Ain't that America

This week has been an epic and continuous journey.  With all the activity, it’s hard to believe I’ve been in the states for less than three full days.  Part of that is the fact that I’m sleeping a lot less than usual—there are fun things to do at night, but the jet lag kicks in at dawn, so I’m up bright and early to get on email and try to ping people in Bangladesh before they leave the office for the day.

I’ve only been out there six months, so I wouldn’t expect to have changed much.  Some are funny to me and probably annoying to others.  I’m deliberate about accepting things or handing things with my right hand (which is a bit awkward when I have all my stuff in my right hand so that I can sign something with my left hand, and then pause to switch everything to my left hand before handing the pen back with my right hand), but that will likely fade over the next few weeks.

I was a little sentimental when leaving Dhaka.  It marked the end of the experiment of being there, as when I return I will “live” there.  I signed a 12-month lease on an apartment prior to going.  I went to the Westin Hotel for dinner on the way to the airport—the steak sandwich could have better steak (I’ve been spoiled by my dad’s grilling abilities), but the ciabatta was awesome.  Good to know for desperate moments.  I got on the plane and felt like I was leaving home as well as going “home.”  On my immigration form, I paused for a bit contemplating my country of residence.  Currently I don’t have an address anywhere.  I had a few boxes in NC, a duffel bag in NYC, running clothes in NJ, and two suitcases in Dhaka.  So…..Bangladesh it is.  I was rewarded by the immigrations guy looking at my form in JFK airport (New York) and saying, “Bangladesh?  Is it safe?”  These questions are always dangerous when I’m stepping off a long flight because my patience and politeness is limited.  I responded, “Compared to what?  The Bronx?”  No response.  Silence as he stamped my form.  Welcome “home.”

I had said that one thing I was really looking forward to was starbucks and the concept of millions of permutations of all the customizations you could ask for (we’re got an inalienable right to extra-hot, extra foam, half-caf double shot sugar free syrup whole soy milk coffee beverages, darn it).  I miss the  self-service bar with 10 kinds of sweetener, milk varieties, and then all those spices and what not.  I find it comforting to be able to make my coffee exactly as I want it (at that moment, since it varies on my mood and time of day), without assistance, at my own pace.  Not the ritual I thought I would pine for, but there’s something ingrained in me at this point about the benefits of “do-it-yourself,” which is not really the Bengali way (that’s more, if you can afford to have someone else do it, problem solved).

Case in point: with my backpack, small rolling suitcase, and a duffel bag, I headed towards the subway.  With no one to carry my luggage for me!  My Bengali friends would be horrified.  I got on the train with a bunch of Jet Blue employees who had thick Brooklyn accents and were arguing about whether fantasy football or basketball was more fun.  I wanted to hug them; it was so nice to eavesdrop and here good American English, not the standard accent that one acquires when you’re overseas and talking to a lot of people for whom English is a second language.  This is the good, undiluted, slang-filled rapid fire version of my mother tongue.  Southern accents will be like angels singing at this rate.

I always feel like time for other places stops when I am not there.  When I was last in New York in January, it was covered in snow.  So strange to walk outside on Tuesday and find everyone half dressed, the sidewalks wide and navigable (vs. the little path dug through the drifts), the parks full of people sitting and talking.  Beautiful people!  I don’t think I stare quite as obviously as the guys do in Dhaka (and so far I’ve not yelled “Good morning!” or “Your country please!” at anyone), but certainly take a lot longer to avert my gaze than I used to.  It’s not just that people are beautiful, it’s that they are diverse.  In their coloring, their hair textures and styles, fashions, accessories, gesticulations, language, etc.   It’s a pleasure to take in all the details on each other them since so many are distinct and interesting.

Stuff safely dropped off at a friend’s apartment, and after the first proper hot shower I’ve had since the last time I was in New York City (scalding hot water for 15 seconds followed by cold does not average to a hot shower), I’m ready to embark on a circuit involving three of my favorite things: friends, food, and walking.  I start with guacamole at a trendy bar.  Hold the margarita since I’m fresh off the plane and have gone from drinking in moderation to practically teetotaling.  For dinner there’s sushi.  Lunch is Vietnamese.  I wonder how long I’ll have to be in the U.S. before I eat “American” food.  I repeat guac and sushi for dinner, this time in Williamsburg.  It’s just as tasty the second time.  At the end of the day, it’s these simple details that I “miss,” or perhaps savor with more appreciation right now.  And avocados are awesome.

Normally I get updates on the changes in my friends’ lives in days or weeks, maybe a month when things are really busy, but in this visit the changes disproportionately big to what seems like no time at all.  One couple got married while I was gone, another will be getting married today (Congratulations Pia and Demian!).  During conversations, I find myself more inclined to physically hold onto people while I’m talking to them (I got a few girlfriends to hold my hand!), like they aren’t quite real or I need to reassure myself that I’ve got them there; because there’s less planning in my life in Bangladesh, there is less anticipation.  So I’m more surprised (perhaps more giddy than controlled in my happiness as a result) to have my friend in front of me.  I’m surprised when we hug goodbye and I say, “take care of yourself” and “be safe” as if I feel like the world is a dangerous place.  But certainly the security and stability of life here is not something that’s easy to import to a developing country.  “Inshallah” means that you acknowledge that there is a nontrivial degree of uncertainty in what the future will bring.  The ease with which people plan here, that we map out our lives in stone and have faith in our ability to actualize those desires seems like such a luxury now.  And one that I can slip into very naturally, but a huge leap from what’s normal (as always, from my lens at least) for Dhaka living.

The more I move and the older I get, the more I understand how time deepens relationships.  That there is no substitute for sharing experiences over years in terms of getting to know someone, trust someone, love someone, and understand someone.  My friends in Bangladesh are fantastic, but they are all new friends in that first phase of maturity.  Melanie and I have known each other since we were 20 and had to choose venues for the (at least) weekly guac & margarita nights based on where they didn’t card. Scotty was my pre-frosh when I was a freshman; I was his human alarm clock for years—both by banging on the window of his dorm room in the yard when I wanted company for lunch, and then years later when we were roommates.  Last night I went to Publick House in Brookline with a bunch of folks—Ian, Nina, Claire, Nicole, and Scotty—and it was so incredibly easy.  And fun.  In completely “routine” ways.   I harassed the waiter (who in this case harassed me back with style) and tried to embarrass Claire (now she knows that it’s a sign of my love, so it’s okay).  Nicole and I freaked out over the amazing food.  Scott made fun of me quietly in my ear when I said something rather dumb but no one else noticed (or called me on it).  We geeked out about global health stuff at random intervals (Is Christie Turlington just another celebrity with a cause, or a step above the Sean Penn variety?). We reminisced about all the crazy characters that were in my life when I lived in Boston, and I tried to assure them with animated stories (at one point Scott said he felt like he was listening to a Pixar movie) that I’ve replaced those folks as much as possible with new characters and adventures in Bangladesh.  I struggle, even with a group that’s as well informed, intelligent, and worldly as these folks to paint a picture of Dhaka and my life there that does it justice.  And when distracted by a great local beer (Six point Gemini was a good one, as well as the new Pretty things brew—mystique maybe?), salad with goat cheese, macaroni and cheese, Belgian fries, and a ridiculously juicy burger (yes, we were sharing as a table), it’s even more challenging!  I <3 Bangladesh and certainly try to emphasize what I enjoy about it, but It’s not all rosy; I got wound up when someone made a flippant comment about gender norms the other night at dinner and realized that I’m much more sensitive about these issues now that they prevent me from playing football in a tournament, or walking around at night, for example.  But, lest people think that it’s all sacrifices and no gain, I’m not there for altruistic reasons. I’m there because I’m having fun and like the opportunities it affords.  Sure, I miss the BLTs at Flour Bakery (I was sneaking bites of one while writing this; extra amazing if you add guacamole), the promenade on the river, the book stores where you have thousands of titles at your fingertips and you can sip on a good cup of coffee while leisurely flipping pages, but not in a way that matters.  I can enjoy the peace and calm and opportunities for decadence (sticky buns!) that I have here, because I know that I get to throw myself back into the chaos at the end of the month (inshallah).

Boston people—you all are amazing and it was great to see as many of you as I did!  Wish I’d had more time to spend here.  BE SAFE.  And stay in touch.