***

I need to blog. After yet another long drawn silence, I finally feel capable of writing something coherent. The past few weeks or so have been long, full, eventful. During this time I have been in all major regions of the country, including Kvemo-Khartli, Kakhtei, Imereti and Adjaria. Besides Tbilisi I have visited Marnauli, Rustavi, Khashuri, Borjomi, Tsnori, Akhmeta, Dedoplistskaro, Telavi, Gurjaani, Samtredia, Zestaphoni, Kutaisi, Kobuleti and Batumi. Everything has been happening too fast, one experience after another, some good, and some bad. I usually need time to digest the events, sit on them for a day or too, but since our locations and sceneries have been alternating so quickly, I have had neither the time nor the ability to even reflect upon these experiences, let alone share them.

I am in Batumi now, right at the Black Sea. It is the third largest city in Georgia and a major sea resort town. The bulk of our work in this country is finished and I am one final report away from being free for a few days, before I start on my next assignment. In less than 48 hours I will be taking a 7 hour train ride back to Tbilisi (alone), then two more hours further east to Telavi. The rest of my team will be going up north, to hike the mountains of Svaneti (which, by the way is a Unseco Heritage site). Having neither the energy, nor the enthusiasm to go to a place accessible only by horses, I decided to rest in a marvelous guest house in Telavi run by a lovely Ukrainian lady, where we stayed during our work in Kakheti region. In about a week I will be taking yet another long ride, this time across the border, to Yerevan.

Despite all the good and the bad that has happened while in this country, being in Georgia has felt quite odd and unsettling. Georgia makes me miss Armenia more than anything else. Everything looks so familiar, so known, yet not mine, foreign. There is a legend about an Armenian king who was put in a jail cell that had a ground half made of Persian and half of Armenian soil. When the king walked on Persian half, he looked weak, insignificant, defeated. When he walked on Armenian half, he stood straight, holding his head up high, undefeatable and strong. I feel the same way on Georgian soil. Or maybe it’s the proximity to home, to the Armenian soil that makes me miss it more…

I truly hope that at some point during my remaining days in this country I will be able to rest and relax and write something that would at least partltly refect everything that I have experienced in Georgia.

Some random ramblings on my Georgia trip

Tbilisi has been cold and rainy. The weather reminds me of Waltham, the city makes me wish I was in Yerevan. Of all the places I’ve been to, Tbilisi is neither the prettiest, nor the friendliest, and likewise, I neither like it, nor excessively dislike it. Some things are new and impressive – others oddly familiar, and yet despite the similarities that I find in every corner of this place, I do realize that I am merely a stranger here passing by…

Georgians look a lot like Armenians at first glance, except that I don’t understand a word that they’re saying. When I look close enough though, I notice subtle differences between the two in bone structure and facial features - narrower eyes, thinner and longer eyebrows… Although my looks do allow me to sort of blend in, I am often being subjected to catty head to toe glances in the metro, mostly by women, as if they disapprove of the way I dress, or my overall lack of excessive makeup. Compared to women in Tbilisi, Yerevantsis seem to be better dressed (i.e. skankier) – next to dominating blacks, browns and grays that seem to be the preferred colors of choice in this city, Yerevan women look like an eye test in their outfits that happen to have every single color of the rainbow (from what I remember from a few summers ago).

The past couple of weeks of my stay here have brought up everything that I seemed to have forgotten about this part of the world.

Dust - dust and smog everywhere. While living in the overly polluted and dusty city of Yerevan was an inseparable part of my reality for as long as I remember myself, it is the first time that I come to realize that the lack of properly paved roads and absence of grass must have something to do with it.

Smells –of filth, garbage, stinky cheese, rotting fruit and vegetables, cheap vodka, urine, excessive sweat and unwashed bodies… And it is not even hot yet. How could I have forgotten? This is what motherland smells like…

Drivers - remember a while back when I was complaining about drivers in Boston? That’s because I had completely forgotten how bad drivers are where I grew up. The suicidal maniacs of Georgia are ten times worse. Imagine four cars trying to squeeze into a two lane road all at the same time, illegal u-turns and complete absence of any traffic rules, and you got Tbilisi. On top of that, the concept of seatbelt is non-existent, folks here probably never use their blinkers and honking and excessive cussing seem to be what moves the traffic along. The other night, during the cab ride home, another vehicle almost ran into us, as it made an abrupt turn while not having any lights on. “** tboyu mat&” yelled out our driver loudly in Russian (I won’t translate this one), while hitting the breaks and the horn at the same time. The car was only a couple of inches away. How there aren’t any accidents around here is beyond me – a single vehicle behaving like this on an American road would cause multiple calamities in a heartbeat. And you wonder why I never had a desire to drive?

Coffee – Turkish coffee -black, thick, sweet (in Armenia we call it Armenian coffee, of course). I can’t open my mouth to talk to anyone without being offered coffee first. “No, really” I say “all I want is a glass of tap water.” They look at me funny, then bring me a cup of coffee anyway. Although my coffee consumption had drastically decreased in the last two years of living in the States, I quietly sip six or seven cups of this rich drink of gods a day and wait for the moment when someone will offer to tell me my fortune on coffee grounds.

Food in general – although this subject deserves its own separate post, I thought I’d say a few words here, now that I am thinking of it. As sad as it sounds, I am not a big fan of Georgian food (fat bastard, stop rolling your eyes). Now that I come to think of it, I am not a big fan of Armenian food either. Too heavy, too greasy, too doughy and too repetitive to my taste. As much as I like khorovats/shashlik (gigantic shish kababs) or khinkali (Georgian spicy meat dumplings), I can only eat so much of it on regular basis. My post eating disorder palate has been downgraded to lighter, more unsophisticated foods. I’m a deli girl. On any given day, give me a ham and cheese sandwich and I will love you until the rest of your life. Two weeks spent in the Caucasus makes me crave nothing more or less but a Quizno’s sub. Go figure.

Kolbasa – more precisely, varenaya kolbasa or in other words – bologny. On days when we are not being fed the twelve course Georgian fair by our hosts until we can hardly move, I usually end up having a tomato and cucumber salad with red basil and olive oil, with a piece of bread and kolbasa. It tastes like my childhood and I mentally transfer to my grandparents house, where I, as a little girl, sit at the kitchen table, stirring my tea and watching my grandpa slice the kolbasa and bread for supper. Nothing makes me miss childhood more than the bland, comforting taste of kolbasa.

There is a whole lot more that I could write about the past two weeks or so, but time at this point is one luxury that I do not have much of. So bear with me, and I will try to deliver.

P.S. One thing that I’m trying to figure out though is what in the world the US Army is doing in a remote bazaar in Rustavi.

Interlude

I apologize if this post is too overbearing in a sense that it contains something much more personal than what I have been revealing lately. However, I feel especially compelled to write it, since last time I was leaving for this part of the world, I was singing quite a different song – a song of freedom that one gains from one’s own solitude, as one chooses to leave a predictable life of false comfort in return for nothing but turmoil and chaos. This one is almost a complete opposite, showing just how profoundly I have changed in the last two and half years…and as unexpected as this change may have appeared to me at first glance, it was, after all, quite simple and predictable…

Leaving for Georgia was heartbreaking. I cried at Dulles airport. If I were not so tired, I would have cried on the plane to London. I cried when I arrived at Heathrow, cried and slept intermittingly during the flight to Tbilisi. The boy and I had spent the day of my departure together, wandering the streets of D.C., laughing, joking, playing, being silly. Despite my overall excitement over the upcoming trip, I knew that a big part of me wished that I had not undertaken such a lengthy assignment, that I had rather chosen to do my research in Armenia only – and that is merely so that I could see my family.

Eleven weeks suddenly felt like not only separation of space and time, but that of a world of difference that would never be reconciled by merely conveying stories or showing photographs. As if by not being able to share these experiences in real time with a loved one would make them seem less valid, less important or remarkable. Of course, I could consider these experiences as something only of my own – mine and no one else’s, but neither the nature of this trip, nor the “privateness” of these experiences seemed normal or natural any more…

Once all I wished was nothing more than the unshared “privateness” of an experience – any experience. Unshared, untainted moments that were mine alone in their entirety. I remember how I longed for these moments when I was married; I remember how much I wish that I was free, unattached, alone, without having to be a part of someone else’s life, without having to contribute to someone else’s happiness… I remember the painful longing out of which Perfect Vacuum came out. I remember how burdensome was the idea of being attached to someone, which made me write Another Life. Looking back at myself at those particular moments of past I still find myself capable of relating to these emotions quite vividly- but this time only in the past, without being able to bring them into my present.

I no longer want to be alone. And I am attached, more strongly and securely than I ever thought I would be able to get attached to another human being. It no longer hurts; it is no longer a burden.

It’s quite simple, actually. Wishing that I had another life, however twisted and far-fetched explanations that I used to rely on in the past was nothing more but the fact that I was unhappy with the one I had then. Another Life was merely a distraction, an escape to another reality; Perfect Vacuum was nothing but the desire to be alone during a destructive and unhealthy relationship. I no longer need another life, because I am way too in love with the one that I’ve got. I no longer want to be alone, because I see that being with someone is more rewarding than all the solitude in the world would ever hold… I am happy with a kind of happiness that is beyond being happy on one’s own – that is, being able to be happy from within, while being able to share it with someone else. And I find it truly remarkable. I do not think it could get any better. I do not think that I could have ever asked for more.

What hurts now is long separations. What is distressing is having to spend this summer alone. Despite the fact that throughout the last ten months or so we lived in two different cities, miles and miles away, we never spent more than three weeks without seeing one another. This summer will be the longest we have been apart. Of course I do know that I’m neither the first one, nor the last one, nor it has been my only time to go through such kind of temporary separations. Even if I have, in the past, weathered long-distances for much more than some two and half months, I can no longer take it like I used to before. And yet, however trivial all of this sounds, it is still hard, sad and heartbreaking, yet comforting at the same time to know that I have so much to go back to in Richmond. And that makes me that much more impatient.

Welcome Team Georgia

Last time I tried to blog (and failed miserably) I was in Washington D.C., going through five-day training for my summer fellowship. I am in Tbilisi now – having arrived less than 30 hours ago, jetlagged, tired and still somewhat lost. I am not sure how regularly I will be able to post in the next few weeks or so, but I’m hoping that I will be able to find time (and internet connection) to share some of the highlights of my experiences.

P.S. Since I do not have a picture that would be a good representation of Georgia (or Tbilisi) I am posting the view that I see from my window. More later.

I don't live thea(r) anymore...

I’m finally done with Brandeis. Finished, verj, prtsa.

Leaving Waltham felt like a whirlwind. The few days prior to my departure were so busy that I hardly had time to sleep. Finishing up the finals, staying late at school to work on a project with my group on the last day, barely making it home to pack the rest of my stuff before heading to the airport Worrying that my luggage would exceed the weight limit, anticipating hold-ups at the checkpoint, flight cancellations and what not else... Sometimes I get antsy like that when big things happen and what was happening was big – I was finally leaving.

That last twenty minute walk from school to home felt like an eternity. I remembered what it was like to walk to school for the first time for orientation – hurried and excited. Amazed at how naïve I was then, how unknowing. I thought about how much I’d changed since then – how much these past few months changed me, for the better or worse. I tried to picture where I would be had I not come here. I thought about where I was going now - this time no longer afraid of uncertainties… After all, I was going to the only place I would rather be in the whole entire world. I was going home – to Richmond.

Mother Sugar took me to goodbye dinner to Cambridge. We strolled in Harvard Yard, talking about stuff – the past, the present, our future plans, her kids, my mother… promises to visit her from time to time, promises that she’d come to see me in Richmond. Meeting Mother Sugar and living in her house was perhaps the best thing that happened during these months of being here. As happy as I am to leave this one passage of my life behind, I know that even if I don’t miss much, I will truly miss this most understanding and loving and eccentric and passionate woman. And this is all I have to say before getting any sappier than I already am. And yet, I’m glad that there was something preventing me to simply wrap up my farewell with “So long, suckers, don’t bother to miss me” and that something was Mother Sugar.

Updating the Grant Countdown

In less than a week I will be leaving Boston. Till then I will have to finish a conservation project and write two final papers - one on human right standard of affordability when it comes to cost recovery of water and sanitation services, the other one on an evaluation report of inner-city youth sex education program. Someone please kick me so that I can sit down to work. In the past few days I have been very successful at distracting myself with anything that will keep me away from finishing school work. I packed most of my belongings. I made thousands of phone calls. I paid all my bills. I went for runs. I painted my toenails. Does anyone need their bathtub scrubbed? Procrastinators of the world, lets unite tomorrow.

I am still trying to make up my mind whether I want to buy any keepsake trinket or a clothing item associated with my alma step matter. Trust me; it’s a tough decision to make.

Yesterday was my last day of class. We went on a field trip (yay!!!) to The Food Project – a local organization that “engages young people in personal and social change through sustainable agriculture.” Youth groups of various social and economic backgrounds work together to grow organic produce that is then sold in low income neighborhoods of greater Boston area at the price of conventional produce. A couple of Heller SID students have worked as interns at the Project, studying the model to replicate it elsewhere in the developing world. Although I think that the Project is rather neat and perhaps will work well anywhere in the US, doing something along these lines in certain parts of the world might not after all be that great of an idea. It’s one thing to compete with big corporations selling you genetically modified food of unknown origin choke full of pesticides. Yet in countries and regions where the majority of the population depends on subsistence agriculture, doing a project like this might simply create competition that would end up hurting local farmers. I think you’d be better off creating farmer co-ops which can significantly reduce operating costs and make farms more efficient. But I digress (or stop pretending that I know what I’m talking about).

In other news – FINCA International just offered me a six month (unpaid) internship in D.C. once I’m done with my summer research fellowship. The reason that I find this amusing is that I never applied to or even asked for it to begin with. Either my resume has been circulating and impressing everyone around, or a word got out that Brandeis SID students are desperately in need of a second year practicum. And what better way to employ free slave labor than hiring interns! Most of the kids in the program haven’t found internships yet, and they are now operating in “freak-out” mode. In a way, I am glad that I chose a different route, even if it will take me much longer to graduate. For now, I need to come up with a way to politely reject the offer of FINCA International, while still “maintaining a good relationship” with them. For the future, just in case. Does this count as kissing ass?

One more amusing factoid for those who really care to know – I calculated that out of less than nine months since I have been here, three months (or thirteen weeks) were spent in Richmond. No wonder that I now am the lucky owner of a free JetBlue roundtrip ticket anywhere in continental US. How about that!

For now I need to get my act together and finish the semester with whatever dignity I have left. And since there is not much of it left at this point, any help on the above referenced topics will be greatly appreciated. Fat bastard, I am looking at you.

My grand countdown has almost come to an end – only one more week left.

I guess we were never meant to be…

I am sorry, Bean Town. This is not how I expected things to turn out. I tried, I tried my best and I tried really hard to come to like you, but every time I turned to your cold embrace, I was greeted with indifference, bitterness and downright rudeness.

I could deal with indifference, I could even try to put up with bitterness, but rudeness is just a bit too much of a stretch. I think I deserve better than that. Hell, I have been treated much better than that. I think it’s time for me to come to terms with the fact that our relationship is ruined beyond repair. It’s time for me to move on…

See, I actually liked you in the beginning. I thought you were beautiful, I thought you were magnificent. I still think that you are… but you’re so tough to grow into, so tough to like. If you were a little bit friendlier, if you gave me something to work with, just a little, as much as a single smile…

“Dude, my anus is friendlier than Boston,” one of my friends from the Midwest once told me.

I’m not sure how true this is, since I never really had the desire to find out how friendly the said part of her body was, but I also know that to be more unfriendly than you are would require tremendous effort that no single human being is capable of. So I have to take her word in this regard.

Your attitude is unbearable, your customer service is horrible, your drivers are maniacs, your cabbies never miss a chance to rip me off, your pedestrians with their frozen, expressionless faces elbow their way through, hitting me left and right and heaven forbid if I happen to get lost in the maze of your streets, heaven forbid that I as much as dare to stop someone in an attempt to ask for directions and distract them from their already overly busy and important life…

“Excuse me, do you know how to get to X?”
"Yep.”
“Will you tell me then, please?”
“Nope.”

End of conversation.

Where are your manners, Bean Town? Is this how your mother raised you? I bet she’s real proud of how you turned out. You may consider yourself the center of the universe, but seriously, is it all that counts?

I tried really hard to like you. I even sympathize with the bitterness of your working class… But what gets to me more than anything is the hoards of over privileged “pretentious intellectual hipsters” of yours lurking around with bloated sense of importance and entitlement. You see, I never got that. You see, I never cared whether they went to Harvard (or MIT, or BU or Tufts for that matter). So I guess I never had a chance…

Maybe I never really had a chance to begin with…I refused to wear any signs that showed any affiliation with either you or any of your schools. I never had any appreciation for beer, let alone your infamous local brew. I never cared for baseball which, I was told, is an act of blasphemy worse than being a fan of the Yankees. And I never rejoiced or took part in any of the festivities after the Sox won the series. Maybe I never gave you a chance to begin with – after all, it’s hard to top my overflowing, overwhelmingly obsessive love for that other place that I kept going back to every time I had a free day or two…

I still think that you’re a beautiful town. I still think you have so much to offer. And I’m still hopelessly in love with your boys Matt Damon, Ryan Montebleau and Josh Ritter. But even that is not enough to overcome the great sense of disappointment and anguish that you inflicted upon me since I’ve come to know you.

Maybe I never had a chance with you. Maybe I never gave you a chance in the first place. But I’m more and more starting to realize that we simply weren’t meant to be… and I could not have been happier to leave.

P.S. And you know what, I’m actually glad that your unbeatable Patriots lost the Super bowl. And that they lost to no one else but the Giants. So take that, Bean Town. After all, there is only so much ego that one town can bear…

P.P.S. And for the record, I will never get your suit clad professionals walking around in tennis shoes (!!!), your women in coats and flip flops (my God!) and your crowds proudly carrying their scarlet “B”s on their caps and chests and backs like it is some kind of a divine badge.

Math Follows Me Wherever I Go - Part II

As described in my previous and overly lengthy post, I have been having a love/fear relationship with math since I first started studying it in middle school. Despite my “stellar” performance and success in the said subject during my high school years, I never thought that either math or natural sciences were my thing. I was, after all, the only member of my family who chose to go into ‘humanities.” The undergraduate curriculum consisting of foreign languages, linguistics and Area Studies did not consist of any hard-core science or even a hint of math.

I did not think that I would ever have to deal with math again until I had to prepare for the GRE exam in order to apply to graduate school. Not having used any math whatsoever for almost a decade, I was faced with my childhood fear – I was not all that bright when it comes to math. Needless to say, I was horrified.

That particular period of my life can be described as a year long partying where I, as kindly noted by a recent commenter I was “drunk on Noy (locally bottled water), high on condensation and preoccupied with the few, the proud…” This, combined with my natural tendency to procrastinate was certainly the least favorable environment for preparing for the test. Knowing this I decided to hire a tutor, thinking that both the money and the time invested in studying in between bar hopping and strip clubbing would act as enough motivation to help me study. In as little as a couple of classes I not only realized that GRE math was not as hard as I thought it would be, but also rediscovered my long forgotten affinity for math. I also learned that when down and in distress, there is no better anti-depressant than a series of neat mathematical problems.

I took GRE prep courses for about a month and a half. My expectations were quite modest – I would be happy with a score anywhere within 680-700 range. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out that my score was in mid 700s for the quantitative part? Ironically, the verbal score was disappointingly low, but combined with the rest, I still ended up with a pretty decent average. I got accepted to graduate school. I got modest, but much needed partial scholarship. I was ecstatic. But I was more proud of my mad math skills than anything else.

After having taken the GRE and getting accepted to graduate school I thought, once again, that I would never have to deal with math. Fast forward three years and here I am with my decision to study Economics. Despite the fact that this particular decision has grown out of necessity and my combined interest in economic development and research/data analysis, it is also due to the fact that I really enjoy the subject. I also know that the courses that I will start taking come this fall require a strong background in mathematics. While this time around I didn’t freak out with the idea that I would have to know hard-core math in order to succeed in Econ, I was curious to find out where exactly it was that I stood when it came to college math. So for the past month or so I have been looking into this matter, as well as brushing up on my math skills. To my surprise, I discovered that I have not only already studied most of the concepts in high school, but I actually remembered most of them.

Last week, during my meeting with the department head, I found out that the program is especially designed around the said analytical skills and mathematical modeling, which was exactly what I lack and need to learn in order to be able to do the kind of stuff that I want to do.

“Here’s the tricky part though” I said to the department head. “I haven’t had any math courses in college.”

The department head rolled his eyes and chuckled. But before he would say anything, I quickly added:

“This doesn’t mean that I don’t know math though…”

“And how is that?” he asked.

I told him the redacted version of the facts that I laid out in this and previous posts. To my surprise, he actually took it pretty seriously. Turns out, they have had quite a few students from motherland to be able to fully appreciate the merits of the Soviet educational system when it comes to math.

“It seems like you guys get a master’s degree in mathematics in high school before you go on to study anything else.”

I told him that I would be willing to take any math placement tests that they would deem necessary. He said that I wouldn’t have to, given my GRE test scores, unless I wanted to be exempted from one of the prerequisite Calculus courses. I told him that I rather take the course before I move on to anything more advanced. He said that he appreciated my rigor.

So here it is, kids, my saga of math that looks nowhere close to being ended. And frankly, I am quite excited about it. In case you were wondering as to what I have been up to for the last month or so, picture me at a desk solving math problems for hours at a time, sometimes not leaving the house for several days and actually being happy about it. After all, I do enjoy math. I think it’s neat and fun and cool any way I look at it. I may not be bright enough to solve probability problems at the age of eight, I may not be apt enough to tackle linear algebra and real analysis quite yet, as long as I remember that one way of getting good at it is not being afraid, I think I will be just fine.

Math Follows Me Wherever I Go

Note: This post is partly inspired by the following that I read a few weeks ago over at The Upside of Entropy. By the way, this link is supposed to tell you whether you’re right-brained or left brained. Although at first my little dancer was turning counter-clockwise, it stopped and started turning clock-wise after a couple of minutes. I am not sure what that means. Another multiple choice test kindly informed me that I use 55% of my left brain and 45% of my right brain, if you were wondering. Did I tell you that I simply hate taking multiple choice tests in general? Mostly because my answer usually does not fit neatly into any of the listed categories. But judging by the results I am more left-brained than right-brained, which means that I use logic, base my decisions on facts, am supposedly good at math and sciences, like order, form strategies, have a good sense of reality and am an overall pretty rational human being.

I am not sure how accurate this little number is, but the fact that it finds me left-brained comes as a bit of a surprise. If someone asked me what my best attributes were, rationality and logic would probably not be at the top of my list. See, I do not have the best track record for being “rational.” I’ve been known for making pretty irrational decisions throughout my life – even if they sort of made sense to me, my justifications were too twisted, skewed and far-fetched to even remotely resemble rational. You can get a flavor of it in an angry rant that I wrote to myself a couple of years ago. However, I will leave the element of rationality when it comes to adult real life decisions aside, and go back to the subject matter of left-brainedness at hand and apply it to my love/fear relationship with mathematics.

I was born into a family of scientists (my dad was a physicist, my mother is a biologist, my brother is a programmer, one of my grandmothers was a math teacher, I have an uncle who’s a doctor of chemistry, etc., etc.). Needless to say, my parents made a special effort to develop my “scientific” reasoning. I have been exposed to natural sciences since early childhood. See, at the age of five I knew more about insects and electricity than your average high schooler. My obsession with butterflies and cosmology comes from the early years of my formation as well. What does it have to do with math, you might ask? Well, having a physicist as a father would be one. And like all physicists that I’ve known in my entire life (and I’ve known quite a few – after all, my dad had many physicist friends alike), my father was obsessed with math and firmly believed that the best way of testing one’s intelligence was to give them a test in math. I am not going to argue for or against this belief – I am bringing this up merely to show you how highly math was valued in my family.

So my dad had this habit of giving me neat mathematical puzzles to solve – sometimes at dinner table, sometimes on the way to and from school. Some of these puzzles were on probabilities, which as an eight year old, I wasn’t able to solve. So my dad, jokingly and lovingly would mention that I am not all that bright after all. While I know that my dad was doing it merely to tease me and get my “mathematical” mind working, I think this was one and only and probably the worst pedagogical move he had ever made while bringing me up. It gave a complex - I am not all that bright when it comes to math. Well, I do have to admit that I am not as bright as either my dad or my brother when it comes to math (we’re talking genius here). And math geniuses have a certain way of thinking – they think in numbers, formulas, functions, whatever. That’s not how I think. Actually for a while I was pretty obsessed as to how exactly it was that I thought – that is whether I thought in concepts or words – but after having spent five years supposedly studying linguistics, I still haven’t found an answer to my question. But that’s a different topic that I won’t get into here – those who might have something to contribute are welcome to comment away.

Back to math – as an eight-year-old confused with probability problems I thought that math wasn’t my thing. I was good with words. I wrote pretty good essays even when in middle school, I knew how to speak well and speak impressively. But, given the fact that my primary Soviet education was pretty rigorous, with strong concentration on math and sciences, I did pretty well in those subjects as well. I loved biology. I really liked physics and chemistry. I got straight As in algebra and geometry. Until I decided to switch from English advanced school to math advanced school when I reached high school, mainly because my mother used to teach there, I had friends there and liked the teachers better. Needless to say, my childhood complex came back - I was horrified of not doing well in math (by that time we were covering trigonometry, spatial geometry and derivative calculus). Although my mother thought that my fears were ungrounded, she decided that it would be a good idea to ask one of my dad’s friends who was preparing students for college entrance math exams at the time to tutor me as well.[*]

So I started studying math with my dad’s friend, who was not only the best math teacher one could ever wish for, but was also one of the most patient and humble people that I have ever met. Besides building a solid foundation that helped me understand pretty complex mathematical concepts, he taught me the most important lesson that I could ever learn – if you want to be good at math you must not fear it. “Both you and me are people of average capabilities” he would tell me “one way of getting good at math is to practice enough.” I guess he was right, because I not only overcame my math phobia, but ended up really loving it to an extent that it would give me a high. I would look at a logarithmic equation and automatically picture its function in my head. Trigonometry came to me as a breeze. I thought derivative were cool. I thought math in general was cool. In the matter of several months we managed to finish the entire math high school curriculum and bragging aside, I was the best student in math in my new math advanced school, granted that a lot of the students had math tutors besides school as well.

My love affair with math ended shortly afterwards, since I spent my senior year as an exchange student in Northern Michigan. Because I had more math and science courses than I needed to graduate, I decided to take courses that I couldn’t take at home – like journalism, creative writing, economics, psychology –all the fun stuff.

I graduated high school and returned home barely making it on time for college entrance exams. Here I was faced with a dilemma –I was gone all year and didn’t “prepare” for the entrance exams and the only ones that I could handle were foreign language exams. I had two options – take a year off, study math and apply to School of Economics at Yerevan State, or take the said English exams and go to the Institute of Foreign Languages, which was shortly afterwards renamed as State University of Linguistics. By that time I had a pretty advanced knowledge of English, spoke the language fluently and both oral and written exams were pretty much a breeze. Besides, one thing that I liked more than anything else was the English language and was afraid that if I didn’t give myself an opportunity to use the language on a regular basis, I would soon forget it. At that time good knowledge of English was a highly marketable skill in Armenia and soon enough it landed me not only with my first teaching job, but with series of pretty darn important translating contracts that as an eighteen-year-old I was very proud of.

Needless to say, math was not a subject taught at the School of Linguistics. And let me also say that the five years spent in that school were not the most challenging thing that I ever had to accomplish. Actually, as sad as this sounds, up to this day, together with my recent graduate experience, I do not think that I have ever been as challenged or had to work harder than I did in … high school. I had long forgotten my love affair with math. I hardly went to class past my third year. I had a real job with a microfinance organization. I did translations on the side. I was super busy and math was the last thing that I thought about. Frankly, I never thought I would ever need to use math again besides everyday basic arithmetic. Little did I know that I was going to be proved wrong…

Given the length of this post, I am going to cut it off. The second part will be coming shortly, given the fact that soon enough math is going to acquire special relevance in the field of study that I am choosing to get into.

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[*] As a side note, college entrance exams in Armenia up to this day are not standardized. Depending on the specialty of choice, students must take whatever exam is required for that particular department. For example, kids who want to go to medical school take an exam in chemistry and either physics and biology. Engineering schools require kids to take an exam in math and physics. Language schools require oral and written exam in the language of choice, and so on and so forth.

To Whom It May Concern: It’s Eighty Degrees and Sunny. A Lovely Richmond Afternoon

And I’m happily complacent like I haven’t been in a while.

My meeting with people at Econ department at VCU a couple of days ago went very extremely well. While sitting down with the admissions people to discuss the application process and all my related questions was very informative, the highlight of my visit was an “informal” interview with the department head who apparently has a lot of say in the admissions process.

The department head turned out to be a pretty cool guy. He straightforwardly informed me that one thing the program doesn’t teach is how to write policies. “It’s a highly political and speculative process that we don’t get involved in” he said. “Brandeis would be a much better fit for you – they’re really good at it up there.” I told him that despite the fact that I find policies extremely interesting, it is not what I am looking to learn or else I would be applying to policy programs. “It’s mushy science,” I said. “I think I have had enough of that already.” What I would like to do is to be involved in research on the impact of such policies and if I want to as much as get close to that sort of stuff, I will need a background in economics with very strong quantitative skills. “We can teach you that” he smiled. “You’ll get more training in econometrics and mathematical modeling than you could ever dream about. And some theory, of course.” I told him that it was exactly what I was looking for.

Needless to say, I truly liked the guy. There is something about middle aged Southern men that I am helplessly attracted to – must be the Southern drawl and the sense of humor that I find easy to play along with. They usually end up liking me back. I tend to think that there is more to it than my pretty eyes. Whatever it is, the guy told me that my chances of getting admitted were pretty high and even hinted that if I hurried up and got my stuff in soon enough, there would be a good possibility that I’d receive funding. I left his office giddy with excitement. And a mental list of stuff that I need to do to get the application processes started.

In a few more days my extended Passover break will be over and I will be heading back to the Bean Town for the last time. The following two weeks will be insanely busy. Besides the load of assignments that need to be turned in by the end of the semester, I will need to submit the application to VCU, fill out the paperwork related to taking a leave of absence at Brandeis, take care of bunch of bureaucratic procedures necessary for my summer trip, as well as clean and pack my belongings and move them back to Richmond. I will be leaving the States in the end of May. There is a week long training that I need to attend in D.C., adding an extra task of finding accommodation in D.C. On top of that, since the boy and I decided to share a roof together after I get back, there will be a need to search for the said roof as well.

Despite the overwhelmingly long list of stuff that must be taken care of within the next month, I am pretty happy. After all, these are tasks to get excited about. I’ll be finally done with Brandeis, get to go home, and come back to Richmond to start a new and exhilarating learning experience, move in with the boy. All in all, things are playing themselves out pretty darn well. For now all I can do is enjoy the few free days and the gorgeous weather in Richmond and bask in this feeling of utter complacency, since there is not a single thing that I can think of to be complaining about.

Spilling the beans

“Just because I don’t have a background in something, doesn’t mean that I can’t potentially get it…”

As obvious as this statement is, it took a mini-epiphany of sorts to finally see the “obvious.” However, it wasn’t one of these ground shaking moments with skies opening up and blinding light pouring down on me, but a rather calm realization, as I sat in front of my computer day after day, browsing job listings.

I am considering getting a second degree in Economics. Despite the fact that my “inconsistencies” are well known (and well documented in this blog), despite the fact that I have a tendency to get excited over a wide array of topics and disciplines, this is not a passing whim of mine, but quite a logical decision that I came to gradually. I need to learn economics because economic development is what I am most interested in. I need to have a good working knowledge in economics, since every job that truly interests me requires such background. I need to know economics if I want to carry out work of certain kind of depth and magnitude that gets me giddy with excitement. I do need that background if I ever decide to get a PhD (which most likely be somewhat related to Public Policy). I also want to learn economics simply because I truly enjoy the subject, even if my exposure to it up to this day has been rather limited.

So for the last month or so I have been thinking about every little aspect that this decision contains and trying to find out as much information as I can about what studying economics entails and where I should go to study it. Since then I have met with my advisor a couple of times, talked to a number of professors, PhD students and administration at Brandeis and elsewhere, discussed it with family and friends. And despite certain quite legitimate reservations that some of them expressed, the amount of support that I received has been incredible. It makes sense, any way I look at it.

Now comes the question regarding where to go to study it. One thing I am certain about is that I do not want to be at Brandeis anymore – I think I am done with Brandeis for the time being. At the same time, if I rather not lose any more time and start this fall, I have missed the deadlines of many programs that would be more or less appealing. And since the only place I would rather be at this point is Richmond, and that Virginia Commonwealth University is located in Richmond, I decided to take a look at what it has to offer. And what do you know – its business school does offer a degree in Economics. Master’s degree, that is. On top of that, the school has a rolling admission (the deadline for turning in an application for fall isn’t until July), is relatively inexpensive (it’s a public school after all) and chances are I will qualify for in-state tuition. Given the fact that both my GPA and average GRE score are higher than VCU average, and given the fact that I scored ridiculously high on the quantitative part of GRE (surprising, since I am, after all, and English major) and these are scores that would count most, chances are I will get accepted. Also, another curious fact – VCU ranks higher in Economics than… Brandeis. Not that I’m concerned about rankings anyway (more on that will come later, I suppose).

Next week I am meeting with the admissions people at VCU to discuss what it is going to take to get accepted into the program. I do know that I will have to take a few undergraduate courses (including Calculus) before I could move on to graduate ones. And although I have a rough estimate that the whole process will take about two years, I will know for sure after I meet with them.

What happens with Brandies then, you might want to know? As much as I would like to say “whatever” and “screw it,” I did, after all, invest tremendous amount of resources (and time) into my current degree program. I am also about to finish all academic requirements for the said degree. Quitting the program this late in the game would not be all that great of an idea, after all. For now, the tentative plan is that if I get accepted to the program, or get the green light to start the undergraduate courses, I will take a leave of absence from Brandeis, get a degree and training in economics, which in its turn will allow me to get a job out of which I will write a thesis for Brandeis. I do realize that I am taking the longest possible option that I could ever choose to finally get a degree in International Development. But at the same time, I think the process is well worth it, especially since it will leave me with two degrees that will nicely complement each other. And since, as one of my dear friends kindly pointed out to me that the only people who hire “development professionals” without quantitative or economics background are Peace Corps (those who know me know what I think about Peace Corps) I think I am making a sound decision. An added bonus - high marketability of Economics degree that will give me a whole lot of options besides running around the world and trying to accommodate one stubborn donor or greedy consultant at a time.

When I close my eyes, I can actually smell the spring in the air.

It’s April. Slowly, veeery slowly spring is making its way to my whereabouts. Still bundled up in warm clothes, I shiver every time I see undergrads walking around bare legged in flip-flops. For me it’s still cold, still too unpleasant…

Last time I was in Richmond (which was a month ago) trees were covered with blossoms everywhere. Not a single sign of a flower anywhere in the vicinity here, but when I close my eyes, even on coldest days, I can actually smell the spring in the air.

Lately I’ve been in quite a happy mood. I realize that I have a little more than a month left here. I also decided to take the fellowship offer, which means that great part of my summer will be spent in the Caucasus. I am excited about the trip. I am ecstatic about the fact that I will be seeing my family soon, getting to spend some time at home. Then, come August, and I will be moving back to Richmond - my second home, or as I like to put it, my home by choice, to (hopefully) start classes at Virginia Commonwealth University – a decision that I will talk more about in the next couple of posts.

For those who have noticed, Day In The World is currently running under “Graduate Edition” – a title that I put up there for the fun of it, thinking to myself that it won’t be too long until I take it off again. Now I come to realize that it is here to stay for quite a while longer, about which I am also very excited.

So now I am starting my (grand) countdown until it’s time for me to leave. But before I leave, I think I should devote some time (and space in this blog) to reflect upon the events that happened during the first year of graduate studies at Brandeis and how these events affected the decisions that I am about to make. Despite the fact that this year at Brandeis has not been the best one that I’ve ever had, I think some good has come out of it nonetheless and the least I can do is to as much as account for it.

For now, only one more month…

Peace Corps Follows Me Wherever I Go...

I am not sure whether this is some kind of a random coincidence or it should have been expected, but I just found out that two of my teammates of the aforementioned fellowship in Armenia are former Peace Corps volunteers who I have apparently met (but can't recall, or rather can't put faces to the names) during my PC groupie days. My reaction, a mixture of surprise and amusement, is similar to that when upon meeting my current MA classmates during graduate orientation:

Where do Peace Corps Volunteers end up after they’re done with their two year service? Apparently, the SID program at Heller is the place to be – it seems like ninety percent of the Americans who are in the program (and believe it or not, they are a minority in an extremely diverse and colorful incoming MA student crowd) are returning Peacies. To take this further – what are the chances that you’ll meet one, let alone two of these amazing well-wishing, tree-hugging do-gooders that have just come back from your own country? Even more so, what if you even happen to have personally seen them on site? From the day one, when after being freshly inaugurated and sworn in, they crowded my favorite bar, making complete fools of themselves, I’'d stumble upon them throughout the year here and there in ever corner of downtown Yerevan… A former PC groupie that I was back in the day, while conducting series of interviews with them for my still unfinished project, I actually ended up befriend a few (they are, after all, charming, and adorable, and totally harmless). And yet, Brandeis was the last place I’d expect to run into a former Armenia stationed Peace Corps Volunteer – but then, it’s a small world that makes room for even the most improbable encounters to happen.

Apparently, the fat bastard was right: PC volunteers turn up in the darnedest of places when you look for them... even more when you don't... kinda like Armenians.

Question of the day

Should the efforts of the international community towards poverty reduction be codified as “hard law” in international instruments (such as treaties) or should they be more on the side of “soft law” similar to Millennium Declaration and Millennium Development Goals?

Now if you will excuse me, I have a few hundred pages of readings to do on sources of international law in order to build a valid argument in favor of either one of the options. Any suggestions are more then welcome, so comment away…

This Week in Development - The Impact of Economic Growth on Poverty and Inequality

Starring Dave Nicholson, an SID MA Candidate – in other words, a classmate of mine, who I think is absolutely brilliant (pronounced in British accent). The text below is one of the topics of our “discussion boards” based on a couple of recent studies on the above referenced subject:

Bob Sutcliffe. (2004).World inequality and globalization. Oxford Review of Economic Policy, Vol 20, No 1.

Dollar, David and Aart Kraay (2002) Growth is Good for the Poor, Journal of Economic Growth, Vol. 4.

As what seems to be the typical outcome in economics, the answer to the question of the growths impact on inequality seems to be....all together now....it depends. Bob Sutcliffe studied various methods of measuring inequality and found that different indicators could be used to generate different results. Without a reliable measure of inequality, the impact of growth is really tough to judge with any certainty, and therefore the impact of globalization is equally tough to measure. The only thing Sutcliffe can conclude is that inequality is very high right now, using the word “futile” to describe attempts to quantify it properly. If nothing else I admire his honesty.

In another study, Dollar and Kray seem to try really hard to obtain some correlation between current popular pro-poor policies and reduction in inequality (This observation is based on the fact that I understand little to nothing of what they actually did, but it sounds both impressive and time consuming). The conclusion they draw is that pure economic growth is the only thing that can be reliably attributed to increasing the income of the poorest 20% (don't tell Amartya Sen anyone!) They admit that this doesn't imply that nothing else has an impact, but merely that the contributions made by various policy and institutional factors may be too complicated to recognize in their “simple” study.

Trying to read their study led to the feeling that we were going round in circles; such a broad study was unlikely to identify singular important factors. I thought the Washington Consensus experience had taught us that the search for a blue print answer for all countries was “futile”, and that localized factors were always relevant in policy creation. Overall, we can conclude that we don't really know. Dejarvous anyone? Equiproportionately so.

The bottom line is – we don’t know, or at least, the attempts of such broad-based, cross-country studies to measure even a more complex correlation between growth, poverty and inequality leaves us with inconclusive results. Fried-pork, anyone?

For clarifications – Amartya Sen, a philosopher and economist who teaches, as said in Heller parlance, right down the road at Harvard. A Nobel Prize winner for economics in 1998, he’s famous, among many other works, for his book Development As Freedom – a self-explaining title that sees the true means towards development in enhancing freedoms and capabilities of people, whereas growth in itself does not necessarily contribute towards the end goal.

Washington Consensus – a set of ten market-oriented, neo-liberal policies that came out from Washington based institutions (World Bank and IMF) in 1989-1990, that were aimed at reducing the role of government and placed the emphasis on the markets to promote development. It was broadly implemented in a number of developing countries and yielded pretty miserable results. One of the lessons among the many from this particular experience was that there are, after all, no blueprint solutions to development that can be transferred from one country to another.

To Whom It May Concern: It’s a Thursday of no particular importance

And this blog is screaming for an update. But since there has been a lot on my mind lately, I am not quite sure where and how to begin. Except that maybe I should first spill out the unexciting news before I could move on to somewhat exciting ones?

So the non-so exciting part – it’s been veeery quiet on the job-hunt front, despite the fact that I keep applying away to anything that comes on my radar. Besides my recent rant and apprehensions on the said topic, the process leaves me with a feeling that I am compromising my own integrity. Not fun at all.

I had a mild freak out earlier this week due to what turned out (hopefully that’s the case) a minor gum infection that I thought was spreading at alarming rate to bring many serious consequences that would require surgical intervention. And since I am not covered by dental insurance, I was even more scared as to what to do about the situation. A trip to a physician calmed me down a bit, as I found out that surgery may not be necessary at this point and a good dose of antibiotics might do the trick. Also I cleared it with the said physician and my health insurance company that in case I do need a surgery, it would be billed as “medical” and not “dental,” which, in its turn was a pretty big relief. For once I should not bitch about the American health care system (yet).

On slightly more exciting news – I have been offered a ten week fellowship with a microfinance organization (that I have worked with for a couple of years in the past) to conduct a client assessment research in Georgia (country) and Armenia. Besides having a darn good reason to go back home this summer (and a trip is long overdue), I would gain a much needed research experience, get to compare data on two neighboring countries that share many political, social, cultural and geographic similarities and get to hang out in Tbilisi. Also, one of my classmates from Ukraine who I really like will be accompanying me in my Georgia trip. The downside of it is that the fellowship does not pay shit. Even more so, despite the fact that the said organization covers the living expenses in both countries, the cost of the trip is completely my responsibility. With continuously depreciating dollar airline tickets have gotten very, extremely expensive, so my ability to actually do the research will be contingent upon my being able to find funding for the said trip, along with several other factors that I won’t go into now.

Needless to say, I am excited about this fellowship. However, there are a couple of concerns that rise off the top of my head in case I do end up accepting the fellowship. For one, there’s the whole situation of depreciating dollar and appreciating Georgian/Armenian currencies that makes my already limited resources stretch rather thinly. Then, in case I do end up going to Georgia, I do not have the vaguest idea as to how in the world I will be able to communicate. I do not speak Georgian. Neither does my Ukrainian friend. We both speak Russian. You’d think that Georgians would too, given our shared seventy years of Soviet history, but due to current and not-so current political relations between the said two countries, Georgians are not very friendly towards the Russian speaking folk. And they refuse pointblank to speak Russian (or so I hear). There are quite a few people who speak English in Tbilisi but I doubt that a middle-age rural microfinance client would be fluent enough for us to be able to communicate. Although the flip side of it is that this might create some pretty hilariously nonsensical situations worth getting into. Or maybe not. All I know is that at this point I should hold off the excitement, since there is a whole lot more stuff that needs to be worked and figured out before I can wholeheartedly accept this offer. For now all I can say is that I really really want to go home…

On a brighter note: things that have been my source of amusement lately

• Watching grown men “unleash" their inner teenage rock star as they play Rock Band (an equivalent of Guitar Hero) for hours at a time. Makes me remember the days of my “youth” when [insert the rock band of your choice – in my case – Nirvana, post mortem] held the status of a deity, wearing torn blue jeans and multiple piercings was a statement equal to blasphemy (we’re talking Yerevan in early 90s) and obtaining the said pair of blue jeans that cost twice as much as my mother’s monthly salary was the biggest source of obsession.

• Mother Sugar watching democratic debates or the results of the primaries and changing her mind by the minute as to who to vote for. The current verdict – Hilary is a bitch, Obama is the man, look out for McCain and the world is coming to an end, fast, so it doesn’t matter anyway. As surprising as this may sound, I have been relatively cool about this whole election circus (I shouldn’t be, even if I don’t get to vote), especially since my beloved cute Southern boy (Edwards) dropped out of the race early on.

• Statements made by certain crazy professor(s) saying that “some of us haven’t read a book in twenty years,“ and that “if you are reading, you’re not thinking; if you’re thinking, you’re not reading.” Thus, if you want to keep thinking, put down the damn book.

• Remarks made by my classmate on my pessimistic attitude that go like:

Him: “Why are you so pissed all the time?”

Me: “I’m practicing on being a bitch.”

Him: “Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t need to practice.” Ouch.

• My African fan club at Heller and a certain skinny dude who keeps proposing to me to be his African queen, go with him to Nigeria and be his number one wife… When I tell him that he looks too much like my brother (both are skinny, tall, with big round heads and even bigger smiles), the guy standing next to him says:

“My condolences, brother. I am so happy that she doesn’t think that I look like her bother.”

Good to know that in case I don’t find anything useful to do with myself, I always have an option of being an African queen. I guess I should find out who the rest of the wives are going to be?

An ongoing rant on my utter ineptitude... or I went to Brandies and all I learned was that I don't know a thing when it comes to development

Despite a very strenuous week, the last few days of the week I was actually in a pretty good mood. Maybe it was because the weather finally warmed up a bit, maybe because I was done with my third module of the academic program, having only one more module to go. I finally figured out how to resolve the tangled issue of previously mentioned universality and cultural relativity when it came to human rights, wrote a pretty darn good legal argument about international law and humanitarian intervention, did a kick ass job on a presentation… Walking out of Heller early Friday morning, after having handed in yet another assignment I felt relieved, happy. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the air smelled of spring… “Maybe I should give myself a reward, buy a sweater, maybe a new pair of shoes,” I thought to myself, as I walked home, looking forward to indulging myself in doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day, possibly taking a trip to Boston on Sunday, to buy the said reward…

However, despite the good mood that finished off my week, I’ve been having a pretty lousy weekend, and that’s not simply due to uncooperative weather that made me cancel my tentative trip to the city and has kept me locked up indoors for the last forty eight hours. When one doesn’t have a whole lot on her daily agenda, one inevitably keeps going back to the reoccurring thoughts that might have been circling around one’s mind. And since close friends and family have gotten sick of hearing about my woes of late, I thought I would turn to my last resort and vent on this blog.

So, yeah, things that bother me right now – the same things that have been bothering two months ago, three months ago, maybe even longer… I am clueless as to what I want to do with myself after this May, when I am done with this semester. I am not sure what I actually can do come this May. All I know is that I am supposed to be at a practicum of some sorts. That can be an internship or an actual job, as long as it’s related to the field of interest, does not involve doing my own research and can serve as basis for writing my Master’s paper.

Here’s the thing though – on one hand I don’t have a quite clear picture of what I want to do. Or to correct myself – things that I want to do I am not quite qualified for (blame my weak background in econ and statistics). On the other hand, pretty much all more or less decent internships are unpaid. And the truth is, I cannot afford an unpaid internship. So I am looking for jobs. Entry level jobs in the field of sustainable international development that do not involve the aforementioned advanced stats and econ skills. And boy, is the process frustrating. I don’t think I ever mastered the whole art of self-promotion and selling myself thing. What am I supposed to say here? I’m smart, I’m smart, I go to a tough preppy school and get good grades, I’m smart, I speak three languages, I really care for the poor, I’m smart, I’M SMART, god damnit, now WILL YOU HIRE ME ALREADY?

So I am coming to realize that as respectable as Brandeis degree is, it is a pretty generic one to make you a specialist of anything in particular. International development is a pretty broad field that encompasses a wide range of disciplines from environmental conservation and sustainability to poverty alleviation, economic development, human rights, gender issues and everything else in between. But really, you’re not graduating as an ecologist or an environmental engineer to be able to really tackle the issues of the environment. Nor are you coming out being a human rights specialist – for that there are programs in law schools. If you want to work on economic development, then you’re gotta be – come on, take a wild guess – an economist maybe? Did I really need another reason to tell me that I didn’t make the smartest choice when I came to Brandeis?

Also, even the lowly bottom of the barrel entry level position of a program associate in any lousy DC NGO requires (and I’m not kidding here) FIVE years of relevant experience, on top of an advanced degree. No more or no less. Now, do you think that if I had five year’s of relevant experience with an advanced degree I would be applying for a job of a program associate? Give me a break already. I don’t think I have ever, EVER in my life felt more unqualified and … I guess, worthless and limited in what I can do. I do keep applying to anything from human rights advocacy to gender issues to small project management to micro-finance … everything that comes on my radar that I can be even remotely considered suitable. Perhaps part of the reason I feel so limited is because I do limit my search to one and only location of Washington DC (or Richmond, but no big market there), since I decided that I really do not feel like working overseas or any other spot in the States in the near future. Even if devil tells me to try to find a job back at home, the only thing that I’ve been able to find is a ten week microfinance fellowship (not long enough) and internships (paid) with USAID (require US citizenship that I do not have).

So back to the job hunt. A part of me has been entertaining the thought that in case I don’t manage to find something that is at least remotely suitable for my field and doesn’t require me taking out another huge student loan to cover my living expenses, my only other choice is to defer my second year – something that neither the boy nor my mother will hear about. And that, frankly, pisses me off. It’s one thing to be able to do what you want to do, it’s another thing to be able to afford what you want to do. Nor could I really afford this fancy education in the first place, especially since the more I think about, the more worthless it appears to be. And the whole chain of thoughts repeats again. Also, makes my kick-ass legal arguments and carefully composed papers seem completely pointless. Or maybe I’m worthless. And I have this lousy feeling as a proof for the latter. So much for buying a new sweater as a reward.

To Whom It May Consern: It's Twenty Degrees and Sunny. Sunday Afternoon

And I'm suffering through a paper.

Although most of the times my writing assignments are nothing more but a means of perfecting the art of pulling a paper out of thin air, there are those few occasions that seem to open a can of warms that I really don't feel like dealing with. Like universality of human rights and cultural relativism... Especially cultural relativism. Perhaps a good indicator I should not pursue a career in anthropology.