to read - Jaltemba Bay Life

told my father that I believed we argued becausewe miscommunicated. My father agreed; Englishwas his second language and he had a thickHungarian accent that was hard to understand.But, it was more than that—it was more than thespoken word. I realized that our communicationhad a lot to do with our perceptions, experiencesin life, and the way we actually processed thespoken word into a meaning or thought. We tendto think others see the world through the sameprism that we do. But, often we are surprised thatthe interpretation of events, or even somethingas basic as two people speaking to each other,can result in very a different experience ormeaning for each person. This realization led meto conclude that instead of recognizing andworking with this dynamic, I had actually beenintolerant. I thought of the events during mylifetime and those of the world around me andwondered if much of our suffering was rooted inour inability to communicate, our intolerance, andthe false assumptions we often create abouteach other.I made it back to Guayabitos just beforenightfall and felt very sad. That evening in ourapartment, I felt very lonely. Lonely for my father,lonely for Katie, and lonely for being alone.