When I was younger, I looked at the globe — still unfamiliar with its geography and personality — and thought: “This is the world. This is it. With all the war and selfishness of history, we have arrived at this permanent place in time. The time where everything became what it was forever meant to become.”
In the past year alone, that idealism has shattered. I walked through the streets of Cuba in the spring, the place where time stands upright, only to find that change was a rapid descendant on the island within the year. I watched on a crowded, Istanbul thoroughfare as riot police rounded up a group of protesters. The nation that once had EU prospects would arrest the editor-in-chief of the newspaper for which I worked in a few short months. I lived through the collapse of Detroit, walked through its crumbling buildings, and I now wait for the unfolding of a new renaissance.
The world is anything but static. Since my birth, new countries have taken form. Genocides have rocked entire populations. The rainforest outside my hometown of Jinja, Uganda is a quarter its original size due to deforestation and bad politics. Since I enrolled in college, the Russian annexation of Crimea reopened old rivalries and proved that geopolitics are still in play.
The problem with words like “Third World” and “post-colonial” is that they don’t account for the fluidity of human life, nor do they allow people in Third World countries to seek their own destinies.
Identity is not absolute. It is not formulaic. It is a decision and an essence. I was changed when I hiked 20 hours over two days through the mountains of Bulgaria. I was changed when I rafted the class-five rapids of which I dreamed my whole life. I overcame fears by trekking to rhinos on foot, and I am better for it. I am the Nate Republic, where before I was Natoslovakia.
Yesterday I walked through upper dorm row past my old freshman suite. Because of my car, I rarely need to walk in that direction, and it had been months since I last saw what was, freshman year, my whole world. It seemed familiar, homey and different. Other faces claimed Phillips Hall as their own. The road seemed narrower. I thought back to the first day of NSO, when I thought I had arrived at this permanent place in time.
When I was younger, I did not realize that the mountains we climb change who we are. I thought our identity determined which mountains to choose, not the other way around. But in my silent moments I realize that it is alright to exist without labels. The tectonic plates will move on their own.
__________
Follow Nate Barton on Twitter: @TheNateBarton
