"So when did you start learning English?"

*.....Last week.*

Thus one of the harshest indictments against bystanders to genocide is that they are lulled by their own bigotry. Would Americans have stood by if the Rwandans were white, or if the Bosnians were overwhelmingly Christian? David Wyman, the leading historian of the United States' reaction to the Holocaust, cannot escape the conclusion that the country's passivity was driven by American anti-Semitism. As the poet Czeslaw Milosz wrote, of Bosnia, "The lives of the well-fed are worth more than the lives of the starving." Nelson Mandela said that Africans and Asians had to envy the willingness of the world to save Kosovo.
These kinds of biases are a particular concern for the press, which is supposed to be making judgments about news, not race. As Carr wrote, "An American newspaper correspondent in Europe is said to have laid down the rule that an accident was worth reporting if it involved the death of one American, five Englishmen, or ten Europeans." In 1970, the publisher of the New York Times, Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, asked his editors, "Why is it that when the National Guard kills four white students we put it on page I, and when the National Guard kills six black people we put it on page 32?" When an explosion of army munitions in Lagos killed over a thousand fleeing Nigerians, it was not front-page news in the Chicago Tribune, which instead ran pieces on Illinois prescription drug coverage and corruption charges against a Chicago businessman, How can one justify this kind of partiality? At home, it is intolerable; abroad, it may be equally intolerable, but it is commonplace.
From Freedom's Battle: The Origins of Humanitarian Intervention by Gary Bass

"It'll take a year for your system to get used to American germs and diseases."

Said someone down at the health care center to an acquaintance who, like myself, is Pakistani and a freshman at MHC. This was in response to this person falling ill and developing a cold fairly frequently. This happened about a day before I was going to go down to the health center myself because my nose runs like the eff-ing Niagara Falls these days, and I'm pretty sure that half of my lung capacity has been destroyed by constant fits of coughing. Cough and cold medication no longer works. Apparently, it'll take a year for my system to get used to American medication too.
And I resist going to the health center, so when I say "I need to go to the health center", it's serious. I've maintained since my first week here that it is useless, and this is just another thing that really proves my point.

The first time I went down there was because my foot was creaking. Yes. It was creaking. Like a spring. If I wiggled my foot, it would make a springy sound. If I touched it and wiggled it, it would be creaking. And it sort of hurt too. Naturally, I freaked out, and made trip no. 1 to the health center. After wandering around looking for the health center, and finally getting to it in 25 minutes ( it's all the way across campus. I'm not even sure if it's on campus), I went in and asked to see someone. They made me fill out a form, and as weird as it sounds, I put down "Creaky Foot" under reason for visit. True enough. I was thinking maybe they'd give me some medicine for the pain, or give me some fancy medical term for the condition I otherwise kept referring to as Creaky Foot. But no. What I was told was " We refer to this as Overstressed Feet Syndrome, you should rest your feet." I really wanted to ask her if she was planning to buy me a car, because that was the only way I could think of to "rest" my feet. Also, I had just walked 25 minutes to get to the health center just to be told that I should be resting my feet. And to add insult to injury, I got lost while trying to get back to my dorm. Talk about facepalm moments.

The health center is also notorious for connecting everything to pregnancy. Students have been asked if they are pregnant when it's just food poisoning they have. The staff down there really seems to have a lot of faith in the student body on campus. If I ever go there and someone asks me this, I will probably be prepared and answer with a " Why, yes!" and walk out. I mean, what else can you do when you're misdiagnosed like that?

And again, please remind me of what one does at college.
Thanks.
xoxo.

Philosophy 208

"I cannot finish off a mile-long run right now. Why? Because I need to have run almost a mile just before now, so that I can complete the running of a mile. Yet, I have not been running. So I cannot finish a mile at this point."

Kasam khao? Because I had no clue that you actually had to RUN to finish off a mile-long run.

 If he'd actually spent even half that fucking time running, he'd have completed that mile. Thank you liberal arts, for this semester long mindfuck. I now know what I will definitely NOT be majoring in.
Seriously, what kind of crack do you have to be on to produce this stuff? I'll probably be needing some of it to pass this class.

"If something has to be, then it will be."
"If something will be, then it has to be."


Mr. Conee and Mr.Sider, I regret to inform you that your LIVES were accidental necessities.

Non-existent brain needs to function.

Sitting in the library with readings from four classes staring into my uncomprehending face, I now realize that 3 months of no mental (or physical, but we'll get to that later) activity whatsoever have really decreased my already low mental capacity. If you, like me, suffer from a lack of active brain cells, I suggest exploring options other than Higher Education. If you really, really, really like a certain college, try getting a job there. Become a janitor. Or a dishwasher. Or something. (Since you can't be a professor, cause for that you kinda sorta have to take the HE path too.) They'll make you wash pots and pans in the kitchen as "work-study" anyway (three hours of pot washing on a Sunday morning. And countless more to come). So might as well stick to manual labour and enjoy the perks of a beautiful campus without going to any of the classes.


As much as I love this place, I still have some whining to do. (Surprised? Don't be.)

• The food doesn't taste like anything. Sometimes I want to gag just for the lack of spice. There is way too much food in this country, and none of it is spicy.
• So back home, I'm supposed to be "chubby" (whatever that means). However, here, I'm smaller than small. Now you may think of that as a boost to my self-esteem, which it was for the first two days, it's just plain annoying now. I've been trying to shop for winter and I look like a two year old trying to fit into her mother's clothes. 
• So we all know how the first world countries are out to kill us. We get Red Bull for cheaper. We get cigarettes for nothing. And frankly, I prefer it that way. Please, I would rather die than pay $8.50 for twenty cigarettes. Can you let me reduce my lung capacity in peace?
• Walking. Too. Much. Walking. For a person who's known for sitting on her butt and moving only when the necessity occurs, this is a lifestyle shock. So far, I'm still alive. For how long? I don't know.

• "So, like, how did you hear about Mount Holyoke? Do people there know about America? Do you guys, like, listen to our music? Do you speak English there? So, like, do you meet boys? Is your house flooded?" Alas, the ignorant American. Oh, I don't know, one day as I was wading through my burnt down village, which just by the way also got hit by the flood, trying not to drown under the weight of my sodden burqa, I reached a stretch of dry land. On that fine stretch, I saw a white man on a donkey cart. It was an American missionary who somehow managed to convey to me (through sign language since I didn't know what English was till I came to this country) that there is this place called Mount Holyoke College. When I found out, I swam back to my house as fast as I could, to tell my family of 50 people that I could save everyone, only to be beaten up with a belt and chased out of my village because they thought the American missionary had violated my honour. While I was being chased out, I hid in the forest, on top of a tree, where the man found me again, and applied to the US for political asylum for me, and here I am! It sounds so much better than "Umm, it was my first choice."

Yeah, they're a weird race, these Americans.

Mohome.

Probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in. Probably some of the best people I have ever been around.
=)