“Grande Cappuccino!” “Venti Caramel Mocha!” Caught in the coffee chaos at Starbucks, I stand impatiently in line waiting to order my chai latte. As I wait, I glance at the piles of low-fat blueberry muffins and stretch my neck to steal a glimpse at The New York Times. A dark green book catches my eye. I lean over to pick it up and my mundane morning coffee run is interrupted. An African boy around 10, eyes downcast, flip flops hanging off his feet, and an AK-47 slung across his back, is pictured on the cover. Memoirs of a Boy Soldier – the words linger in the drifting smell of coffee and paint a different light on this casual Starbucks trip. Memoirs of a Boy Soldier. The title spins in my head.
The book resonates with my spirit, and I am reminded of a quote I heard on a BBC radio interview. The man being interviewed was Andrew Harvey, and he encouraged young people not to follow their “bliss” (as Joseph Campbell suggested) but to follow their “heartache.
” Discovering Memoirs of a Boy Soldier in Starbucks that day reminded me of this quote, of my bliss and my heartache.
My bliss is writing creative stories about goblins who suffer from dry skin. My bliss is exploring French history and then telling the story of the French revolution from the perspective of a pink French poodle. When I’m in the creative process of writing a story, I want to wake up at dawn and get the day started. Focusing on the world of imagination is a secret passion, one I can slip into during pre-calculus class and when I feel alone in a crowd.
Expressing my feelings in the present moment is difficult due to my introverted personality and the fear of how my words will affect others. Therefore, I take the unspoken words and put them into stories. Writing gives me the opportunity to express my inner world of imagination and feelings. Writing serves as an escape from harsh realities.
But the book I am holding in this line will not be an escape; this book will awaken me to the horrors of war and reveal the cruelties of human nature. I realize I could easily put it down, buy my tea, and return to my world of ACT prep and the latest text message from a friend. This book could be forgotten.
But the boy on the cover haunts me. I pretend I have the power to reach into the photograph and pull him into Starbucks with me so I can buy him a peppermint hot chocolate and see childhood reborn in his eyes.
Since the world of imagination is my bliss, then my heartache is children who are robbed of their chance to experience the world of imagination. As the coffee line moves, I am now one customer away from the counter. I realize the author, Ishmael Beah, and I both write to reveal our inner journeys – a form of therapy through the written word. Reading his book will break my heart but at the same time feed the fire that burns within me, that grows stronger and more vibrant with each story about cruelty toward children. This fire hisses and demands change for the forgotten children of the world.
If I follow my bliss, I could be writing for myself, to show the world my wisps of imaginings. By following my heartache I could contribute to the greater good. I could use my writing to help others, to share the stories of people who have been pushed to the side and cannot speak out themselves. My heartache is the abuse of innocent children, and through writing I can help their voices be heard. I place Memoirs of a Boy Soldier on the counter and order my drink.
Like the author, I want my inner voice to speak powerful words that will in some way, however small, evoke change and bring peace in our world.
