bewildered, we did. Someone in my “commune” grunted in displeasure characteristic of student kind. The teacher sent him to the corner, where sheets had been arranged so that none of us could see him. Later, the student emerged, stating that he’d died in the prison camp and how awful it was. Other students who expressed their distaste met a similar fate. What better way to show your students the inflexibility of a regime by sending them to the corner? A few students became powerful in the “government” and they got to eat fruit cheerios instead of standard cheerios that the rest of us got. Little by little, the atmosphere similar to that of Mao Zedong’s Communist China during the 50’s and 60’s was recreated. By the time the class ended, I doubt any of us would ever forget the lesson. It was more than simply education, it wasn’t pedantic, it was fun. That day, we did not learn about some distant event from the past, we learnt a way of life. To me there’s nothing more interesting than stepping out of your shoes and seeking to understand by looking at the world from a whole new perspective...

...once upon a time Plato spoke words of wisdom “An unexamined life is not worth living.” And I say, let it be. All the above objects have taught me something. Sofi’s letter taught me what a true friendship is, my Tío Milo’s dedication to his work and family has given me the purpose to help people and expect nothing in return, and my magnifying glass encourages me to search out the strange in the familiar. I have examined my life and these are the things I value the most: true friendship, dedication, and perspective. Snapshots don’t tell the whole story, and surprise! Neither do you. That’s what each of us is, a collection of snapshots: the ones you cherish and wish you could relive, and the ones you hate and wish had never happened. We are not a whole story, we are a story of stories…