This 12th October, 2016 is a fabulous parallel to the conflicts I find within my identity.
On the one hand, today is Yom Kippur - Day of Atonement. Observant Jews, and many secular ones as well, have been fasting since yesterday afternoon. It is 26 hours of no food, drink (even water), smoking, driving, fun... It is the time to reconsider the last year, become aware of one's mistakes and wherever we may have injured others; a time of honest soul-searching whilst hoping that God will consider us worthy of being in the book of life for another year.
Here, in Israel, the country is at a standstill - there are no cars on the roads, no radio or television broadcasts, no open businesses, no music, no groups of people sharing a fag. Not only are many people fasting, but the whole nation is remembering also the beginning of the Yom Kippur War, a conflict that was both psychologically and politically decisive for the country and the world at large.
In Spain, where I was born and raised, today is a national holiday - 12th October is known as Día de la Hispanidad, when they celebrate the arrival of the Castilian caravels to the American coasts. In Spain, it is a day of pride, whereas in the Americas, where it is know as Columbus Day or Día de la Raza, it is seen as a day of mourning, prelude to genocide and loss of identities, communities and lives.
In Zaragoza, the specific city where I was raised, it is El Día de la Virgen del Pilar. It is the feast day in honour of Our Lady of the Pilar, patroness & protector of Zaragoza, and by extension, of all of Spain and the Hispanic peoples. Back there, the festivities last a full week - music, street parties, drinking, animal torture, carousing, and La Ofrenda de Flores: a celebration of Catholic faith, tradition and colour.
And I am all of these and all of that. Being in some sense of each and every tradition, I have to find a balance between them, create a myth that can encompass all my parts, define a new whole. Aware that it is all made up, that really all tradition is but a common celebration to identify the self as part of a group, I have to acknowledge and accept my group-less-ness. Like my surname, I am a hyphenation of identities; a construct of heritages I choose to carry along and self-define by.
Some sections of those pasts and societies I take pride in, some less so. Similarly, I often find myself having to justify one aspect of myself to another, as none completely comply, leaving behind a residue of anger and guilt, tempered by honesty and faith.
More and more people, I find, are like me. Growing numbers of humans whose histories, and/or those of their parents, families, friends, have grown so far beyond the boundaries of nation, religion, education or media that they have had to birth themselves new identities, new truths, new definitions. Some do so by opposition to the old, some by association to the new, some by constant doubt.
I aim for balance.
Every day, like a good cook, I produce a new recipe of me; every day, the ingredients and spices are a bit different. Yet, day by day, I nurture my self, my truth, with action rather than reaction. Because I am part of all these traditions and aspect, and I choose to remain part, and not apart.
One, singular, unique; One, always part.
