Moving In

I'm finishing up the process of moving in with my partner. It's scary and wonderful and exciting and natural, all at the same time.

We've been together a month and a half short of a year, when I was making my decision to take a leave of absence from school, he asked if I would move in. At first I said I wouldn't, that I didn't think we should rush something like that just because of life circumstance and we were planning on it in a few months anyway. But life circumstance and love prevailed and when we discussed it again we agreed that the time was right.

Moving out of my old place was stressful, my landlords are sort of aggressive and I was not feeling like I wanted to deal with them more than I had to. Moving in, though, was really lovely. Integrating stuff, setting up an office space, even making a trip to Ikea were all things that made me feel connected to my partner and settled in myself and in Boston.

Learning to live with a partner is a new thing for me. I'm excited and nervous about it, but I'm also optimistic that this is the right thing and a good thing. 

Leave of Absence

I made it back from Thailand in (more or less) one piece. One battered and weary piece, but whole nonetheless.

I spent a couple of weeks in Seattle with my family. I kept thinking I just needed a few more days of rest to be able to conquer the world, my report write-up, and my thesis. Just a few turned into quite a few. I just never shook the emotional and physical fatigue of the work in Thailand. But I knew I'd go back to Boston and I'd be fine.

I returned to Boston and got ready to start a new school year. My partner and I had a great time settling him into his new apartment and going camping. I was still tired, but I was sure I'd get started on the semester and I'd be fine.

I started the semester. I tried to start the semester. I laid out detailed plans for finishing my thesis. I chose courses I was excited about. I spent time in the library. I was going to be fine.

Then one morning I woke up and realized that I didn't know what I was doing anymore. I had been so sure that I wanted to go back and do this work once I graduated. I wanted to go back to Thailand and work on the border. I knew something about livelihoods and income generation programs, so that was what I was going to do. I had known it would be fine.

Now, though, I'm realizing that I'm deeply disturbed by what I learned this time around. What I learned about people, the aid industry, and myself. I don't want to do that work anymore. I don't think I *can* do it ethically. I'm not sure it's possible to do ethically. I'm only just beginning to pick apart the issues of privilege involved and it bothers me. It bothers me that it took going back after a break for me to really see what I already knew was there and that no one else seems to be calling attention to these issues.

There is something that feels very wrong about people like me, young, clueless, without language skills or necessarily strong backgrounds in what we're in a country to "help" with, being paid multiple times what a local person would make and getting to ride around in trucks, live in big houses, have cable tv, and complain about the lack of peanut butter. It's absurd, really. And no one seems to be thinking about this or pointing it out. That simulation I did back in April scared me, and now I see why a bit better. All of those people, students at Harvard, Tufts, and MIT, will have no problem getting one of these jobs. And they're fucking clueless. I don't want to be a part of an industry that perpetuates such blatant privilege. I can't do that.

A leave of absence for my own sanity was necessary. I'm going to take this year to reflect and reevaluate. I will go back to school next Fall, but I'll go with either a much more open mind about what I might do or a plan that feels sustainable and manageable to me. While I'm scared, I'm also excited about what the future might hold. It will be fine.