Be Seen

In Director Edoardo Ponti’s The Life Ahead, his mother, Sophia Loren, played Holocaust survivor Rosa, who takes care of the children of former prostitutes in Italy. Her ward is 12-year-old Momo, played by Ibrahima Gueyc, who had stolen from Rosa in the past.

6-year-old Momo, a nickname for Mohammad, had witnessed his father murder his prostitute mother. Renato Carpentieri played Dr. Coen, who runs the orphanage that houses Momo. Master thief Momo is the star marijuana dealer for nefarious drug czar Spacciatore, played by Massimiliano Rossi.

Dr. Coen leverages a favor of Rosa to look after Momo for a few months. Rosa, who’s in her 80s, suffers her own physical infirmity. In this telegraphed narrative, she’s dying. Strong-willed, generous Rosa tolerates no bullshit from the children under her watch.

In Ugo Chiti’s screenplay based on Roman Gay’s book: What could the Jewish Holocaust survivor and African Muslim child thief possibly have in common? Well, not much. Yet, they see each other. That’s the sublime beauty of The Life Ahead: being seen.

Momo camouflages behind a callous facade. He suffers his invisibility, believing in the bigger picture, he doesn’t matter. When one of the children in Rosa’s home reunites with his mother, Momo feigns aloofness. As he sits crying on his bed, Rosa sits down behind him. She says, “I’ll miss him, too.” Momo gently holds Rosa’s hand.

In her tragic decline, Rosa shares with Momo the postcard she held as a little girl in the German concentration camp. It’s a painting of a beautiful mimosa field. Rosa had endured the unimaginable with her postcard.

Later, Momo gifts Rosa with artificial mimosa. He couldn’t find real ones. Rosa says that’s the greatest gift she’s ever gotten. She hugs Momo in her arms. She says, “You’re a good boy.” Momo cries. Momo and Rosa see each other. They know that the other sees them, too. They see each other as someone who matters in the world.

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In the end, Rosa passes away. Her friends will care for Momo in her passing. Momo knows that Rosa saw him. He got Rosa’s love. More than mimosa, being seen might be the greatest gift on Planet Earth.

We all want to be gotten in life: Have others get what it’s like to be us. We also want to be seen as someone who matters in this life. In the closing song, Seen written by Diane Warren, Laura Pausini sings the lyric: I want you to know that you’re seen.

Growing up as a little boy, I was never good enough for Dad. As hard as I tried, I was invisible to him. I didn’t matter. That wounded me more than all the yelling or shaking. Consequently, I spent most of my adult life proving that I mattered. Proving that I was worthy of being seen, worthy of being loved.

The late Mizukami Sensei taught me Aikido and what it is to be a good man for over 25 years. Sensei got who I was. He saw me. From the time I was a white belt to Yondan (4^th degree black belt) when he passed away, our relationship evolved. Sensei was the most important man to me on Planet Earth. Nothing but mad love and respect to Mizukami Sensei.

We drove back from an Aikido Dojo’s 25^th Anniversary Dinner in Van Nuys, CA. Using my car navigation system, I kept missing the on-ramp to the 101 Freeway to go home. Sensei said, “Jon, can’t you just follow the damn directions?” I said, “I guess not.” We both laughed. I knew that Sensei saw me. I saw him, too.

Years ago, Sensei and his wife Alyce took care of their 12-year-old granddaughter Courtney, who stayed with them for several months. At the time, Courtney and her Mom, Sensei’s daughter, constantly clashed. While Courtney stayed with her grandparents, Sensei brought her to Aikido class. Sensei asked me to teach Aikido to Courtney. I was the only one he wanted to teach her. He said, “It’s really tough on her. Makes you wanna cry.” Sensei teared up. He saw Courtney. I saw Sensei. Sensei had the biggest heart, although he let very few know that. Just saying.

Courtney was the middle daughter of the family. Her older sister was very pretty and very smart. Her younger sister garnered all the attention in the family. I got that Courtney hated on herself. She didn’t give herself a break. I was Courtney when I was her age. I saw Courtney. I taught and healed for both of us.

Courtney was stronger and smarter than she knew herself to be. In Aikido, we worked on that. She got the love that Sensei and I had for Aikido. She put in the work. She ground it out. She had fun. She was good at Aikido. In the bigger picture, Courtney opened up to the possibility of loving and forgiving her own self.

A few years ago, I had dinner with Alyce at her home. Mizukami Sensei had passed away several years before. Alyce said that Courtney was married and had two daughters. I said, “Yeah, Courtney was smart and tough. She would have been good at Aikido.” She smiled, “Courtney is a good mom.” I smiled, too.

Courtney got that she was seen by Sensei, by me. In the bigger picture, that made a difference. Now as a mom, maybe Courtney sees her daughters, too. She lets them know that they matter, that they have nothing to prove. They are loved.

Perhaps the greatest gift we can bestow upon others is letting them know that they are seen, that they matter. The late Fred Rogers said, “You don’t have to do anything sensational to be loved.” You don’t have to do anything extraordinary to be seen, too. Just saying.