Seriously, it's that time again?

For some reason, my birthday stresses me out.  It's a lot of pressure to be happy all day, excited all day, and I just worry that having high expectations for a day that's really just like all others sets you up for disappointment.    So, since I'm not on facebook or other things that alert the world to my birthday, I had a genius plan: I would just be completely mum about my birthday and it would pass unnoticed.  I'd get emails, that would make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, and it'd be anxiety free.

It didn't quite work out like I planned.  My boss texted me in the morning to see if I was taking the day off.  I considered, but the prospect of the day off when it's really hot and everyone I know is well, working, seemed less than fun.  So I went into the office.  Where my co-worker Venita greeted me with "happy birthday!"  Soon a cake with candles, a card, and beautiful blue orna (scarf) appeared, from my darun (wonderful) team.  They have become super sleuths--i take some credit for that--in addition to their preexisting quality of kindness.  We learned then that another woman on our floor has the SAME birthday, so Ishtiaque dashes back out for a second cake (two pieces of cake before lunch is a GOOD day).  While we're all congregating about, my BFF and a few colleagues appear on the scene with flowers to SING TO ME REALLY LOUDLY.  I'm embarrassed but glad to learn that getting Naveed to sing is a piece of cake.  That bit of information might come in handy one day.

Cutting the cake with Monica, the other birthday girl!

Pretty fly

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.  –Vicktor Frankl 

Who knew that art could be fun?  The things I'm
learning about myself in Dhaka...... 

For all the people that live here, Bangladesh sometimes feels very lonely to me.  A large part of saying sane is finding ways to stay within the norms that doesn’t force too much of an individual compromise.  Choice and freedom make all the difference; yesterday I had a meeting where we were comparing starving and fasting—the activity is the same (not eating), but one a demonstration of individual agency, whereas the other is an unfortunate circumstance.  I’m entering that phase of life here in Bangladesh where I know fairly well what’s required of me.  The question now is, given these expectations and circumstances, who will I be?  To what extent will I let the circumstances dictate who I am, and, if I find that who I want to be is simply not possible here, do I have a responsibility to go elsewhere?  At the very least, I think keeping an eye on the impact that my environment is having on me is crucial.  Remember that, “wear sunscreen” graduation speech that everyone knew once upon a time?  One point in there was, “Live in New York, but not for long enough to get hard.  Live in San Francisco, but not for long enough to get soft.”  I’ve thought a lot about these concepts—how different environments bring out various sides of a person.  Dhaka brings out my competitive side; the city feels like it functions on a huge chopping block and you are always just one step away from getting thrown in the pile.  Most days, I love that.  It makes me feel totally alive.   Too many days in Boston I felt like I was sleepwalking and worried that my brain was rotting from a soft diet of calm and order.  Not an issue here.  My friends in Boston, who I saw last month, said that I’ve become more “ambitious” since I moved.  Perhaps. Somehow, the sky feels closer on this side of the world.