A Fine Line...

Each day I struggled to find time to write, however, I am always coming across people who write much better than I and whose experiences are much more interesting. Below is a perfect example of which unites the modern Western world to the rooted religious traditions of Pakistan and other Muslim countries. France: Dressed or Oppressed

Passage for the Dreamer

As I haven't had a chance to write, I thought I would share one of my favorite passages. "Some people do not have to search, for they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned. At times I envy them, but usually I do not understand them.... and seldom do they understand me. I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we completely content. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach; we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power and unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests, mountains, deserts, hidden rivers and lovely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as our laughter; to share our sadness with the ones we love is perhaps as great a joy as we know, unless it is to share our laughter. We searchers are ambitious only for life itself and for anything beautiful it can provide. Most of all, we want to love and be loved, to live in a relationship that will not impede our wanderings and prevent our search. We do not want to prove ourselves to others or compete for love. This passage is for wanderers, dreamers and lovers who dare to ask of life everything which is good and beautiful." -anonymous

Burning Bras in Islamabad

Last night, at a gathering amongst coworkers, fellow NGO workers and friends, I found myself questioning what politically correct really means and its relevance to each of us. Among a diverse group of people from all backgrounds, there is no hard and fast rule as to what is right and wrong to say or not say; but rather we simply draw our own lines. Of course, the room is filled with men, and most nearly twice my age. As the drinks flow freely and the company gets friendlier, so goes the conversation. I am surprised at the way in which they react to me, as a young woman. Most things that were asked, said or commented on, would not be applicable to others in the room. “What do your parents think of you being here”, it innocently starts with, and as the night goes on it turns to “So that’s the woman’s perspective” and “I think 5% of the staff of women is ok” and even commenting on my looks as a qualification for the job. Of course, I am not innocent either; I throw out a few republican jokes and a red coat reference. Don’t get me wrong, I very much enjoy the people I work with, they are all well intentioned and, well, working in a war zone, which can really change things. As an outsider, it would be hard to see and feel the effects of being a woman in a suppressed culture unless you are looking for it, and really want to see it. They have mocked and said that it is the feminist coming out, and I can go burn my bra; but the consequences are real, they are emotional and heartbreaking, they are political and tragic, they are the problems of today and it is not something I can sit back and watch. In the office, it is easy to find the line of professionalism and what to accept. Should I not then draw the same line in social settings? It isn’t as easy as it sounds, and I find myself laughing it off, as I know no harm is indented. Does that make it ok? Reading the morning paper, I found that the women members of Parliament here in Pakistan are requesting a 50% quota for female members. I doubt that it will ever pass, but the fact that it can even be discussed is progress. Interestingly, the same article mentioned that the women “held their own” during the budget process, and had done research and responded when necessary. Funny, as some male members of parliament didn’t do a damn thing and no one said a word, yet, the paper needed to comment that yes, indeed, the women are doing their job. I suppose it is more than nothing, I just found it a bit heartbreaking. And of course, the women’s article made it on the 5th page of the lifestyle section, because it isn’t ‘real’ media. As you can tell things are complicated here. Life is good and some days better than others. I work a lot. A lot. Its hard working with a new group of people, trying to learn their style, read their minds, get what they are looking for. It’s also hard to not have any outlets. I usually get home around 8:30pm and crash, maybe have dinner and work out. I’ve met a few people, but the working conditions aren’t conducive to being social, nor is the security situation. I’m realizing how much I have taken my ‘outlets’ for granted. Everything from walking my dog, to venting on the phone, to chatting with my roomies, to chipotle, to happy hour. Here, there is no booze, I eat the same thing every day, my phone is an old school nokia which I can hardly work and I can’t really leave my hotel or the compound. My outlet is the gym, trashy BBC tv and a book when I’m not too tired. I find solace in hope that I am helping make a difference, in some way. I find peace in the never ending questions and the people who continue to search for answers.

Comfort Relativism

Crossing into a place where you are out of your comfort zone and into unknown territory is a feeling both familiar and unsettling. No, not the ‘too close for personal space’ or the ‘get up off me’ feeling. What I’m talking about is the core, what defines who you are and how far you will go for what you believe. At what point do you stop stepping outside of that box and quiver a bit before stepping back in? I suppose you never really know the answer until put into a situation. People seem so impressed, enthralled and taken back that I would spend two months of my life in Pakistan. But what they don’t realize is that I’m not very far out of my comfort zone. Sure, they is a slight fear that the windows of this Marriott are going to blast through any second, but I am in luxury hotel. I am in a luxury hotel while working on a project for people who can’t return to their homes, with people who are afraid every time they step outside, with people who march for justice, but could be shot at any second. When we think about comfort zones we think about them in a personal comparative context. But compare my zone to that of the millions of IDPs (Internally Displaced Persons), doesn’t seem so bad. Heck, I’m living like a queen. Speaking of living like a queen, you know I like to throw in my awkward stories, because, well, it’s my life – so here goes the latest. So, as you know, I’m staying at the Marriott and it has been bombed twice, therefore the staffing and security are ridiculous. The staffing ,I would say, is about 20 to 1. Yes, 20 staff members per guest. This is not an exaggeration, I’m friendly, but I feel like Mr. Roger’s walking out my room greeting the staff in masses. Anyway, because they are over staffed they have different people for each task. Someone to change the mini bar, someone else to fluff the pillows, someone else to bring the newspaper, someone else to clean the shower, ok, you get the idea. Well, I arrive at 4am and tough through it all, go out to lunch with a co-worker, go to the market and return back to my hotel to work a bit. I’m spent, so I lay down to take a nap. After having gotten up two times to answer the door, one for fresh water and one for a new flowers, I assume the brigade that is the Marriott staffing unit has done their duties for the day, so I rest. As I doze off, I hear a noise. Keeping in mind that I have dead bolted my door, I lay back down and assumed I’m just jet legged and over tired. Nope, not true, I lift up my sleep mask (that’s right, I own a sleep mask), and there is yet another Marriott staff member, he nearly throws the plate of fruit in the air as I scream in shock. I am in my dress from the day (which is not appropriate for any man to see me in by cultural standards). When going out I wore the dress, which I am currently laying in with pants and a scarf. “Sorry, ma’am, ah, sorry, sorry”, he says backing out into the door as I ensure my WHOLE body is covered. So, needless to say, I was awake after my encounter with the Marriott man. This is about the equivalent of the repair man catching you coming out of the shower. Oh, don’t worry, that has also happened to me. Now, you might be thinking ‘so, your deadbolt doesn’t work’, yes, I am thinking the same thing. I am meeting with my security director and the manager tomorrow, mean while, I have an escape route planned through my window … kidding. For now I have put the “I like thinks in place” sign outside my door. No, that is not a typo on my end, it is really what the door hangie says and I am assuming it means do not disturb. I thought about writing that on it, but didn’t want to get the wrap as the sassy girl on my first night. So there you have it, a bit of food for thought from me and as always, an awkward travel story. No worries, I’m sure there are plenty more to come, as I tend to thrive in awkward situations. Like today when we were meeting with a Commissioner and his two puppies were licking my crotch, yes, just another day in the life of Anna. No, but really, it is those moments when you are outside your comfort zone, outside what you know to be true, walking down a new path, it is those moments when you learn the most about both yourself and the world. Here is to a new journey and hopefully stepping outside of what I know to be true.