KABUL, Afghanistan—The choice to be in the Afghan capital two days before from the national election amidst the escalating violence is a clear acknowledgment that too many of my recent days have been ones of tired predictability in which the worm trail of births, deaths, time, age and memory is revised by little more than the passage of holidays and whole seasons. Unless I was willing to try something else, I knew my life was fated to be pinched and disappointing. It may prove be that way anyway, but I’m not prepared to resign to the certainty of defeat.
Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not working in a conflict zone in search of shrapnel wounds to impress my nieces and nephews or my imaginary drinking buddies. Nor is this a testosterone-flooded pursuit of some masculinist adventure. Believe me, if that was the case, I would have picked a place with a few more social possibilities than a state founded on the principles of a single faith.
I am looking to jump start my life before it ends. Perhaps that can be achieved by working in a developing society, in which I learn something new almost every day, and contributing to a new educational institution with the potential to constructively change peoples’ lives. Perhaps that is not possible, maybe I am naive, but I am not without hope.
Am I happy here? That can be easily answered by reviewing my recent blog entries. For those with little patience, the short answer is no. For the long answer, place an adjective before no. If you think I am simply whining, you may be right, but please go fuck yourself and find another blog to read.