How much of what we perceive actually belongs to us?

I have not written for quite some time, well over a month by my count. This is largely due to the fact that I recently gave birth to a smaller version of myself. By that of course I mean my wife gave birth to a smaller version of myself while I sat in the hospital room and waited. Normally I write about things that I like, things that I dislike, or random ideas that spring to mind. But this is a little different than what you might typically see on Jesstival, and might be the only time I write like this - we'll see.

A teacher of mine in high school who had a two-year old child told us that his daughter had begun pointing at something and asking "what's that called?" He described this as a crucial point in a child's life, as it is a key part in how they perceive reality for the rest of their lives. Things as simple as color recognition and knowing the difference between a tree and a dog are the sorts of things we take for granted. We often forget that there was a time when everything was simply a colorless blur. Our teacher suggested that he could tell his daughter that a tree was a dog, and a dog was a tree, and she would grow up believing that a tree was called a dog, likely right up until children at school taunted her for it (or, as he suggested, his wife kicked his ass).

My son is only two weeks old but already he knows there is something different about me. Everyone around him speaks Chinese, but I speak English. Not only do I speak English but I speak with vastly different tones, sounds, and style than anyone speaking Chinese. At two weeks old he has already begun to perceive his world and at this stage in his life one could argue that everything he sees, hears, smells, and feels belongs to him. But does it?

One could argue that, even at two weeks old, this child is being fed a form of reality that we, the parents, or the "other" people choose for him. I could speak Chinese, I could speak like a Chinese person so not to draw attention from the child and possibly confuse him. Just hearing my voice is enough to make him stop crying, stop moving, even stop eating just so he can sit there and listen. He will turn one ear towards me so he can hear me clearly, then he will turn his wobbly head towards me so he can try to make out my shape through his blurred vision, looking right at my mouth even though he cannot make out its details. He will make himself painfully uncomfortable just to get a better chance to listen to me speak.

Would it be fair of me to deprive him of that? I believe not. But it leads me to back to my original point: how much of what we perceive is actually a choice we make, as opposed to an almost instinctual response. How many choices could a 2-week old baby really make? Does he risk hurting his neck because he wants to, or because instinct tells him to? Is instinctive behaviour an indication that our perception is decided before we are even given a chance to develop it ourselves?

Moving on.. When I see a person on the street in tattered clothes with their hand outstretched, waiting on a kind stranger to give them money, I immediately think they are a lazy bum. It does not matter if it's a man, a woman, a man with no legs, or a woman with no arms. That person could have a job. A man with no legs can still use his arms. A woman with no arms can still use her legs. I perceive these people to be lazy before I know their story simply because that's the way it is for me. On the other hand, there are people who feel awful when they see someone in such a state and will do anything they can to help. Other people will simply give money so as not to feel guilty, in some attempt to keep a karmic balance, or for numerous other reasons.

The reality is that everyone perceives this world differently. It is difficult to say one person is wrong and another person is right, and yet we do this every day. That man is wrong for riding his bike through a red light and nearly causing an accident. Maybe he simply does not care for the rules, or maybe his mother is on her deathbed and he is in a mad rush to get to the hospital. Maybe he is running away from a gang of hooligans who wish to do him harm, or perhaps he has some deep desire to cause people anguish. Any of these reasons could exist, but as the person on the outside we will generally jump to a limited number of conclusions.

I look out my window, I listen to my music, I type on my computer, and I can't help but wonder just how much of my world belongs to me.