By David Simmons
Our lives are shaped by individual events, some large, some small, some dark, some beautiful. Some bring us down; some build us up.
I consider myself a member of the point-one-percent. Not in the usual sense of that term, the multibillionaires who devise global systems; on the contrary, I have worked for a living since the age of 17, nearly always paycheque to paycheque, and because of a recent health issue now find myself heavily in debt.
No, the point-one-percent to which I belong are those whose lives have been moulded far more by (usually non-monetary) good fortune and privilege than by bad breaks and injustice. Two elements of this long life of good fortune stand out: the privilege of parenthood and the opportunity to travel.
I married late in life, to a Thai woman who like me was getting on in years. Unlike me, she had always wanted a child, but making our own at our age was impractical. So we adopted a baby girl and named her Natnicha.
Natnicha, who like most Thais rarely uses her given name but goes by a nickname instead (Lukyi), is now a bright and vivacious 16-year-old. Recently through the auspices of her school, she enrolled in a national exchange-program competition. She qualified for a three-week trip to Vancouver.
Unfortunately because of my above-mentioned medical bills, we cannot afford to let her go. Though disappointed, Lukyi is grown-up enough to understand financial realities, and says she just wants Daddy to get better. I think – hope – she also understands that missed opportunities are part of life, and that new ones will arise later.
In a way, I think I am more enthusiastic about such opportunities for her than she is. Most Thais never travel outside their own countries, which tends to fuel a culture of ultra-nationalism that sometimes manifests as xenophobia and racism. Thailand has a huge and flourishing tourism industry, and many Thais encounter foreigners regularly, often as part of their jobs. But such experiences are no match for immersing oneself in an alien culture, in an alien environment.
When I was a little older than Lukyi and had just entered the workforce, saving up for university, I shocked and appalled my parents by announcing that I had adopted the theory that “one year of travel is the equivalent of one year of university”. A cousin and I were planning to fly to Europe, buy BMW motorcycles, and tour the continent.
It didn’t happen; my parents were able to persuade me to enrol in the science program at the University of British Columbia. But I had no enthusiasm for university life and did very poorly, dropping out after one year.
After a year or so (those were the days when low-skilled young people could still get good-paying unionized jobs) I was able to save up enough to fulfil my dream of a European tour. No BMW motorcycles, and no companion other than people I met on the road, and only for a little over six months, not a year. But it was the start of a life-long adventure of travel, eventually visiting about 40 countries on five continents, and finally settling overseas in a land where it never snows (another dream come true).
I no longer buy the university-vs-travel equivalency theory; those two elements are apples and oranges. And in fact I did eventually earn a university degree, and later a journalism diploma as well. No regrets there.
But the privilege of travel is nonetheless unique; concurrently enlightening and humbling. The traveller sees entire cultures and economic and social systems that are totally different from those he grew up in but which function just as well, maybe a bit better in some ways. He hears intelligent conversations and debates in languages other than his own. He may even witness the evils of war and abject poverty never seen in a country like Canada.
Every parent wants his child to enjoy the privileges he has enjoyed, and see her own dreams come true. My daughter Lukyi already has an independent nature (encouraged by her dad, less so her mum) and her dreams are not all the same as mine were at her age. But I can’t help but be pleased that she yearns to go beyond the boundaries within which she was born and nurtured.
It won’t happen this time; but it will at another time, I’m confident of that.
