Just another brief update to let ya’ll know that I’m still around, but reluctant to blog for a few reasons. I imagine that I might start writing regularly in this space again sometime deep into next year. Instead, I’ve been twittering like a twit, so if you need a fix of my Adoyzieisms in 140 characters or less, that’s the place to go. I’ve also embraced Facebook, for better or worse, where my youngest brother clicks “Like” when my status updates indicate that I’m having a bad period day.
Before the year is over, I’ll be sure to post a bullet-list of some of the stuff that’s happened since I’ve been home. It’ll be a good six months worth of rollercoasterness. Pull that safety belt tight.

In the meantime, here’s a video of my fitful sleepiness in Chittagong, Bangladesh:

It’s been nearly three months since I’ve last updated and I apologize for the lack of words from this end of the fiber optic cables.
Being back home has been beautiful in ways I cannot enumerate. But the business of re-adjusting and re-settling after that year and a half in Chittagong, working for an institution that stripped me of so much, has been daunting and more difficult than I ever could have imagined. And to think that my students are still there. And to think that there are a new batch of wide-eyed, young women that have been brought into a school that is propped up by a bright, but fading, facade. It’s heartbreaking and I continue to have restless nights of sleep, mumbling my way through nightmares where I’m trying to lead my girls out of a winding labyrinth without luck.
A month after the majority of us returned home, we received an e-mail from the school’s founder’s assistant asking us for our contact information. The assistant mentioned that they wanted to have our addresses on file because the founder was thinking of taking us on a retreat. I could imagine vividly how each one of our faces, in different corners of the world, scoffed at our computer screens.
Of course, like all of the other platitudes, there is no retreat. Just frustration and agony and a deep well of resentment.
But I’m trying to come to terms with it all, one day at a time. Some days are brighter than others. Some days are beyond dark. I imagine that I’ll be able to push through this like I did in Bangladesh.

Our faculty of teachers made a group speech at the graduation ceremony, as a last message to our dear students. We spoke of characteristics that we’ve seen in them, and that they ought to cultivate as they continue their journeys. My portion of the speech was about strength. This was my message:

We know how strong you are, but there may still be people who will question your strength.
If anyone ever tells you that you are not strong enough to do something, you can say to them
Even if I am not strong enough to lift buildings and cars, I have the strength to lift communities and spirits.
Even if I am not strong enough to move mountains, I have the strength to help my country, and the world, move forward by fighting for equality and empowerment for everyone.
Even if I am not strong enough to break stone with my bare hands, I have the strength to break negative stereotypes of Asian women.
You say to them, I have a voice and the strength to speak up with it.
You say to them, I have my own ideas and opinions, and the strength to do what’s right.
You say to them, I am an Asian woman and I have the strength to exceed expectations and rise about limitations.
You say to them, I am an Asian woman and I have the strength to make dreams come true.

This is us (minus the five teachers that came months later), 16 months ago. We were something else. We were fresh. We were ready to charge into Chittagong and uproot and change and help to better those who wanted to be better. We were here.
We were many things, and most of all we were hopeful. We continue to be hopeful, but not without that same hope wrapped in layers of skepticism. We’ve fought, we’ve scratched and crawled, we’ve been hurt and scarred. But we survived.
This is us 16 months ago.
And we are all still here.

I’ve been hearing murmurings. There are folks mumbling about how you’re not going to bother to show up for the closing ceremony. Really? I hope you have a good excuse.
Neglect is a form of abuse too. It may be the worst because there are no black and blue marks on our bodies, just restless nights of fitful sleep that shut us down emotionally. Just because you don’t see it physically as scars, it doesn’t mean that parts of us-our spirits-were not damaged in the process. I guess it would make sense if you’d neglect to come and finally see how much we’ve succeeded without you, fighting against you to achieve your vision.
My, oh my, what a vision it is! Women’s empowerment! It’s all fine and dandy on press releases and fund-raising newsletters, but its tougher to stomach when its asking you critical questions about how you’ve failed and left us here to build your vision without the proper tools. Sometimes I giggle to myself about how silly it is that you’d be frightened of your own vision. They are so self-assured that they dared to stand up to you- an irony that doesn’t escape us, especially because it perturbed you even more. You didn’t build Frankenstein, as a matter of fact, you didn’t build much of anything- but you did help in creating the next batch of confident, learned, ass-kickers in south Asia. I’ll begrudge you that much.
What is it then? It can’t be that you’re frightened of us specifically. Are you worried that you won’t get a standing ovation to satiate your narcissism? C’mon, give us some credit. We’re exhausted and frustrated, but we’re also polite. We’ll all reluctantly get to our feet, smooth out our saris, and our bangles will clink as we clap our hands when you arrive at the podium before another meandering speech with multisyllabic words that illustrates a vague parable about your blurry vision of courage, spirit and strength (all things you helped to erode in your staff, faculty and students no less). But your speech should only be four-letters long, “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

I do not seek your approval, nor will I play your politics because I have integrity. Even though I have nothing to lose, I still won’t call you out on the fact that you may be a crybaby or a coward. What I will say is that I can not overstate how disappointed I am in you. You failed us in ways that you will not allow yourself to understand.
Your words are hollow, just like that building would have been on 20A M.M. Ali Road if not for the dedication of the staff, students and faculty.
Take our constructive criticism to better yourself, your institution and, therefore, the lives of those who work for you. Because this isn’t just your vision, you can’t own something so enormous, this is our vision too. We own it, we worked for it, it’s in our eyes. It’s time you looked beyond yourself and see what we’ve seen.

Further reading:
Big Bang: Why?
Big Bang: No Idea
Big Bang: How Strong
Big Bang: How Strong (II)
Big Bang: How Strong (III)
Big Bang: For Future Reference (Or Not)
For Future Reference (III)
For Future Reference (II)
For Future Reference (I)
Big Bang: Once Asked FAQ

A couple weeks ago the Bangladeshi government decided that it was in the best interest of their great nation and for the sake of energy conservation to begin enacting daylight savings. This also coincided with a new policy in our residential building where the laborers are supposed to stop hammering and pounding away after 10PM, because trying to rest while a circular saw is revving its way through two-by-fours just the floor above can be quite disconcerting if you’re trying to recoup from a day of working at our school.
The saving of daylight has been pleasant, its nice to wake up from my post-work nap and it’s still light out as I’m fixing dinner. I wonder if the laborers had a chance to enjoy more of the sunlight because it seemed that they continued to work by the sun as long as it was up, and even after it set, and pass the 10PM loud-construction-noise-curfew. Days passed and they kept passing their curfew with heavy pounding that seemed to come from all sides at once. Finally, our super (yep, there’s a superintendent now, because the important folk have moved into the building and us piddly little teachers didn’t deserve a super before their arrival), informed us that the workers had continued working because they hadn’t realized it was 10PM- they hadn’t set their watches an hour ahead. This was four days after the entire country decided to spring forward.
Let’s do the math: if it takes four+ days to get a crew of workers to grasp the concept of daylight savings time, how many days will it take for folks to grasp bigger, larger, looming ideas like gender equality, education as a means to eradicate poverty and that volunteer teachers are worth just as many pennies as salaried faculty?
We can save daylight- we can harness the power and energy of the brightest burning star in our galaxy. But for some odd reason we find it difficult to treat each other fairly- to offer decency.

Of the many awesome things I got to do with my students, I had the opportunity to teach a capacity building class about blogging. My students were fantastic and seized this new platform for getting their voices heard on the vast wilderness of the internet.
I just know that I’ll watch this video months from now, seeing them speak about how they found a medium have express their ideas, thoughts and opinions, and how it will make my heart ache with missing them and their evolution. At the very least, we’ll have the internet and if I’m lucky they’ll update me on their progress through these fiber optic wires. I will be able to witness their transformation from afar, much like you have done through my blog.

For more info: auwstudentblogs.wordpress.com/

This is quite possibly the most accurate search query that has brought a visitor to my blog:

Anytime there is discussion about our departure date, I am ecstatic.
The mania is setting in. I think of the sensory overload when I get home and realize that I am flooded with sensory overload just from thinking about or writing about going home.
But then something happens when a student asks about when I’ll leave. Today Nishka asked when I’ll be departing and I found myself choking down tears as I mumbled the date. There is no revelry in saying this date to these young women whom I will miss deeply.
“Miss, do you mind if I do something that is very traditional in my culture?” She asked afterward.
“Sure.”
She knelt down onto the floor, bowed her head at me and touched my feet. Nishka gently lifted my hand from my thigh and placed it onto the top of her head, against her soft black hair and said, “Now give me your blessings.”
“You have my blessings.” I nodded, my vision distorted through tears.
She told me how much she loved her teachers, and I reciprocated. Most importantly, she told me how much she learned. And it is because of this that makes it difficult to leave, to not be here to be apart of their continual evolution.

Loda came into my office weeks ago to ask for advice about dealing with a friend. She listened patiently to my suggestions when suddenly her eyes watered.
“What’s wrong, Loda?”
She wiped her face with her orna and said, “Miss, who will I talk to when you go away?”
“There will be others here who can talk with you too. You’ll be fine. There will be really nice people here to work with everyone.”
She shook her head, “Miss, you are going. Leaving us. It will not be the same. What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to do what you have been doing…” I paused to think of an apt metaphor, to help her picture who she is, as a student, and who we have been as teachers. “Have you seen those little trees? The ones that are just beginning to grow but they are too small and they need support?” I stuck up my fingers to mime four posts around a skinny tree. “And there are strings that connect the tree and the sticks around to help it stay upright.”
She nodded.
“At first, you were like that small tree. Maybe you had trouble growing on your own, so you had teachers and family and friends to support you, to hold you up. But what happens to those posts eventually?”
She let out a sad sigh, “They are taken away.”
“Yes, they are removed because the tree is strong enough to grow on its own.”
“I see what you are saying.”
Go grow.

The countdown is part tether-to-sanity and part heartache.
The countdown is a just an inevitable part of it all.

Nineteen more days until I am released back into my natural habitat.
These are going to be the longest nineteen days of my young adult life. But it’ll be worth it because I will flourish once I return to my native land. I will be reunited with those of my species- brutish, gluttonous Americans, and I will thrive in their company. I will set out onto the familiar environment of long tree-lined avenues, with bare legs and shoulders, and I will radiate joy.
How was it that I’ve survived this long out of my natural habitat, I’ll never know.