Jaafar Al-Asadi, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer
When people find out my dad and grandfather were both medics, they assume that’s where my interest in becoming a doctor came from. But the truth is, I never really had a big dream or plan. My dad was always working abroad, so he wasn’t around a lot when I was growing up. My grandfather was more of a story than a real person to me; I only heard about him in bits and pieces when people asked about my dad’s decision to become a doctor. He just sort of shrugged and said it was a no-brainer. When I reflect on my own path, I see a problem with this line of questioning: it implies there’s a complete and perfect version of me out there, and I just need to discover or put the pieces together. But that’s not how it works. Instead, all these things have just happened, and now I’m trying to figure out what to do with myself.
I moved around a lot when I was young, not dramatically or anything, but enough that by the time I started in elementary school, I’d already lived in a few different places. There was this one year in small-town Newfoundland that I don’t really look back on too fondly. All I remember is the cold and the feeling of not knowing anyone, with my mom holding things together because my dad was away. It wasn’t some kind of defining moment; it was just another day, then another, and eventually we ended up in Oakville where I’ve basically stayed since.
I didn’t have a lot of stability in where I lived, but what I did have was the ability to speak both Arabic and English, which for a long time made me feel like I was somehow less than fully part of either culture. It took me way too long to see that it’s actually the opposite: carrying those two languages around actually makes me better at figuring out what’s essential and what’s just extra.
I’ve been working in a pain research lab for a couple of years. On the surface, it has nothing to do with any of this, but bear with me. Essentially, the idea behind the lab’s work is that our experience of pain isn’t just about sending a straightforward “ouch!” message from our bodies. Different people respond to the same hurt in very different ways, based on all sorts of factors that have nothing to do with the actual injury. When I first found out about this, it really reassured me, but it took me a while to understand why. I think it’s because it told me that my own background, the moving around, my dad not being around, speaking two languages, isn’t some default set of facts about who I am. It’s more like a bunch of things that I’ve processed and dealt with.
I should say something about Ramadan, which is essentially the most literal example of “built, not born.” Nobody comes into the world knowing how to go without eating on purpose; you get good at it by fasting from 2 p.m. until the next morning for a month each year. Eventually, it stops feeling like a matter of willpower and just becomes a part of who you are. My dad and his dad both do this. Rather than saying I must have gotten this from them, I think what happened is that they showed me how, and that counts for a lot. Some things that seem like they should be a part of who you are don’t ever feel like your own. But the ones you have to decide to imitate? Those are yours.
In all honesty, maybe the truth is that I just had the basic materials, the languages, the family history and the moving around, and then the rest of what seemed like “me” was stuff I made up along the way. I don’t know if I’m supposed to get full credit for this or not. But I’m also pretty sure I didn’t just get it all handed to me.
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