Fieldset
i have to stop writing at night...

*seriously emo blog again - i wouldn't even have posted it but jason says it's ok - but he's my husband so he has to.*

my head hurts. a lot.

*seriously emo blog again - i wouldn't even have posted it but jason says it's ok - but he's my husband so he has to.*

my head hurts. a lot.

i was just doing some research online – reading every report i could find on the history of the rohingyas in bangladesh, and the factors leading to their being here, and everything that's happened since they arrived...

pages and pages of testimonials, and articles, and photos and reports, different agencies, similar findings... and it's not like i'm surprised. it's not like i'm not confirming what i already know, what i could hear/see/infer (some of the info was ours). but the temptation to scream right now is overwhelming.

and i wonder who we are. how do we get here.

just to think of people escaping terrible conditions, to end up in limbo, living in a country they aren't wanted, scraping by to survive, and still saying it's better than what they left.

reading old reports where refugees put their faith in the international community, put their faith in political changes at home, put their faith in a woman who continues to be under house arrest today. and i wondered if those people still hoped, if anyone heard them anymore, and if those wishes were anything but whispers years on.

i'm scared the world sees them like phantoms, something to be shut away behind a wall of fear or indifference. i'm scared i would have too, if i hadn't met them, talked to them, and didn't have their voices in my head right now.

but if i try hard, i remember that this is not always the case.

recently a bbc reporter came to tal during the unrest in myanmar and interviewed folk in the camp, asking them how they felt about the protests. and the story managed to portray the people as having some agency, and beliefs and ideas and thoughts, and did not dismiss them as floating ghosts suspended in time. the man hunched over the radio was suddenly connected to his past – a fine silver thread leading back to his former home. a thread of hope. so yes, that man still hopes.

that's the important part right? the hope?

here i will deliberately show another picture of some of the kids in tal camp smiling. i want to have a picture where they are more than sadness and desperation. a picture that shows that these are children. children living in the worst conditions i've ever seen.

i know what prompted my whole research extravaganza... we just completed the annual plan exercise where we think about what we can/should/hope to accomplish in 2008. i guess that's what has me thinking so much. and i know (i really do!) that we are doing what we can and i should lay off myself and forgive myself and try to feel okay. but it's just so hard.

i'm gonna have to do a lot of yoga tonight.

but here is the photo... and now i'm amused that in this shot they kinda look like they are in jail.& hmm. definite accident.