Slumdog Memories of Survival

"It is the best movie of the year." I kept on hearing this from friends about the movie Slumdog Millionaire.  Now that I've finally seen it I understand all the hype.  It is the best movie I've seen in a LONG time. 

Yesterday I took the bus to the AMC Theater for a matinee showing.  With 7 other people I watched.  In the opening scene I was brought to tears.  Tears that come from a deep place.  You might think this is odd.  I did until I realized what was happening.  I had this feeling like I had been there.  Yet this was India.  I've never been to India.   I was playing with my friends in the slums, running through the streets, playing in the water, watching the murder of the one I love, and figuring out how I would survive.  I've not been there but I've "been there".   Slumdog is a story of survival and so much of my last 4 years has taken me into the stories of survival.  Those unexpected tears revealed that my travels to places of suffering and survival continue to work in me.  

 I was brought right back to little boys playing in the water in the oil contaminated moor of Tonle Sap Lake(Cambodia). A part of you wants to share the joy of a child's laughter at play while another part cries tears of sorrow for the poverty. 

 I was reminded of the Manilan slums and the day when my eyes met children peeking out from behind the corrugated metal.  How is life possible here? The dirt, grime and rust juxtaposed by the green potted plants and hanging flowers.  Life was going on there.

I was at the Blind Massage Center in Vietnam lying face down on the table receiving a horrible massage  This was a factory of blind masseurs.  I was glad the young lady working on me had a job but I felt conflicted about what I was supporting.   

I was at the orphanage in Rwanda staring suffering in the face--an infant boy. He seemed too traumatized to connect with another human being.  Yet in nothing more than an instant I saw that life was still in him.  There was still hope that he could let the love in.  An infant....

I was at the Atomic Bomb Museum in Hiroshima reading the story of a child who was forced to labor even on the day she was ill.  Her mother regretfully made the child go to perform her citizen duty. The child never came home but vanished. Only some belongings survived to prove she once existed.  

I think I was watching my own movie yesterday.  I am reminded that the life I choose to live must take these stories, these people, this poverty, this suffering and this survival with me. Actually they are already with me.  It is a matter of my making room for them in my life. I no longer have the luxury of ignorance.  The people, their stories, their struggle, their hope an their joy go with me.  They ask, "Will you be hospitable to us in you so that we can be hospitable to others with you?"   

I'm not sure you'd have the same experience watching Slumdog Millionaire but I highly recommend seeing it on the big screen!  It will be like taking a trip to India!