Gabrahat

I am a little discontented with my last post because I fear taking on a tone. You know the story. The spoiled American girl goes to a country in the Middle East and of course, can't notice anything but the dirt and the poverty. She writes about her initial shocks (because of her pampered, luxuriant, and binged American lifestyle) and leaves Karachi with nothing but her stupid stereotypes and obtuse ignorance.

There are so many things that are here for me to become part of, to understand. However, at the same time, I feel as if I am standing behind a glass window. I am observing, but I am not partaking. I am using many excuses--mostly because I am, admittedly, afraid. I refuse to take my large camera onto the streets, yet I will snap photos from the cool comfort of a car. I don't speak to people in my normal American accent, but disguise my dialect so that I sound Pakistani. If I cannot think of what I want to say in Urdu, then I won't say it all. I wear only salwaar kameezes in public and hold back on my actions because I am not sure how to deal with an ostensibly patriarchal society.

Admittedly and most unfortunately, my preconceived notions are keeping me from fully immersing myself in Karachi. I can't help but feel in danger sometimes (even though there has been nothing dangerous here that I have witnessed.) I came across dried, splattered blood in a stairwell (not to be confused with paan juice, which is spit ubiquitously) and then I immediately reminded myself to BE CAUTIOUS ALIA! FOLLOW THE RULES!

But if I am always cautious to the point of being distant, then I can safely say that I will never get to know this place.

That is something that I am working around with in my head.

I have also been contemplating death. At the hospital, there are many patients who are dying and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Death is one of those strange things. Its so familiar, yet I don't always feel it's confrontational. And when I see people dying, I begin to take on a detached "that's life" persona. But after witnessing so many families--I can't help but wonder, what if that were me? I could never be strong if I had to watch a loved one die.

I couldn't sleep last night in the hostel. My room was dark and sticky from the heat. There were insects chirping outside the window and my fan was violently shaking on the ceiling. But there was death. The thoughs stoically, silently sitting in the room.

So in frustration and anxiety (gabrahat, they say here,) I dragged my mattress to the air conditioned common room where some of my friends sleep in response to the unbearable heat. And as soon as I was tucked between Uranus (pronounced Yoo-rah-noos--she's Afghani) and Salima with their heavy blankets and soft snores, I could comfort myself enough to drift to sleep.

Its really remarkable how much power people have. I mean, we are all reliant on one another at one point. And last night, I needed to be with people. Never underestimate the impact you have on others. I've always been quite proud of myself for being the lone soldier, the independent and solo woman. But regardless, I felt much better with them. And smile! You don't know how much I miss it--so smile away!!