“Rage is caused by a conviction, almost comic in its optimistic origins, however tragic in its effects, that a given frustration has not been written into the contract of life.” – Alain de Botton
It’s 8:00pm, you’ve just finished getting ready for your big date. You’re about to open the door when your phone rings. It’s them, they can’t make it.
Why?
You’re at the waiting room. You’ve been there for 4 hours, in expectation. The doctor comes out of the operating room. Their face is grim.
Why?
You’ve cast your vote, you’ve been expecting the results. The fate of your country rests on this election, and it seems clear which is for the best. The results are announced, and it seems it was only clear to you.
Why?
All these situations have two things in common. They fill you with a sense of confusion and frustration. You want to know the reason, you wonder why... but the answer doesn’t come. Sometimes, it never comes. Sometimes… there is no answer. You’re left lost and alone, in a world that, for a brief moment, doesn’t make any sense.
Welcome to Venezuela.
Why?
Because this is a country where the senseless has become the norm. Where self-harm is practiced by society at large. Where our tormentors are hailed as saints by those who suffer the most. Where the new rich classes ride on the shoulders of those too famished and tired to think of something more.
Why?
Because the regime has weaponized uncertainty and unknowing. A fog of war has been cast over each and every one of us through media. They’ve taken control of all TV broadcast stations, scared all radio-stations into self-censorship and wage the Twitter-war like the best of ‘em. Some know who we can’t trust, but nobody knows if there’s someone left to trust.
Why?
Because the political leadership on both sides is one and the same. Each day it becomes more obvious that authoritarian commies flank us from both sides, betraying us at every turn, nourishing the flame of rebellion on one side so that they can douse it on the other, leaving us sad, tired and disappointed. Making each and every one of us unable to trust anyone.
Why?
Because if we can’t trust anyone, we can’t trust ourselves, and without our combined strength, we’re powerless against the military and political machinery.
And I’m no different
Everywhere I see, I find somebody to blame. The cashier at the supermarket that works without enthusiasm (at a job that doesn’t pay enough to feed their children). The mechanic that fixes one thing but breaks another to keep me coming (because he’d starve if I didn’t). The kids asking for money to eat everytime I sit down at a restaurant, making me avoid exterior seats.
The policemen that kidnapped my best friend for 6 hours just to get $500 out of him. The drug dealers he had to borrow it from.
The politicians running the show.
Work, I say! Get up and work! Stop looking for easy ways out and work! For country and brethren and yourselves, work!
And I think it as if it were so easy. As if I hadn’t been refused jobs online for my nationality countless times. As if I didn’t know no honest work is enough to feed a family in this country of mine.
Why? Why is it this way? Why have those in power endeavored to diminish, enslave and torment those who they reign over, who chose them to escape the clutches of “the gringo capitalists” that had taken control of the country in their eyes all those years ago?
Why is it so hard for the masses to see the truth? Why can’t they see their leaders get fatter and prettier in their Gucci suits and Dior shoes? Why can’t they see through the veil?
And from my anger and frustration, hate is born. Hate towards those who torment me, hate towards those who suffer alongside me, hate towards those outside who don’t help us.
Hate towards not understanding the evil in the hearts of those responsible.
Hate towards my country.
Hate towards myself, for greedily drinking in the resentment as if it were the manna preserving my life.
Hate towards myself for not knowing what else to do.
My rage is born from being in the dark.
But hate and rage do nothing but poison the soul. That much is obvious and widely known.
As I prepare to leave, and try to deal with these feelings, I’ve turned towards philosophy to find answers, and it is with the stoics that I’ve found some solace.
Famous roman stoic Marcus Aurelius, who happened to also be the emperor, began each day with a sort of mantra. I’ll let him tell you about it himself:
“Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I shall be meeting with interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness – all of them due to the offenders’ ignorance of what is good or evil. But for my part I have long perceived the nature of good and its nobility, the nature of evil and its meanness, and also the nature of the culprit himself, who is my brother (not in the physical sense, but as a fellow creature similarly endowed with reason and a share of the divine); therefore none of those things can injure me, for nobody can implicate me in what is degrading.”
In other words, know the nature of society and the world, and that men and women alike are enslaved by their own ignorance. Rise above through self-reflection and education, and steel yourself against the attacks upon your psyche orchestrated by that which may only degrade you.
The world may not be in my control, but my mind and soul can be. And that is the strength that’s been carrying me forward for the last couple of months. Do what you can, and for what you can’t, worry not.
You may not control your circumstances, but don’t be their victim.
If you dislike the hate, don’t give yourself to it. If you know it hurts you, don’t let it continue.
Yes, I'm telling you to meditate and be chill. This took me 23 years to get.
As Epictetus, another notorious roman stoic who lived a good chunk of his life in slavery, once said:
“Circumstances don’t make the man, they only reveal him to himself.”
Learning to Leave is a series published every tuesday on the feelings, anecdotes and thoughts of a soon-to-be expat.
Header image made from Adam Sacco's 3D render of William Blake's The Great Red Dragon and this picture of El Avila, Caracas' signature mountain.