Life

Generic, isn’t it?

What does that word mean? What are you telling us? For my first post on Hinterland, I decided I wouldn’t thank anyone for the opportunity. I’d use the opportunity to discuss my perspective on things; in this case, life.

Often, we are most reflective at 8pm sipping wine in our lime green ‘Lime and Coconut’ bathwater, detached from the reality of everyday. We seem to realise now, more than ever, the value of a hot bath, a hot meal, and a quality sleep.

But for some, this isn’t always the case. 

See, recently, I was privileged enough to visit Peru. What a fantastic country, mind blowing land scapes, great imagery, the whole shebang. As you rove through this fascinating land, one can’t help but contrast with where we come from. Immediately, the discerning eye notices a pertinent lack of robust infrastructure. The sheer contrast between flashing LED Samsung billboards and the houses (barely) on which they mount, forever lighting the otherwise dark street with images of things the people who gaze upon them dare not even dream of. This was of course Lima, the nations capital.

Now, without adequate knowledge of the political landscape I wouldn’t want to pass comment - but I will say it made for fascinating viewing, realising that behind it all was a deep dark political underbelly, with huge issues of its own. 

I don’t want to bog down this piece with too much on Lima, so we will go further south.

Picture looking down a dirt road, deep blue Pacific Ocean in the background, to your right a ramshackle house, your left a couple of strays having a scrap over some day old meat. A couple of wooden boats from quite literally the 1890s mounted on flimsy scaffolds. Adorned with images of western cultural symbols - from Elvis to Karl Marx, Obama to Minions. Terrifying at first, pleasant after a while. You’ve arrived in the small port city of Matarani. 

What a unique experience. We stayed in a local school, for which we built a classroom structure. 

I’d like to go back to this concept of having nothing - because I mean it. There were houses in Matarani made of mud brick. This is the extent of the poverty that we are dealing with here. 

But the incredible thing about the small town Peruvian culture is the strength of the people and the strength of the communities. Schools are not only educational institutes. They are much, much more. They are community spaces, a place where the town comes together to celebrate in the achievements of its people. The intense love they have for each other and for their country is difficult to put into words. 

So, I’m not going to. Instead, this is Miguel.

Miguel, he’s about 11. I can’t remember off the top of my head. What a cool kid.

See, his family, by our standards, have nothing. Their computer is circa 2003, they live on the dirt road, I’m still not sure where his parents work, but I know that they do, and I know that they work hard.

When I pulled out my iPhone 7+, he identified it as an iPhone 4. Every day he comes to school and does his work, does his homework, learns a little bit more every day. Miguel wants to be a Vet, or a dentist. We managed to teach him a little bit of English while we were there.

And, I’m getting to the point now, much, I’m sure, to everyone’s relief!

Miguel was always happy. He has a fantastic life. He may have the simplest of things in it, but he is fundamentally happy. And I can post pretentiously about it all I like, but his happiness was admirable.

Because leading a simple life means that you don’t have much to worry about. In New Zealand, I’m currently sitting NCEA Level 3. This is my 13th year of education in New Zealand, and my last year of high school. It is crucial for what I want to do in my life. 

Every day it seems is a new assessment, a new challenge. I work part time to pay for things that I want, leaving the house at 8am for school and sometimes not returning from my after school job until well after 10pm.

Don’t get me wrong, materially, my life is great. But this is where Miguel comes in.

You see, Miguel might not have much. He might not have the newest computer. He might not even ever leave Matarani. But the thing is that his happiness is entirely immaterial.

And in this world of technological races, degrees, higher education, at the age of 17, despite every opportunity I’ve taken, despite every avenue open to me, despite everything I have and everything that I could aspire to be.

Am I happy? 

The truth is, I don’t know.

And such is life - in spite of everything, sometimes we just don’t know. And so as I reflect on Peru, and reflect on Miguel, I sometimes find myself wishing for that simplicity.

Searching for that true, immaterial, pure happiness.

As you get to know me as a writer better, you start to learn my style. I often ask myself questions and put them down - in an effort to look philosophical, I think. But this question is genuine, and it’s for everyone that reads this article.

Are we truly happy?

To be perfectly honest,

I don’t know.