Joshua

The Nugget

Happy Birthday, Nugget!

My Future Dream Jobs

This would be an awesome, freelance job.

Or,

I should move to India and work for magazines. I'm sure the market is more open there. And, hey, they're big magazines.

Or,

just adventure around like these old guys.

Butters & Gob

About two weeks ago, Josh and I decided to buy a guinea pig. (We originally wanted a bunny, but bunnies are expensive and require more attention; guinea pigs are more low-maintaince.) We headed over to PETCO and picked out a light brown and white female guinea pig. We named her Butters; the name fits, despite not being gender-appropriate. The following week, we decided that Butters needed a friend, so we went back to the store and brought home Gob, a dark-brown-with-white-splotches guinea pig. They get along wonderfully. Look at their adorableness.

Nasim Mama

My dad woke us up at 7 a.m. to tell us that our uncle, my mother's oldest brother, died. My Nasim Mama ("mama" is the Bengali term for your uncles on your maternal side of the family) had a lot of health problems. He has been in and out of hospital for a long time. He was the reason my mother finally went to Bangladesh last December, though, he seemed fine at that time. Out of my family in Bangladesh, he was the closest to me, thanks to e-mail. We'd email each other at least once a week, talking about school, family, etc.

He died around Tuesday night (Bangladesh time) of a stroke.

On the phone, while my mother talked to her sisters, she told them, "At least you were there with him," in between sobs. It made me think of the guilt she must feel for being here in the U.S. while her entire family is back in Bangladesh, struggling on practically nothing. She didn't get to spend enough time with her parents, sisters and brothers as someone should get to.

It's sad.

On This Day...

Happy Birthday to myself!

So they include Ethan, but not Desmond? Come on! Desmond's gorgeous and has great episodes!

And woohoo for the New York Harbor mention and two journalists.

Emerson-Bound

I'll write about my road trip and other nonsense later, but I just wanted to share this: I was accepted to Emerson's Print and Publishing M.A. program!!! So this fall, you'll know where I'll be...

Aspire High

While working on web stuff for the Rail today, Phong told me, "Sweetie [that's what he calls me, that and Princess], you know what I decided?" I replied with the requisite question, "What?"

"I'm going to fall in love," he declared.

"Is that your goal for the year?" I asked.

"No, it's not a goal; it's my aspiration."

In Bangladesh

We flew over Iran at night and outside, I saw scattered clumps of light. Then, I saw the sun rise over the blackened outlines of sand dunes and/or mountains (not sure which), the horizon lined bright bright orange. I wanted to be down there so bad.

Bangladesh is crowded.

My dad says human life here has no value and it shows: kids and people walk and run haphazardly across streets with no lanes nor stop lights, streets filled with cars, rickshaws, baby taxis, buses and just other people. The air is constantly thick with exhaust, dust and other assorted goods.

Development is booming here--there are billboards boasting of luxury apartment buildings and new storefronts everywhere. Homes are everywhere. There are buildings in unfinished states, their pillars standing alone, supporting nothing at all.

It's different from what I remember.

Even my father's home is different--instead of the expansive one-story floor, with many rooms and the roof where I kept a secret hiding place, it is now one-half of that home, the other half another aprtment for another family, and on top, there are more apartments.

It's disappointing.

In lighter news, I did get to go on a boat ride with my cousins. The river was nice (I forgot the name, but I'll get it later), and the boat was low. It was perfect.

It's unnerving how much people stare. I don't know if it's because it's normal to stare or because it's so obvious that I'm American, but it's hard to get used to. When I travel in the summer, I'm going to wear salwar kameezes because it's just easier that way.

I'm at my cousin's place right now--the only place I've been to that has internet. There is more I want to say and show, but I don't have my pictures or notebook with me now. I'll save that for next time.

Till then.

On My Way

In about eight hours, I will be on my way to Bangladesh by way of Dubai. This is exciting (if I ignore everything else, that is.)

In Great Need of Something Far Away, Take 2

In Great Need of Something Far Away

This what I need right now, among other things.

My Odyssey

I told him Afghanistan was the missing section of my walk, the place in between the desert and the Himalayas, between Persian, Hellenic and Hindu culture, between Islam and Buddhism, between mystical and militant Islam. I wanted to see where these cultures merged into one another or touched the global world.


I talked about how I had been walking one afternoon in Scotland and thought: Why don't I just keep going? There was, I said, a magic in leaving a line of footprints stretching behind me across Asia.


—Rory Stewart, The Places In Between

THE NEED TO GET AWAY:

In May, the prospect of graduating scared me. I didn't want to let go of everything I'd come to learn so well—the newspaper, my classes and just the school itself.


The time after graduation is, as David Brooks so eloquently put it in his column, "odyssey, the decade of wandering that frequently occurs between adolescence and adulthood." He goes on to describe it as a period of trying and delaying: with so many different options, there's no rush to settle.


I am in the middle of my odyssey. Soon enough, I'll be in the real world dealing with real things, like salaries and rent and insurance.


I always had vague ideas about what I wanted to do in life—something involving writing, something not typical. In college, I came to realize that I wanted to do journalism—reproting on the unseen and unnoticed, like exploring the rivers of Bangladesh like the BBC did or how the television blackout affected Pakistanis during martial law, those are the articles I want to write.


New York is too familiar to me. This idea haunted me throughout my last year of college—I needed to get away.


At the time, I was finishing up my senior work, a collection of poetry and essays about traveling presented in a nicely-designed booklet. Reading about my previous trips mad me realize how much I missed traveling. I thought about my friend Jon and how he planned to move back to China, which he did. Then I thought about my professor, Peter Godwin, and how, after he graduated, he and his friends bought two former-military British cars and drove from England to South Africa, while writing and submitting articles to publications.


I needed something like that, something epic, where I could and actually be abroad. I needed an adventure to look forward to, a time where I knew I would be gone. I wasn't going to school, I didn't have a permanent job, I didn't have any obligations. I could be gone for as long as I wanted.


With this idea stuck in my head, my only question became, where?

TO ASIA:

I'm not sure how I came to decide on South and Southeast Asia. It was between that area and South America, but I was pulled more towards the former. Once I had that thought in my head, it was set: I would spend at least four months on the other side of the world.


I told my advisor, Rob, about this and asked what he thought about it. He said it sounded fine, but I needed a mission, a reason for going. Considering he's a freelance writer, it made sense he'd say that. If you're going to do something, you need a purpose, no?


I needed a purpose.


I learned as much as I could about the area. I kept up with the news, from both local and established papers. I read books, some recommended and others that I stumbled upon. I read Richard Lloyd Parry's In the Time of Madness, where he saw Indonesia fall apart in the late '90s amidst a corrupt dictatorship and vicious ethnic battles between the Dayaks and the Madurese. More than just simple reporting, Parry describes actually being there and witnessing pure savagery: decapitated bodies being dragged by motorcycles, heads displayed prominently along the road and cannibalism, while dealing with his reactions (fear) and his own life (broken heart).

I read Robert Byron's The Road to Oxiana. While he doesn't travel to the areas I planned on (instead he stirred a new obsession with Central Asia, anyone want to go to Iran with me?), he trekked across Afghanistan and Iran and wrote about his experiences, which is exactly what I want to do.


Next on my list was Rory Stewart's The Places In Between, an updated version of Byron's traverse. When I finished reading, I realized what my mission was.


This idea of interaction of cultures is why I picked Asia. I already have my own identity: a Bengali Muslim (though I'm not really much of a true Muslim, but that's besides the point). In South and Southeast Asia, there is a whole array of cultures and religions: Muslim, Hindi, Buddhist, Christian, Sikh, Indian, Bengali, Pakistani, Indonesian, Madurese, Javanese, Thai, Dayak, Chinese, Catholic, Confucian and more that I'm not even aware of. Indonesia's official motto is even "Unity in Diversity."


Observing these exchanges and writing about them is what I want to do. There are so many different places to start. In Malaysia, Indians are protesting because they feel marginalized. After the Burmese protests in September, Bangladesh housed refugee monks. I read an article in the International Herald Tribune about Indians who pretended they were vegetarians so they could stay in their apartments and just imagine the lengths they went to hide their meat-consuming ways. Imagine having to do that in New York. You really can't.


Being South Asian, I wonder how that will play into my interactions, but I'll never know until I'm there.

THE PLAN:

Originally, I planned on going to Bangladesh first to reacquaint myself with my extended family and country. I read an article about the Moitree Express, an old train that used to run between Calcutta, India and Dhaka, Bangladesh. Being obsessed with transportation in between countries, I had my heart set on taking that train into India.


That idea has been scrapped, though, because I'm going to Bangladesh this winter with my family.


Now, my journey will begin in Calcutta, India. Taking the train, I'll stop in major and random cities—I've yet to set a solid plan—but I know I'd want to stop by Mumbai and Agra for the Taj Mahal. If possible, I'd like to make a short trip into Pakistan, or, at least, witness the border ritual.


After spending a month or so doing that, I'd fly out of New Delhi and land in Jakarta, Indonesia. Since it's the world's largest archipelago country, I would stick to the island of Jakarta and maybe hop on over to Sumatra.


Then, because of my love of boats and a need to vary my travel methods, I would take a boat into Malaysia. After exploring the country and visiting Kuala Lumpar, I would cross into Thailand by bridge, either taking a bus or train, or even walking if possible.


In Thailand, I'd judge their beaches in the south (which are supposed to be the best in the world) and work my way north to Bangkok, where I'd get a taste of the urban bustle.


My dad doesn't know about my plans, though he knows that I wanted to go to Bangladesh sometime in the spring/summer. He thought it suspicious and probably has an idea as to what I'm up to. When I tell my parents, though, I won't be asking permission; I'm merely telling them.


I already have contacts in those areas of the world, thanks to friends and editors, but there is more I need to do. I need to have more concrete ideas about what I want to do and see. I have all my travel guides (I swear by them) and I'm constantly on the look-out for anyone who can guide me, whether from experience or knowledge.


This all feeds into my larger life goals: writing and traveling. Being there, I know I I will constantly stumble over stories that I will be itching to share.

AGAIN, THE NEED TO GET AWAY:

The idea of wandering alone resonated with me. I've done it in spurts—my first solo trip to San Francisco two summers ago comes to mind. Before that, I was too used to being with other people. Now, I can be alone, and sometimes, it's just better.

I want to do, as Robert Byron said, "wonder at a forgotten world." Though mine isn't as forgotten as his world of ancient mosques and villages lost within the barren deserts of Iran and Afghanistan, I will be in worlds that aren't often thought about.

Another book from my travel reading list was Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia, where I found this quote:

We talked late into the night, arguing whether or not we, too, have journeys mapped out in our central nervous systems; it seemed the only way to account for our insane restlessness.
—Bruce Chatwin, In Patagonia

That insane restlessness brought Chatwin to Patagonia from England. That same restlessness drove Stewart all across Asia. The same, exact insane restlessness will take me to wherever I end up, hopefully.

There are many reasons driving my need to get away, some of which I just can't out it out there in actual words, with others including my fears of being stuck in a job I don't love.

I hope my fears and unidentifiable feelings go away once I buy that ticket and know for sure I will be gone.

Back to Bangladesh

I'm going to Bangladesh this winter (December 27 to January 17—I'd be keeping in line with my newly imposed resolution as of last year to spend New Year's away from New York) with my family. God knows when we'd be able to do it again since we're already so involved in our own separate affairs. And anyway, it makes sense to experience Bangladesh with my family instead of on my own (to be explained later).

This time, rather than just shuttling back and forth between my parents' homes in Dhaka, we're actually going to explore the country: visiting Rangamati, Chittagong, Cox's Bazaar (home to the longest beach in the world, where my mom and dad had their honeymoon, and where you can see the sun rise and set along the same horizon—my dad is really happy about this) and hopefully hit up southern Bangladesh and see the Ganges Delta, the confluence of the Ganges, Jamuna and Meghna Rivers. My dad told me we're going on some boat trips too, for me.

My cousin is a photographer so I'll (hopefully) go on adventures with him. My uncle used to work for a newspaper and I plan on contacting English-based newspapers myself. I want to visit their offices, see how they work and maybe even write something. International clips never hurt, no? Ted already introduced me to his political activist friend who is there already, and the situtaion is crazy in Bangladesh so it will make for amazing stories). I also plan on writing something for the Brooklyn Rail when I get back, in addition to finishing up my waterfront development story.

My family and I will familiarize ourselves with this country that has become largely foreign to us together. My dad worked it out so we'll never need visas to enter Bangladesh, because my parents were born there. Now, we can go whenever we want. This visa is a nice addition to my barely-there Italy stamp and the very-clear Homeland Security imprint.

And hey, it's a nice excuse to buy travel gear I've been meaning to get (nice big travler's backpack, SLR, good shoes).

Picture Perfect

Come Wednesday, I will be the proud owner of this beautiful baby.

Taking the Science out of Bronx Science

So besides being Bronx Science alumni, E.L. Doctorow and I have more in common:

In fact, at Bronx High School of Science [1944-1948], Doctorow fled as fast as he could from algebra and chemistry and all the rest of it—all the subjects for which that legendary public high school, cradle of Noble Prize winners, was famous—and straight into the offices of the literary magazine, titled Dynamo.

I didn't realize Dynamo was that old. While I wasn't involved in Dynamo (I stuck to the Observatory, the yearbook), I was published in it several times. And, to my credit, I did really enjoy forensics biology.

Oh Puerto Rico

The beach at Isla Verde. Photo by Catherine Iftode.

Reading this article made me miss Old San Juan and made me wish I appreciated it more. Granted, the trip was extremely last-minute (decided and booked on Thursday night, flew out of JFK Friday night, came home Sunday night), so we couldn't really plan it that well. It was also very well-deserved, after a grueling and trying junior year semester and both Catherine and I had a lot of fun just losing ourselves in those Caribbean nights (nothing too wild though).

I miss that me.

Creative Definition of Yourself

So for Northwestern I have to write something creative about myself and it reminded me of my college application essay for Eugene Lang, where they asked you to write a creative definition of yourself. This was my response(slightly edited, of course):

Right now, I'm approximately seventeen and six months old. 6,385 days have shaped and added to the layers of my life. Every single of those days.

They say before you die, you see your entire life flash before your eyes. Can 6.385 and even more days be summed up in that last nanosecond before you're gone? I think that it's more like flashes of the clearest memories, the ones that stick in your mind and you don't know why—

Like coloring dinosaurs orange in my coloring book the day my sister was born.

Like getting lost on the first day of high school on way back home (it seemed fitting).

Like meeting people who are so different but share similar traits.

My friends and I were liked by experiences and interests. Always, there were things to talk about within the group of unlikely friends.

Now, you're reading this and you know random bits of my life, but you're thinking, "wait, but, who are you?"

This isn't an autobiography. This isn't an exact definition of 'Nadia Chaudhury.' This is just me simply writing about myself.

Who am I?

I'm a contradiction to my astrological sign. The fiery red Aries doesn't even come close to describing me. I'm not effervescent, stubborn or utterly confident. I'm more like the watery blue Pisces—imaginative, selfless and compassionate.

I want to make an impact on the world: a silent one through words, a revolution of words that move people in ways they're not quite sure of.

I get frustrated easily, I do nice things for people because I feel like it, I walk around with a book constantly, I shut myself off when I'm upset, I hop up and down when I'm excited, I like compliments but I don't take them easily, I write and I forget about everything else and I look to the future with expectation and fear.

I like freedom with just a pinch of guidelines, just so I know what I'm doing.

I'm used to writing words with a poetic form, where words are written in s t y l e s that directly affect the way you see them(&feelthem).

I could also adjust and write with more structured forms, using 'one' instead of 'you' and refraining from using 'I.' I could write introductions and conclusions with body paragraphs to elaborate the clearly stated thesis.

I can adapt.

I can learn.

That's what life is for—experiencing and learning from different situations that you go through and how you respond to them. Already, I've learned that ignoring things will not make them better. I've learned that you shouldn't try to live up to others' perceptions of you, but instead, live up to your own.

There's so much more in life for me to learn from. What's better than writing about the things you know, the things you've been through, the things you've seen? Then the readers, my readers, could get a taste of Nadia through my words, because of scattered ideas and dialgoues, of people and situations that came directly from my life.

Every moment has its own effect. Learning how to read led to reading a book a day because I couldn't get enough. Creating my own form of script when I didn't really know how to write while underneath the dining room table led to writing nonstop on the train.

All of this, all 500+ words, it's just the beginning of the answer of who I am.

[And after rereading/retyping this, I've realized how much and how little I've changed at the same time.]

Words of a Song

Most people were born with music--their parents listen to albums over and over again and thereby instilling the same songs in their children. So they grew up knowing who the Beatles and Billie Holiday were, from their parents and older siblings. For me, this wasn't the case. My parents moved here from Saudi Arabia in 1984. They had their own music: Bengali and Indian folk and pop songs, most featuring the strums and plunks of the harmonium.

That was the my background music of my childhood, but it was never the focus of it. Every Sunday, our "home" days, as we called them, my parents relaxed in their room, listening to their music. My brother, sister and I stayed in the living room, watching TV shows.

So the point is, I had no grounding in American music. I was familiar with television because my father made sure I had that special American privilege, but music? They knew nothing at all.

Eventually, I caught on, catching music videos on TV, listening to the radio and then to my major source of music: friends' recommendations and the wonderful world of the Internet.

While listening to my iPod recently at work, I thought about why certain songs caught my attention. There are specific subjects and words that captivate me, and when I can find them in a song, it makes the song just that much better.

- maps

Wilco's "You Are My Face"

I have no idea how this happened
All of my maps have been overthrown

Wilco's "A Magazine Called Sunset"

Let's take a map across your pillow
And breathe the sky in through your window
I'll stay in the riddle and watch your books cave in

- the water/rivers/boats/oceans/anything else water-related

Decemberists' "The Island, Come and See, The Landlord's Daughter, You'll Not Feel the Drowning"

There's a harbor lost within the reeds
A jetty caught in the overhanging trees
Among the bones of cormorants
No boot-mark here nor fingerprints
The rivers roll down to a soundless sea

Wilco's "On and On and On"

Please don't cry, we're designed to die
You can't deny even the gentlest tide

(I love the way Tweedy sings "gentlest")

- traveling

Modest Mouse's "The World At Large"

The days get shorter and the nights get cold
I like the autumn but this place is getting old
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most
The day's get longer and the nights smell green
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave

- stars

Oasis' "The Importance of Being Idle"

I don't mind
As long as there's a bed beneath the stars that shine

Bob Dylan's "Desolation Row'

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide

- some sort of act of defiance

Decemberists' "And Here I Dreamt I was an Architect"

And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

- about other places

Arcade Fire's "Cold Wind"

If you're going to San Francisco
Lay some flowers on the gravestone

Spoon's "Chicago at Night"

But then she'd never been to Chicago at night before the fall
And it don't stop, not at all

Sufjan Steven's "Chicago"

Drove to Chicago
All things know, all things know
We sold out clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

- about the city and New York in particular

Wilco's "Jesus, Etc."

Voices whine
Skyscrapers are scraping together

- dreams

Wilco's "Dreamer in my Dreams"

There's a dreamer in my dreams
Swinging from the beams
With a light shining off the lake

These examples, it must be noted, reflect my current listening habits, therefore certain artists appear more than once, like Wilco. I have to say, though, it's impressive that I still listen to Wilco because I usually tire of an artist after three months. Thank you, Chicago boy.

Bangladesh By River & My Life

By way of a Google alert I had for Bangladesh, I found this announcement on BBC. Journalists from the BBC will travel on the MV Aboshor around Bangladesh by its many rivers in order to observe how climate affects the banks and in turn, the people. Bangladesh relies on its rivers, but at the same time, the drastic weather changes wreck complete havoc on the country, as seen during the past summer.

Reading through the various journalists' articles (on a sort-of difficult website to navigate) and a comment Rob made earlier, I've come to realize what kind of career path I ideally want to tread on—traveling around and writing about the things I'm interested in, like boating along Bengali rivers, press rights in Burma or waterfront access in New York. This is something I need to get started on soon.