Reappearance and the Ugly (Personal) Truth Revealed

There’s something that I can reveal about being a semi writer, a true struggle to some extent.  Oh mind you it’s not a terribly big secret but I’m going to treat it as one just because.  So here goes:  writers often lose their mojo and it’s a tragedy.

Yes, so as you see I’m writing.  Something. 

Since my last blog, I can honestly admit that the words did dry up.  I found myself on so many occasions staring at a blank screen which afforded so many possibilities and yet…nothing.  I struggled with questioning myself as to how dedicated I was to my craft (at least I like to think of it as such).  How could I call myself a blogger when I failed to post anything for months and months at a time?  Where had the passion gone?  Even when inspirational struck, I couldn’t manage to get thoughts down.  There was no use.  I had failed.  I told myself this but then again after reading the rest of this entry, you’ll know that this is something common I’ve been feeling of late and precisely why. 

So what’s kept me so preoccupied?  What’s happened that has made those elusive words escape me as I search high and low?  Besides the regular every day annoyances of life which everyone suffers, what could possibly keep me away from the one thing that I’ve always felt most at peace while doing?  Well here’s a not so hidden secret (another one, so bonus!):  I was laid off (again) back in September.  Some of you out there will be nodding, knowing already what has happened.  Others will be taken aback, surprised.  These will be those who are my Facebook friends.  And the last bit of you who only know me as the writer of this blog, you may be shrugging and saying to yourself, ‘okay, and…?”.

But let me talk to those of you who haven’t ever gone through a layoff, to those who have no clue what this particularly lovely experience is like.  Let me talk to you folks.  Let me expose the quiet reality of it, in all its psychological backlash-y ways. 

Back in September, on a day that had gone down in infamy anyhow, I was called into the HR admins office at about 3pmish (why does everything nasty happy at 3?  3pm or 3am doesn’t seem to matter) and told in a very comforting, calm and sympathetic voice that I was no longer needed.  My position had been terminated (even though there were others in the same position and they were clearly not being targeted).  I was also told that I would get a nice severance, and assistance to find a new job and…it was at about that point where the buzz started in my inner ear.  Her voice sounded like the adults voices in The Peanuts…wohn wohn wohn…  The buzzing was soft at first, slowly getting louder and louder as she spoke.  My mouth had fallen open initially at one point, staying that way, possibly giving the impression of a grade A idiot.  Initially whereas I stared at her with eyes large with shock, later those same eyes must have strayed, unable to look at her any longer, focusing instead on the bottom of the desk.  There was a piece of dark lint against the lightness of the carpet very close to the trashcan.  I don’t know why I stared at that or even remember it so very clearly.  It’s funny the small details we take as mental snapshots yet are completely befuddled by what was being said or the more important words thrown at you.

I heard everything though, somehow maybe they sunk in because they were ‘important’ yet still I had so much trouble really focusing.  Questions zipped about in my cranium, what to do next, who to tell, how would I handle this, how would I say goodbye...and she must have been clued into this because she kept asking me if I was okay.  She handed me a tissue box.  I didn’t know I had started to cry.  Or at least that tears were slipping down my cheek.  My Director, who was also sitting there silently avoiding all eye contact, suddenly leapt up, mumbled a ‘good luck’ and left.  Nothing more.  This was the man who I had been so close to, who had mentored me and I had consulted and even advised when he asked.  He said nothing.  Ties broken.

After the door closed behind him, the HR person asked softly, “you really had no idea this was coming?”

Lifting my head up to look at her was so hard….so very hard.  How I did it, I have yet to recall but I managed to connect with her and say in the softest voice ever, “not at all”, choking back a broken sob.  I was humiliated.  Not tears.  Not in front of this person.  Not in the face of no reason for this abrupt parting of ways.  Not without any answers, which I knew I wouldn’t get.  That fact was in her banal words of ‘economic decisions’ and a ‘bad year’.  The tears may have been the reason for the flash of something in her eyes, maybe heartburn/indigestion, who knows, before it disappeared swiftly.  I was glad.  I didn’t need compassion from the very person who had suddenly made me homeless.   I wanted to scream, shout, throw things, even threaten, but my professionalism held me back.  The tears had really been bad enough.  So instead I took a very shaky breath, squared (no, really I did, snapshot) my shoulders and told my frantic mind to shut up.  After all, now I had plenty of time to freak out at my own leisure.

Soon I was handed a packet, told to look through it, sign the right forms and to return it as soon as possible.  Then I knew what was next:  The walk to collect my belongings with my own personal escort. 

It was a surreal experience to be treated like a criminal, one that had been tried and convicted without any form of defense.  The halls of the office were eerily quiet, everyone having been sequestered into one office while the deed was done.  I had no chance to say goodbye, to hug those who had been my partners in crime, to even act like I was brave or that everything was okay.  I was robbed.

The rest of that day was a blank.  But I remember the tears.  If truth be told, the last few months have been blank as well, yet I assure you the tears have also dried up, much like the words.  It’s sad that I don’t know what I do daily anymore.  I send out resumes, a lot of them, I am always interviewing here and there, I get my hopes high and then they crash like water breaking on the surf.  I have spent hours and hours taking courses to brush up, supplement, educate, hoping that someone would take me in and give me a new home.  I ponder and muse, I accuse myself, I talk to God, although that was something I did much more in the beginning, not-so-much now.  So many have reached out from the company to talk, reassure, calm, assure some more.  I’ve heard all sorts of things that range from “what the hell happened” to “you were the best project manager here” but not surprisingly I remained a quiet mess.  The doubt piled/piles.  If I were so damn good, then why was I laid off?  The questions…oh my but the questions were/is nonstop.

I didn’t give any of this away, I am proud to say, other than to a select few.  And what I mean by that is talk about this new found status of my life.  Even to them though I revealed my initial shock, confusion, anger…then that too stopped.  I couldn’t stand to hear my own voice.  Have you ever had that happen?  When your own voice grates and irritates you to the point that you want to hear it stop?   Yea, well it’s not pleasant.  I found my mute.  When friends would ask, my standard response was “let’s talk about something better…”.  I meant it to some degree and to another I wanted to scream out that I wasn’t okay and that this sucked.  That I was no longer a viable member of society.  I was, in reality, completely useless.

And that’s still how I feel.  Sometimes the deep sense of not belonging haunts me.  I’ve spent a lot of time alone and I mean a lot.  If I said it healed me then I would be lying blatantly.  Time alone is a mixed blessing.  No matter the need to be with people is overshadowed by the fact that I want the quiet so that I can continue to belittle myself.  I mean why not admit this?  After all that’s precisely what’s happening.

A lot of you reading this last sentence are probably flinching, feeling bad for me, thinking that someone should tell me not to do this to myself, dare I say pity?  Truth be told, it’s okay.  I am self-aware enough that I can intellectualize that what was done to me, was a business decision.  I have little pride in my abilities for the most part but when it comes to work ethics and a job well done, well I am good at what I do.  Period.  No one is going to take that away from me, that’s for damn sure.  I also can comprehend that what I’m going through is not unique and that eventually things will turn around.  I know that forever I will not feel this way and that I will find a job, indeed soon enough I shall be bitching nonstop about the crazy work hours I must suffer through.  For now though, I need to do this.  I need to hit bottom with nowhere else to go because at that point, I’ll have no other choice but to start to rise again somehow.  Okay, that was mighty lyrical of me, right?

All I can tell you guys at this point is, don’t feel bad for me.  I’ve shared all because there maybe someone who is going through a similar situation and feels this terrible sort of solitude and worthlessness.  To them, I suppose this entry is to help understand that we all eventually face struggles that bring us to our knees.  I am not ‘glass half full’ enough to say that life is still beautiful and you should count your blessings and blah blah blah…I mean those are things that you should be doing even when everything is going your way.  I’m not here to be your therapist, after all unless you want to wire me some duckets and then heck, I’ll tell you whatever you would like to be told!  What I will advise, however, is that you realize that nothing is status quo.  Things eventually will change and you will look back upon the time of your greatest struggles in astonishment and wonder how you got through it. 

As for me?  I’m freakin’ lookin’ forward to that moment.

Yea, that’s what’s happening in my world.   The silence is broken, the secret is out, my behavior, who has detected a slight change, answered.  Sorry for the suspense.  I’ve long since realized that I’m the sort of person who needs to deal with what’s going on with my life, really digest it, before talking at any length regarding it or handling my feelings.  This blog doesn’t mean though that I’m past this particular low.  Nope, I’m still walking around with a dark cloud over my head specifically.  If I laugh, then I thank God for that moment because it is indeed rare.

Hopefully this is a breakthrough for me, posting this blog.  I can’t make promises but working at the laptop and getting out these thoughts have been cathartic.  I am recalling why I did this before and why I may just do it again.

For now, good people, I wish you adieu.

Amar Shonar Bangla...(My Beloved Bangla)...A Pictorial of My Birth Country

I've spoken about where I was born on many occasions but the fact is that most that I've had a one-on-one convo with about my country of birth has cocked their head, rubbed their chins and shrugs their shoulder in clear indication of no knowledge of this particular place.  Okay, not totally surprising and I'm not about to give any of y'all a history lesson.  However, I will pull myself out of epic laziness long enough to show you some pics I think aptly captures Bangladesh and share some thoughts while I go along. 

Enjoy...

In case you've never ever seen the flag, there you go.  A visual knowledge bomb has dropped on your butt.

 

Now keep in mind, I was born not in the Capital of Dhaka, but rather the port city of Chittagong.  Here it is for y'all on the map.  See how I cropped?  Nice, right?  That light blue is the Bay of Bengal, in case you didn't realize.:

 

 

Also see that blue circle?  Yea, there.  Between Myanmar, Bhutan and honkin' huge India.  It's a small country absolutely ridiculously overcrowded as all of these countries tend to be.  The top 1% has all the wealth while the rest...meh...not so much.  Poverty is everywhere, or at least the earmarks of it even when you're in the more affluent areas.  Want to go somewhere that doesn't remind you about the harsh realities of the world?  Well, Bdesh may not be your choice destination although the country does boast gorgeous beaches and resorts along with a thriving, active, bustling capital and mountains that will,  I guarantee, take your very breath away.

But be warned that as soon as you land at the airport the air is rife with overripe fruit, oppressive heat and yes, poverty (I will point this out many times yet don't believe this is the only aspect to this country (I will also clarify this point as well)).  You cannot miss it, cannot turn a blind-eye to it and you most certainly cannot help but wonder how people survive. 

However, survive they do.  And as people who live in adversity are want to do, they thrive, adapt, adjust, change to their environment.  They cling to their culture and religion, using that as the shield against what is otherwise grossly lacking, the basic comforts that we first world folks take for granted like running water, electricity, plentiful food, variety of options, etc...They celebrate, laugh, cry,  deal with all those issues you are probably dealing with but their surroundings simply look...different.   

But let me show you some pics of the precise city where I was born:

 

Somewhere in the above craziness I came into the world on a December morning...okay lemme stop, I am not poetic enough...not even giving my mother the time to get to a hospital.  Yea, since then I've been an impatient soul, won't lie.

 

But looking at that pic, it looks lunatic, right?  No real beauty, just chaos.  But take a closer look, even in such extreme crazy, there is some loveliness, I think because this shows a thriving country steeped in adversity indeed:

 

 Yea, but that looks pretty cray cray no doubt...Hold up I have another one for you...

Those are Rickshaw's, the bike thingies.  Only two people can sit on them at a time, sometimes 3 if you're anorexic and 1 if you're well...not anorexic.  You may have seen them here in the States or other countries tooling around big cities, also called the same thing but yea, different in every other respect.  Think socio-economic, think cheap labor, think necessity.  The greater part of the population is dependent upon this incredibly difficult means of earning a few taka (the currency).  The physical exertion is bad enough but couple that with the heat?  Yea...yikes.  And where it would seem just wrong to even take advantage of this nearly inhumane labor, keep in mind that for every one that you step back from, another person is going hungry from lack of earnings. 

Moving along though, I don't want to show only lunacy.  My birth country isn't all about congestion.  Darn it, I know there are some picks I stole (sorry) from the net which aren't so...so...chaotic...

Well this sure ain't it.  But since I've already pasted it here, let me tell you what you're looking at.

That's an outdoor bazar.  Regular grocery stores are only for the high and mighty....lol...kidding.  Even those are showing up with regularity now (from what I hear) as well as gargantuan malls but for the most part you send your servant boy/girl/man/woman or sometimes even the household folks, to go into the crush up above and haggle themselves into a fit.  There is a wonderful sense of accomplishment when a few taka's are knocked off and they come home with a live chicken in one hand.  Yup, seen that many times.  It's awesome until the chicken is killed...then...*shudders*.  Don't get it twisted, I still eat the thing though :P

Remember how I mentioned that Chittagong is a port city?  So let me show you the port.  Admittedly the picture above is sort of depressing.  Muddy water, sad pathetic barges, but...here's another look:

 

 

These picture represents a bursting trade...a port full of possibilities. 

 

And not far from here is the beach, but an hour from where my family lives.  Potenga is a beach which I've visited countless times, on so many occasions that I can't pick one out.  There's a military base close by  hence you see a lot of men in uniform strolling along taking a break from their regimented life.  You also see couples sneaking some romantic moments, families splashing around in the sand and all other sorts of humanity.   If you do happen to stop by?  Get the piaju (fried lentil balls with all sorts of yum spices) which are handed over in rolled newspaper and a cup of thick sweet creamy tea that coats your mouth and in conjunction with the spicy eats, burns so good...yea, we have this place too...

 

 

And here's an areal shot of the lazy river snaking it's way by.  Which river, you may wonder?  Heck if I know.  I'm not that well versed in Bdesh geography (I'm ashamed to say) but seeing as how I pretty much immigrated and settled in the States at the age of 3, is it any wonder?  Although that being said, I should have paid more attention when others told me, tried to edjumicate me...you live and learn, right?  Never to late.

Oh yea, see this here hills below?  They're located in Chittagong also, literally steps away from those above busy streets you saw.  Yup, what a handy little city right?  Mountains on one side and the ocean on another.  The beauty here never ceases to amaze me.

Those little green things in the pic below are called 'Baby Taxi's".  Let me assure you they are loud and obnoxious and the quickest mode of transport and cheap.  Did I mention cheap?

Love this picture...nothing to say really...I didn't take it so I'm sorry for the possible copyright infringement but I really do take NO credit for the beauty here, so like, don't sue me, k?  Thanks!

Beaching it.  Not me, whoever took this pic was but I think this shows you another facet of my beloved birth country.  Although I have more pictures of the beach below, there's a reason why I put this one here...

 

 

See, juxtaposition between the busy and the serene.  Or maybe I like to use the word "juxtaposition" wherever I can to make myself sound way more intelligent than I am.  Just sayin'...you decide.



 



Okay, I absolutely had to post a picture of this shot from a traveler on a train.  I've been on these loud clacking, swaying, out of control monsters that have transported me between Dhaka to Chittagong.  They are fantastically scary and so much fun.  The hawkers in the train offer terrible chicken cutlets (breaded flattened pieces of fried chicken) that are so good that I still to this day can practically taste it upon my tongue.  And another reason to show this shot?  I've often been the person to stick her head out at a certain bend to look back and marvel at how long those darn metallic beasts are.  Let's not talk about safety though.  There is no such thing but let's just enjoy this one second memory from childhood, shall we?  

 

Let me keep it moving...

 

Just a man working hard for his money.  These hawkers are everywhere and will sell you even underwear (new, not used) if you wait long enough.  My favorite was the cobra hawker.  For a price he will come into your house and make his cobra do tricks for you and your gawking family.  Get your minds out of the gutter folks, this is a family channel.  When I say cobra though, I mean the real deal with the fangs and venom and all the hissing.  It never struck me how inhumane this spectacle was as a young girl of 17.  I wasn't that clued in.  I just wanted to see a snake.

No, nothing about the life of a poor man/woman/child is easy.  This picture has left me a little lonesome and hopeless.  But still I wanted to share.  If you think YOU don't have enough, remember you have more than this guy below, right?

And to properly show you once again the extremes, here's a picture of the inside of a mall.  Yea...look at them dresses.  So pretty, colorful, vibrant...what's not to like?  It's funny, I've had several dreams throughout the years that I went to Bangladesh and was struggling to go shopping.  No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get to a market.  What's that say about me?  Heck, what's that say about how kick-butt shopping options are there? 

Once again, back to the harsh reality of life...

Oh, those things the men are wearing that almost look like skirts?  They're actually lungi's.  Long fabric that is tied around the waist and then can be doubled up to make a sort of mini-version.  I won't lie, I've loathed these things from the beginning of my fashion consciousness and possibly one of the reasons is because often you can find some idiot with his back to the street and his thingie all out and peeing against a wall, no shame whatsoever.  It's easy accessibility.  -_-

Another picture that inspires such longing in my being to book a ticket back home.  Next year though...

 

 

Can I please talk about the food for a second?  Oh the gastronomic joy.  And if you're a meat or fish lover?  This is the country you should go to and partake because lordie, the options are astounding and all so very good.

 

 

 

*Wipes the drool away and continues to blog*

 

Have I highlighted enough how hard the vast majority of the population work just to make a few bucks?  And I know, I haven't shown the gentleman/lady in suits heading to their nice air conditioned offices.  But just because I didn't show you doesn't mean they aren't there.  But you've seen them everywhere anyhow.  They don't change because they're in another country, they are all exactly the same.  They are all corporate drones that burn the midnight oil, hate their bosses, become excited for COB and drink coffee to wake themselves up (or tea) and keep them going.  I'm sorry but there is nothing fascinating or unique to show you in those pictures so like the snob I am, I'm not.  I'd rather show you what you, if you've never been to these types of countries, can see.  Real struggle as well as triumph.

Anyone for jackfruit?

 

Yup, this is what Bdeshi's would call the projects if they knew what that terminology meant, otherwise it's just a house for some soul and his family but...nice view I suppose. 

 

 

Added this because who can't like the vibrancy of this picture?

 

 

So here's the thing...I have no faith in the local airlines, Bangladesh Biman (Biman literally means airplane).  I'm not trying to malign them or nothing, I've in fact been on these planes a few times but this picture makes me not want to ever again...never board a flight.  How the hell did this happen in the first place?!

 

 

Did you know that the national sport in Bdesh is cricket?  And the team is pretty kickass.  If you're ever visiting, then try not to go during a World Cup season because nothing gets done.  The whole country stops to watch the games that seem to go on for not just hours but days.  Want to see the ranking?  Check it here.

 

 

Bdesh isn't all about poverty, as I mentioned before.  Here's a good example of homes that can be found.  The architecture is quite beautiful, the rooms opulent and right outside the door?  The villages of the poor.  But don't judge these people too harshly.  The affluent cannot always help being so nor can the poor.  We are all, at the end of the day, victims to our environment and change isn't always sought even though we think it should be.  If you're sitting at home right now in the non-3rd world countries thinking, "we don't have that sort of poverty here!"  Well then take your happy butt on down to the less tasteful areas of your town and have a look-see.  You'll be shocked.

 



 

Oh!  Remember the snake charmer?  I found this pic and was so excited cause this is sort of how the guy with the snake was, even the box (not a wicker basket like most believe), that visited my family.  This isn't the guy I saw so many ions back but close enough...

 

 

Rainy season is sublime, in my humble opinion.

 

 

 

And an epic pain and mess...

 

Highways are now reaching every outlier village to make traveling easier.  Yup, and this means modern conveniences being spread far and wide.  Slowly but still, progress is progress.

 

 

 

Here are a few more examples of the opulence, so don't be under the impression that 'rich' doesn't exist.

 

 

Mosque...Bangladesh is a Muslim country, FYI.

 

 

I don't know what this is but it's pretty, ain't it? 

 

 

Confession time:  I went through and found all these images (well this isn't the actual confession) and I've 'uploaded' them to this blog in a totally random order.  But this has worked to my advantage because I think in this way, you're seeing not any one idea clustered together but rather all the realities that entwine together to create this country.  

 

Like here, you see a woman scrounging for food?  Or  possibly something to resell?  I don't know what she's doing specifically but I can tell you this much, I've seen her.  Not her specific but those very much like her.  This is truth.

 

 

And another reality. 

 

 

I could go on forever showing picture after picture of my beloved birth country but I run the risk of becoming far too sentimental.  Besides no place can be captured accurately in just images but rather in the experience because none of these show the warmth, love, humor nor fighting spirit of the folks that inhabit this little space within the global mass.  You cannot see how they dance with joy at weddings or cry in heart break when suffering through a death.  You can never imagine the national pride of those who fought for liberation or how that very spirit permeates every citizen. 

 

Yes, Bangladesh is a small country, overpopulated, polluted, underprivileged in so many ways yet it contains within it some of my most wonderful memories. and people I have every had the luck to meet.  They are heartfelt and caring and emotional and crazy but they are real (a word I've used so many, many times throughout this blog but it's worth repeating even though I'm risking redundancy).  Even as I sit here typing this up, I can visualize the streets, the smells, the sounds, those faces and I feel...yea, I'm a bit choked up. 

I have done my self a great disservice not to have gone back in 10 years.  I will remedy this, that I vow.  

 

But for you, my reader, if you've never considered this a viable destination for your wanderings, please go.  Above I've shown you just a glimpse of what it's like, but there is so much more and trust me, you will be welcome with open arms because well...That's how Bangladeshi's roll.