Lost Month

This blog has been sorely ignored. And while I have not formalized an entry or jotted down a rough draft on a napkin, or hell, even really thought about what I'm going to write, I didn't want the month of April to disappear like that of March. I hope then this doesn't become word vomit. I feel a strange penchant to wax about my ever shifting moods and uncertainties than to try and contemplate a real issue. But I know this is what private notebooks (for the love-of-god not a diary) and friends (such accepting, patient people) are for. In the end, I missed the blog.

My silence has not been for lack of inspiration, but my writing efforts have been stretched in other areas, such as thesis research, magazine articles, job and fellowship applications, feeble attempts at fiction and ugh, business plans. I have little left to give. And my preference to focus a post on a particular topic, one that isn't solely about well, yours truly, has posed an obstacle. Because I'm lazy and rambling is easy. But I had a list in my head, really. For example, in writing an article about intellectual property rights for a local magazine, I became more acquainted with the oppression that is Jordan. Three journalists have recently gone to jail for writing criticisms about the government (don't quote me on the exact details of this, look it up for yourself to verify if you plan to disseminate). Every minister I interviewed at one point opened up to me about the "real" problems they faced in their working life. Lack of organization, coordination, corruption, yet, always followed by an "this is off the records" disclaimer. And each interview ended with a rehearsed-sounding thanks to the King and the Cabinet and a plea to view the article before it went to print. Because people can get in real trouble here. Fast.

I took a trip to Chile and was startled at how accustomed I had become to the Middle East. I realized that I love the Western life-style. The ability to imbibe substances without guilt, to wear tank tops without stares, to kiss your partner without question, to protest, to stand-out in a crowd. These liberties that I tentatively indulged in again, which I hadn't even realized were lost to me, made it difficult to leave. Yet my time here has taught me more than I ever imagined. That if you open yourself, every place, from Nebraska to Saudi Arabia, has worlds to tell you. And I'm brought back to that age old truth I seem to cling to, which is perhaps not true for everyone, but is for me, that real knowledge is painful. Much like one might suffer for their art, I think one suffers to understand. Like being interrogated for two hours by Israeli airport security, at 2 am, nearly missing my flight. A little inconvenience and strangely humiliating to be singled out and repeatedly asked to justify my decisions, my actions, my existence. I feel though vaguely, oh so vaguely what it must be like for others, for Palestinians who try to enter the US with all their paperwork in order, and yet are made to strip naked and stand in a room while people examine them. Simply for who they are.

For those of you who pushed through to the end of this tangential novella, my real intention was to egoize, as much as I tried to deny it. I have no idea what I want from life beside a few fundamentals, such as travel and learning. While normally I would be scrambling to plan for the year ahead without considering what might actually be best, I'm hoping to step back. I'm hoping my applications fall through and that I'm forced to wait without any idea. Limbo is one of the scariest realities for me. So I hope to practice what I preach and suffer through my fears in order to understand what I'm doing in this life. To stop making blind decisions based on security and even spontaneity, to eke-out some calm and perspective.

"Even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God." --Aeschylus.