"Doris the Dell"
I had debated on bringing Doris to India. She's been a loyal friend;
logging in many late nights in college with papers and exams, staying
awake with me while I plugged away at emails, and with only a stubborn
'm' key, she's never given me trouble. For being a five-year old,
simple laptop, I can only give Doris, my Dell computer, praise. She's
a trooper, but, could she make the journey to India? Even more,
should she? I spent many pre-India hours debating the issue. I was
coming to India to live simply; I have voiced with my friends our need
to live in solidarity with the poor. Would bringing Doris only
contradict this mission? Would my voice of solidarity be frosted with
hypocracy if Doris was strapped under my arm?
After advice from friends and previous volunteers, they all encouraged
Doris' trek. She would be helpful, they insisted, in pre-writing
emails and newsletters and she'd provide music of home to ward off
homesickness. So, finally, I folded. The selling point was a
friend's observation: keep Doris in my room, not advertise that I had
a computer, and remember she was there for convenience, not necessity.
Ah, Doris' journey was justified.
The first months were successful in keeping Doris' presence unknown.
At night, we'd jam out to tunes, upload pictures and enjoy one
another's company. During the day, she'd sit idly in my room, waiting
for my return. I kept her sleeping as much as possible, to remember
the simplicity I had promised myself, and felt quite pleased with her
private existence.
That was until a friend was preparing a presentation, but the DVD she
needed refused to play on any of the machines. She was stressed, and
running out of options. I immediately thought of Doris. But, I
hesitated. If I expose her, then what? Will my ideals of simplicity
be simply blown away? Would the guilt I was trying to justify finally
surface? Would I become that fancy-dancy American, feeling good with
her charity work while basking in the glories of expensive luxuries?
But, my friend was stressed, and I knew I could help. I took a deep
breath, and mentioned Doris.
"Really??!?!!"
She was overjoyed. I brought the laptop to her office and we tried
the DVD. Pure success. (Like I had any doubts...come on, it's Doris)
That Saturday, I brought the laptop to the community hall and showed
a room full of underprivileged children a movie. Throughout the film
I felt encouraged by Doris' new role. Perhaps she could be a
technological tool: I could use her to assist in events and lectures,
ones that needed the convenience and flexibility a laptop can bring.
What I didn't realize was while I was justifying Doris' use, word was
spreading quickly of her presence.
Not too many days later, a few wardens approached me in hopes to
borrow the computer to transfer music onto their cellphones. I felt
trapped. They knew Doris existed. They knew of her capabilities.
They knew I had no excuse.
"Suuuuuuuuurrrrrrrre," I drawled out. "That'd be ffffffiiiiinnnnne, I
guesssssss," hoping that my hesitation would drop a hint.
Nope. No hint caught. So, I let Doris go for the evening. Her first
sleepover. It would be lie to say I was not lonely that night.
But, she came back in good spirits the next morning, and I was feeling
better and better about her open and known existence. The wardens
were comfortable and respectful in asking to borrow her and my friend
requested Doris' presence at other community functions. I've even
watched the confidence in the girls rise, the more I give them Doris.
They know how to start movies, open various documents and music, and
we've even begun typing lessons. I've learned a lot about sharing
this year, so Doris' active involvement in our community, I thought,
was becoming a symbol of this new learning.
Then it hit.
I didn't expect it. I didn't even see it coming. It just hit.
My true nature.
It snuck up on me, and hit me. Hard.
Doris was being passed from one person to the next. I don't think she
came home for almost a week straight. She was with the wardens, then
with the girls. Back and forth, back and forth she went. Getting
tired of this shenanagens and wanting her home for some R&R, I had
left her with the girls one afternoon, and told them I'd pick her up
by night. So, as I walked up the stairs, I was not surprised to see
the back of 11 heads huddled around a desk. They were watching
another movie. Doris was doing what she does best, and the girls took
full advantage of it. I stopped midway up, though, and snapped:
What is this?, I thought. Another movie? Are you kidding me? Here I
openly give them Doris to use, and they just milk it for all its
worth. I can't believe this! She's mine. I have not had Doris for
days, and here they are using her again. I know sharing is a
beautiful thing of God, but come on. Really. She's mine. I paid for
her. I counted bugs and delivered newspapers for a summer so I could
buy her. I've done the hard work. She's mine. Not yours....
And as quickly as my tantrum came, I realized who was talking. My
greed. My selfishness. My jealousy. My life of power and privilege,
my real understanding of sharing, was coming to the surface. When I
have something to give, I'll give it, until I want to stop. I'll
share, but I'll keep the power of that sharing. I'll stay in power
and keep the freedom to exercise that power when and how I want. And
you. You will learn to be grateful for my generosity.
I was drenched in "I"s and "me"s.
And I was ashamed.
I paused long enough to see the beauty and richness of the scene in
front of me. 11 girls, who, with Doris, have the freedom to watch a
movie when they want. 11 girls who are learning to be self-sufficient
with a computer. 11 girls who live in a world of technology, yet do
not have daily access to exercise their technological knowledge. But,
at least with Doris, they were getting a taste. And best of all, they
were treating Doris as if she was their own. As it should be. What
is mine is yours. Openly and Freely.
So, it dawned on me, what if I had not brought Doris? What if Doris
stayed at home? I remembered what almost kept Doris in America was my
search of solidarity; my need for simplicity. But the actualization
of what I considered 'simple' was a denying of what I actually had:
great access and great freedom to share. Not out of boast or charity,
but from simple understanding and responsibility to get to my
neighbors what is theirs.
There is truth, honor and a desperate need to walk the footsteps of
our fellow man. To try and understand the life lived by others. But
living in solidarity does not mean negating the fact that you've been
given privilege; it's not about denying your circumstance. It's about
mutual enrichment: uplifting those under society's pressure and
degrading atmospheres, while realizing the equalization of the human
race.
I may have worked that summer for Doris, but it was not for myself.
It was so she could be in the hands of all her rightful owners.
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