…of an institution? Validation of a brown person’s presence in spaces where brown bodies are not expected.
Questions for the self (or selves): Am I committed to making sure my nieces and nephews do not need the same validation?
An answer to the self (or selves): Make sure you are.
A month filled with anger and affection, and an ending without outrage. This month too shall remain incomplete, as most things often do.
Pod Save America, Pod Save the World, and waiting for Pod Save the People.
A newly developed obsession with Alain de Botton’s cheerful despair, and a constant intrigue of Rebecca Solnit’s blue of distance.
Consciously or otherwise, adopting this am-above-this perspective; toxic.
The cult of busy exists.
Do I have to pack and move, again?
What a f*cking shit show…
Been thinking about the phrase “lekha pora kore j, gari ghora chore shey,” and how it can (or does) kill the fun in learning and education.
What am I, if not a speck of dust carefully amalgamated with air and water and “blessed” with breath of the spirit?
Wadi Rum is splendid.
Today I saw an old man and a middle-aged man crossing the road. They walked slowly. I saw cars stop for them, without honking. I saw people walking past them, slowly.
Today I saw kindness and patience.
They sat on a bench few feet away from mine. The old man opened a bag of chips outside the Goodwill store. A woman sat next to him for the following five minutes.
Sometime in October 2016.