In light of the recent violence towards muslims and the Rohingya in -urma, this incisive reading came to mind....

"....But almost always, during the initial stage of the struggle, the oppressed, instead of striving for liberation, tend themselves to become oppressors, or "sub-oppressors." The very structure of their thought has been conditioned by the contradictions of the concrete, existential situation by which they were shaped. Their ideal is to be men; but for them, to be men is to be oppressors. This is their model of humanity. This phenomenon derives from the fact that the oppressed, at a certain moment of their existential experience, adopt an attitude of "adhesion" to the oppressor. Under these circumstances they cannot "consider" him sufficiently clearly to objectivize him—to discover him "outside" themselves. This does not necessarily mean that the oppressed are unaware that they are downtrodden. But their perception of themselves as oppressed is impaired by their submersion in the reality of oppression. At this level, their perception of themselves as opposites of the oppressor does not yet signify engagement in a struggle to overcome the contradiction; the one pole aspires not to liberation, but to identification with its opposite pole.

 In this situation the oppressed do not see the "new man" as the person to be born from the resolution of this contradiction, as oppression gives way to liberation. For them, the new man or woman themselves become oppressors. Their vision of the new man or woman is individualistic; because of their identification with the oppressor, they have no consciousness of themselves as persons or as members of an oppressed class. It is not to become free that they want agrarian reform, but in order to acquire land and thus become landowners—or, more precisely, bosses over other workers. It is a rare peasant who, once "promoted" to overseer, does not become more of a tyrant towards his former comrades than the owner himself. This is because the context of the peasant's situation, that is, oppression, remains unchanged." 

- Pedgagogy of the Oppressed, Paulo Freire

Handwriting

Today, I struggled to find a functioning pencil, and when I did, I couldn't find a pencil sharpener. I finally remembered where my old Panasonic pencil sharpener was, but the batteries were dead. I considered sharpening it with a knife, per BF's suggestion. Luckily, I found a mechanical pencil instead! As I started to write notes on a scratch pad, I became cognizant of my own handwriting. It looked unfamiliar, detached. As if I hadn't seen my own handwriting in a long time. As I was writing, I felt like I was watching someone else write the words "# of study villages", "population of study villages", etc....

Bye Bye Uggs

It's been great knowing you since the 9th grade! We shared many camping trips, diving practice, and quick trots to the market in the evening when it was chilly . I will miss you.

Guilty dog video

I love this video. I forgot that dogs can exhibit guilt. I want a dog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8ISzf2pryI

the regularness of irregularity

In this small, dust-covered town of Manipur, which fortunately shares the same climate as southern California, power comes on erratically a couple hours a day. And the locals contend that it is the corrupt, semi-autonomous state government's fault, who sells the electricity to their neighboring states, swelling up their personal coffers, and bullying the citizens into submission by ostentatiously driving around in really big military vehicles and flashing their guns. Probably true, but I don't have the time to investigate the facts. Though I have seen the big wheels and big guns. I'm too busy training medics by candle-light. Despite the regularity of having irregular power, the residents still find it alarming when the power goes out abruptly. I am sitting in my guesthouse and I was typing away and enjoying using the wireless modem on AC mode when the lights flickered out and a roar of human distraught/comedy wailed through town, and in through my window, to my amusement. The noise resembled something like a cross between a wail made by a crowd of eager futbol fans whose team just missed a goal and a moan coming from a group of boys who just witnessed a girl's dress fly up in the wind. Odd. That after so many years of consistent disruption in their lives, that they still react. And now there is a silence that cuts through this town, which is quickly replaced by generators working hard to provide a steady white noise for me to fall gently asleep to....Good night.

lover

i wish my lover is thinking of me right now and calls me soon.

Random updates 2010

How do we expect people to think critically about
public health problems if they've only learned to be functionally literate?

We've got way too many male squash flowers.

Children see in black in white, adults see in grey tones.

When will I be able to commit to having my own pet dog?

See photo of my spelunking:

Fortune was told

Today I was having a conversation with the resort owner about including more vegetables in our meals, and then he asked me if I was happy with somtam. I thought he was talking about green papaya salad, so I said yes, I love Somtam and it makes me happy. "No! not somtam! No! Are you happy sometimes?" I smiled and emphatically said yes! most of the time. He told me the mole on my right cheek is preventing me from being happy. Wow, my mother has been telling me this for years. Is this an Asian thing? He subsequently took my hands into his and stroked the tips of my longest fingers, saying I had a difficult childhood and that is why my second and fourth fingers are uneven. It made me think about my parents divorce, being burned by scalding water, being separated from my sister, in an orphanage, and sojourning to the US and not knowing a single soul. He proceeded to tell me that he could see from my hands I help many people and that no one helps me in return. And so because of this, I should never expect people to pay me back or help me. I thought well, that is pretty reasonable. Could be just good advice, something I'll totally heed. He did reassure me, though, that when I hit rock bottom, someone will be there to pick me up. At which my new coworker, concerned about my destiny, invited me to stay with him if I am ever having problems. Glad that is covered! He also told me that I am a bullheaded person and that when I want something, contrary to the advice that my friends and family might proffer, I will go for it. He nailed that one. Then he got into the juicy stuff and told me that I have two people who are in love with me right now. I asked him who they are because clearly I've been left out in the dark. He proceeded to tell me that I am not really good at saving money. I was starting to not want to believe him. And that I also have a sixth sense and can occasionally know things are going to happen before they happen. OK, now he's becoming my friend again. And that I have a very deep secret only in my heart which makes me very sad and nervous.

hanging

Some of the best times i have here in MS is just hanging with Cate and taking pictures of random dogs. We've come up with a classification system of the thai dogs: Burger, BFF, and Polio Dog. How many degrees of separation are they away from these 3 dog types? we ask ourselves. Then we dash for the dogs and take numerous photos. It's raging fun. Then we go and look at random T-shirts.
This one is definitely 1 degree away from Burger with his scruffy factor. It was so sad, why was he eating poo on the road? I didn't know dogs eat poo.

Then we came across two little puppies. They were many degrees of separation from the 3 dog types, but their puppiness still warranted a pull over and oogling.

an afternoon at the beach

-rayon shawl passes by

-handkerchief bandana passes by

-tribal henna tatto passes by "Not permanent! Only lasts 2 weeks!"

-duvet cover floats by

-bamboo flute passes by, music emanating

-leather braided shell bracelets pass by

-curtains stroll by

-roasted corn on stick passes by

-rayon shawl passes by again

-oversized oriental motif fan walks by, dramatically thrust open for details of oriental motif to be seen

-fried broad beans pass by, with a few, eerily, almost landing in my hand without my volition

-rayon shawl passes by, again

-linen sundress walks by, i'm tempted. the white ones always tempt me.

-the musical bamboo passes by playing a different tropical tune

-wooden carved lamp passes by

-wow, an oversized carved wooden wall clock but designed like a wristwatch walks closely by.

my dream vacation

when i'm not working these days, my mind daydreams about the vacation i will finally be taking at the end of may. agenda: yoga, warm crystal aqua green waters, spa, watch DVDs, read, surf and access to internet (just to check a few work related emails in the morning after my breakfast and coffee). or maybe i'll hit the beach first and then come back to a nice and lazy afternoon.

How I will achieve immortality

Lobby the Committee of Small Body Nomenclature of the International Astronomical Union to have an asteroid named after me.

vomiting

The only reason I know that Valentine's Day is coming up is because all the toy stores along the main drag are vomiting oversized stuffed animals out their doors in the shape of hearts and teddy bears and flowers, in very conspicuous colors like red and pink and hot pink, hot red! Red Hello Kitty heart-shaped dolls, heart-shaped pillows, pink non-descript shaped-somethings are spilling onto the sidewalks. I zip by these stores on my bicycle, with absolutely no reason to stop. As much as I would love to meander into one and peruse all the knick knacks they sell (which I actually enjoy doing if I have a few minutes to procrastinate), I've got more practical things to shop for - 2,500 small plastic medicine ziplock bags, some string, a bed net, toothpaste...On other occassions, when I have more free time and I do get a chance to take a 'brain break', I like to look at the endless quantities of either fake Lesportsac wristlet clutches or coin purses or cell phone doilies that cost a dollar or so. This activity makes me very happy. Sometimes on a hot day, I'll indulge in a bowl of Thai jelly dessert served over crushed ice or I'll get real Thai iced coffee brewed with a sock, served in a plastic bag and stroll the aisles and just buy something. Shopping here does not break the bank. Shirts cost a few bucks, a pair of jeans can cost 5 bucks. Other times, I'll go over to the store next to the air-conditioned coffee shop in town because there is a miniature pomeranian there and go over play with the dog. The store owner probably thinks I'm a little coo coo because I squeal just a little too loud every time I see the dog, but it's pretty darn cute. When it was a puppy, it fit in the palm of my hand. And my hands are small.

a ghost encounter

Today I had an encounter with a ghost. And it was my friend.

I met an extraordinary man a few years ago, here in Thailand. He came out here to train some of our jungle medics in trauma surgery. We had so many wonderful talks about Buddhism, life, commitments. We had our share of moments of being intoxicated, literally and figuratively. We went our separate ways. I stayed working in Asia; he went to head a Doctors Without Borders hospital in Sudan. Then a few weeks before we were going to meet up in Los Angeles, I received an email from his brother. My friend was found dead in his hotel room, his cause of death was unknown. I was devastated, sad. Life went on however, I thought about him periodically. I still do. I thought about the book he forgot to give me the name of that impacted his outlook on life, his philosophy.

Today, I logged into my gmail account. And on the left sidebar that shows all your friends who are available for gmail chat, appeared his name, with the green dot next to it, indicating that he's available for chatting. I froze. Was it him? I didn't dare write anything to him, in case it wasn't him, I didn't want to be disappointed.

If it really was you, Bryan, I'm thinking of you.

One word, two words

I attended an opening ceremony today for a maternal and child health program follow up training. It's traditional that one representative from each organization and/or district present make a speech. My favorite speech, of the few that were translated into English, was given by one of my favorite medic leaders.

He started out by saying, "When I talk, I may sound angry, but I'm not angry, just warning you...." and he subsequently broke into a very emotive and touching sermon-like oratory.

"One word brings us all here together: HOPE" And I nodded in agreement, and looked around the room to study the facial expressions of all the women medics at the ceremony, wondering, "Are they driven by this as well?"

And then he continued..."We are here to make change and to develop our communities, but we will face many challenges, difficulties, and barriers". An immediate roster of examples started forming in my brain like a Top 20 hottest celebrity couples of 2008.

He ended by saying, "But the one word that will help us overcome all these: LOVE." Period.

His words made me very very happy and inspired. It was one of those moments that made me love what I do and appreciate so much the people who I get to work with.

Tagore

The first time I learned about Tagore (or so I thought) was when I was in Calcutta last September, for work. I was strolling along Sudder Street, and there was this bust of this old man and the caption said that he used to hang out on this street and write a bunch of his poems. I was like, "cool". Whatever, I was more interested in taking a photo of the leathery old Indian man standing next to the bust. A week later, I'm reading an article in Harpers and it makes a reference to Tagore's poems. I thought, "How coincidental! I just happened to be in India where he used to hang out. Cool". But! A few weeks later, my best friend gives me a birthday card, and I was carefully reading her words since she always says the most thoughtful and heartwarming things in cards (not your typical "OMG, I love you! Let's be BFFs forevs!" stuff), and at the bottom of the card, there was a couplet written by no other than Tagore! Right then, I got the chills, and I told my friend Katy about the two previous instances with my Tagore encounters. I didn't put 2 and 2 together, but she did. She said, "Linda, you know what this means? Tagore is speaking to you. You must buy his book or read his poems and figure out what he is trying to tell you." Oooh, that gave me another set of chills.

So, I was resolved on buying a book by him. Of course, a few weeks go by, and I completely forgot about Tagore. I even had ordered a few books on Amazon.com and didn't even think to buy Tagore's poems. Well, I'm up at my parents house a few weeks later, where I store some of my stuff. I'm going through a few boxes, looking for old photos. I come across a box full of books, and I'm going through them really quickly, trying to prioritize which ones I can take home and make fit in my new bookshelf. I'm tossing books out left and right and there is one in particular, with a Korean title, and I was like, no way, it's probably one of my Mom's books from her literature club or something, toss that aside. I make a pile of the few books I'm going to take home and when I look at the pile to assess if it's too many for me, I notice the Korean titled book that I tossed aside is sitting on top of the pile. Just as I was about to toss it aside again, I look a little closer at the title, and it says "Tagore". Bam. There it is. Tagore just lands in my hands. Chills run down my spine, real bone-chilling chills this time. I open the book up gingerly, half thinking that some crazy light force was going to blaze out of the book, like when they open up the Ark in Indiana Jones.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, there's a caption my Mom wrote in Korean when she gave me the book 5 years ago. Translated, it says "So that my daughters can be loving daughters, love Mom". I never remember her giving me the book back then and it takes five years and a journey halfway around the world to finally accept her gift and the words of Tagore. Specifically, these are the Gitanjali poems.

I delve into the Gitanjalis, thinking big things, like they're going to tell me if I need to go back to school, or I'm going to find the love of my life or give me answers to what my purpose on this Earth is. But they don't. Yet, I'm not discouraged. I remember what my Mom has told me, particularly in reading Hesse. "You need to read Hesse every 10 years. What you get out of reading Hesse at age 20, will be different from what you learn from Hesse at age 30, and 40, and so on. " And so that is the approach I'm taking with Tagore.

One Gitanjali, #48, stands out in particular for me at this point in my life:

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went our our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shephered boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid msyelf down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distnat blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered greem gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

The journey is just as important, if not more, as the endpoint, the arrival. What's the point of reaching your goals, or getting what you want if the process to get it wasn't fun, beautiful, appreciated? I just need to stop and smell the roses. In concrete terms, this means I will take a few days this year and head down to the islands of Thailand (which are so close to me) and actually wear my two bikinis that I bought and haven't worn yet. And of course, this poem is telling me about love, but I don't want to write about that now. That's for later to share.

potlucks

Ahh...reminiscing the days of grad school and thursday night potlucks...

some pics

Another latrine pic. Also serves as shower. Like you haven't seen enough latrines and dogs already.




Church deck floor made of bamboo.











Skinny tree produces absurd quantities of papaya. They knock the tree down to get the fruit. I'm not sure if it's because they don't have a fancy ladder, or the tree dies once the fruit gets picked. Probably the former.

Language lessons finally

I'm embarrassed to admit, but after so many years I've finally committed to learning urmese.
Today I learned how to read and write "the fat elder sister dances every night". MAMA WA NYA NYA KA. Easy, right? And I can also say "Really, I'm not lying!" TE GEH MA NYAAR BU! You're probably thinking that these phrases might not be the most practical, but you never know when these might come in handy for me. It's actually a really beautiful language to the ears, one that ranks high up there for me like the Dutch language. And like Korean, you have to memorize the different gender/age titles and conjugate the verbs according to who you are and to whom you are addressing. And although it's difficult to write the letters, I always get a kick out of looking at the words. Each character reminds me of people in different positions because there are a lot of circles and sticks. And then there's the character that...OK imagine a guy naked, lying supine, knees up and you're looking at him from down below, as if you're an ObGyn. Always get a kick out of that one... OK, back to practicing the script and working on some malaria data.

2007, in like a few words

"Are you a MexiCAN or a MexiCAN'T?" -Once Upon a Time in Mexico