We are an ocean of peace

I woke up today with my feet sore, the morning misty, and as always, the loud music of vallenato from a neighbour’s house on the next valley, amplified by the slopes of the hill. 

Still calling northern Colombia home, it has been eight months since I first set foot on the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó. The context of the Colombian peace process has escalated significantly, yet the situation on the zone remained worrisome.

Despite the announcement of a peace accord to be signed by March 23, and for the FARC insurgency to give up their weapons and demobilise into society, many issues remain unresolved.

Last week was a particularly rough week, with two physically demanding accompaniments to Mulatos as well as Arenas Bajas, both at opposite directions from La Union, a settlement belonging to the Peace Community of San José de Apartadó in which I currently am based.

Both these accompaniments were petitioned due to reports of increased presence of armed actors in the zone – paramilitaries, militaries and FARC guerillas.

Working on the ground, however, is much more than just following the development of peace processes, escalation of conflicts or analysis of movements of armed actors. It has been eight months now since I learned to trudge the muddy path leading up to home, sometimes on foot, other times by mules or horses – eight months now that my musical play-in guitar has been shaped by the tiple and ranchera-style of my neighbour.

"Gloria el sendero de paz, se abrió la luz brillante de la neutralidad."

The phrase flies out of my mouth so easily now while I strum the simple sets of chords (the first, second and third of Re). Strange, back in Malaysia I never knew how to play music. I never spoke Spanish. How things change, how people develop.

In the eight months I have been here, riding mules (and being thrown off them) towards different parts of the mountainous zone, passing through militaries on the way to do my weekly groceries, hiking home drenched wet no longer feels unfamiliar.

However, some aspects of life still remain unnerving and will never be something I get used to – having discourses with armed actors on their proximity to civilians, or sometimes simply witnessing the look in people's eyes as they confide to me about the deaths of their loved ones, a massacre or their experience of being kidnapped by armed groups.

It is strange to be where am I today, and though my feet are sore and my body is aching from a week's worth of bad night hammock sleep, I am happy and my spirit is nothing short of alive.

If Viktor Frankl talks about a man’s search for meaning, I find meaning here, and I found a reason away from home to be present – for peace.

However, I also write this with a slightly wistful feeling because soon, I will no longer call this place home. Soon, I will be replaced by another, someone who will equally appreciate the connections and lessons in this community, someone who will find equal meaning in their accompaniment to this small peace community.

This is the downside of peace work, that our presence is not permanent. That it is not my resistance, that I am after all, just an observer.

Nevertheless, if there is a lesson from these eight months, I would have it be this: as individuals, it is easy to feel small, to feel that positive impact is something difficult to create and impossible to sustain. However, if there is something you believe in, do all you can to support that in which you believe, and all that matters to you.

You are not a tiny droplet in the ocean. You are the ocean. – October 27, 2015.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insider.