Frida's Notebook

A dance today

I was in a second-hand bookstore yesterday looking for teeny little treasures to send in care packages to Afghanistan and I found this.

"The Girl's Pathway: Helpful Thoughts for Girls"

Three important things to know about this book.

1. It was compiled by a man (William H. Grosner)

2. It was given to 'Dora' on 10 January 1918

3. It was "prepared with the view of supplying you with some materials for thought as you travel along the highway of life"

I'm quite taken with it and plan to share bits and pieces with you here. I will start where the editor started. With the morning.

Morning

Every day which is born into this world comes like a burst of music, and sings itself all day through. And thou shalt make of it a dance, a dirge, or a life march, as thou wilt. - T. Carlyle

Today I found the tune early and made a dance of my day. It doesn't happen every day and I was certainly helped along the way by the generosity of my friends and family.

I was helped along by their willingness to give up a little of what they have to help people who need it more.

I was helped along by seeing the love pour in from all corners of the globe for a friend in need.

I was helped along, no doubt, by a yoga class focused on inversions. There is nothing like getting upside-down for changing my perspective on the tune.

One way and another it was a dance of a day today. I'm grateful for that.

Gaza

I've written here before about the two years when I lived in the Gaza Strip, working at the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights. So it won't be a suprise to anyone who knows me that the killing of so many Palestinians this past weekend has filled me with grief, anger and despair.

If (not suprisingly) your local or national media hasn't been covering the massacre in Gaza in much detail then read Laila's post about it here

Read Heba's post here

Read a joint blog by a Palestinian and Israeli man (Peace man and Hope man) here

Read what Jews sans Frontieres have to say over here

Or read Tara's post here

Or just look around the internet for some independent news sources (if your news is anything like ours here in New Zealand you won't find much of the story by reading the papers or watching the television).

I can't ever get used to the way that the world allows this kind of killing to carry on in Gaza without raising our combined voices against it. Today I feel that cloud of guilt hovering in the corner of my sky.

After living and working there for two years I left Gaza. I left my friends and colleagues to carry on the fight. I came home to New Zealand to devote four years of my life to strengthening my ties with family and friends and to developing the "New Zealand Action Plan for Human Rights".

Because we all know how much New Zealanders need my passionate defense of their rights, right? Or maybe not. Sigh.

Actually I do believe that working for the better promotion and protection of human rights in my own country is an important part of my life work. There are too many people here in New Zealand who are denied access to their rights. Children live in poverty in New Zealand. Maori land rights (indigenous rights) continue to be violated. Disabled New Zealanders face daily discrimination, as do trans-gender and inter-sex New Zealanders. Refugees and migrants face racism as they try to find work and accomodation. There was work for me here, but it was hard to leave Gaza.

It was just as hard as it has been to leave Afghanistan. Maybe even harder. I was younger.

For the first few years after I left Gaza I tried to remain politically active on Palestinian rights. But the barrage of emotional attacks I sustained from people who misunderstood my passion for the lives and basic rights of Palestinians took a toll. I couldn't summon up the energy to argue with people who had already formed their firm opinions on the basis of news headlines.

I looked for ways to support my Palestinian friends and colleagues without having to have pointless and emotionally exhausting arguments with people who have never stepped a foot in Israel or the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Ultimately I think I have failed to find the right path for me and during my two years in Afghanistan I wrapped all my passion for Palestine up in a ball and tucked it away in the back of my mind.

I let Afghanistan consume me and comforted myself with the thought that whilst I might be failing my Palestinian friends I was doing the best I could in Afghanistan. Hey - how much can one girl do?

But coming home and letting Afghanistan's grip on my heart ease just a little has allowed room for my love for Gaza to come flooding back in and along with it this desire to find a way to do more.

So here I am again. Knowing full well that my guilt won't help anyone and that I can make a difference here, in some small way today I'll find a way to show my support for the right of people in Gaza to live in peace, security and freedom. Maybe writing this post was the first step.

Lessons in letting go: Part V

The monarch butterfly emerged from her chrysalis yesterday. My apology for fuzzy focus, I was a little awe struck by her beauty and mystery

If I had to identify one key theme of my life in the past two years it would be this: it is harder to let go than to hold on, even when what we are clinging to is obviously doing us no damn good.

When I learned about Mr. B's abduction I was overwhelmed not only by fear and concern for him but also by a terrible wave of guilt. The guilt washed in like a heavy rain cloud stealing the sunny moments from my day. As I walked home from the coast along the ridge of Wellington's stunning "green belt" - surrounded on all sides by vistas of harbour, hills and native bush - I would be about to lose myself in a moment of pure bliss when a voice in my head would berate me.

"How can you be so happy when we are still suffering?"
"What about us?"
"Don't you care about us at all?"
"Have you forgotten about us?"

And beneath it all this insidious message:

"If you let yourself go fully and enjoy this moment then you will forget about us"

Quietly, quietly this week I have come to recognise that I was hanging onto the guilt for fear that if I let it go I would also let go of them. I was afraid of becoming like so many other people, so wrapped up in my own world, my own happiness and comfort (or lack thereof), that I would stop caring about them.

Them.

All the people I've met in Afghanistan, Timor-Leste and Palestine whose lives continue to be insecure, poor and relentlessly harsh. All the people I worked with who are still there, working through the cold, dark winter to bring a little relief, to provide a little security. All the people I have never met but whose conflict and natural disaster afflicted worlds are more real to me some days than this fantasy land we live in here in New Zealand.

I'm terrified of forgetting them. But how could I ever forget them? Seriously. It's impossible, right? But I've been so afraid of it that I've been clinging to my guilt as a kind of reminder. Every time I get too close to relaxing into joy, pleasure and fun my guilt kicks in like one of those electric shocks that scientists give to rats in aversion response research.

"Oh - look at that amazing sunrise over the south coast. Feel the sun on my skin. Feel the amazing freedom of walking: alone and safe. Revel in the pleasure of the moment. This is perfection. This is bliss."

ZAP - guilt

"Ouch. Oh, no. I was forgetting them. I was forgetting how terrible the world is for a moment. Thank goodness for guilt. This way I'll never forget."

Crazy.

I'm a little bit crazy like that. I guess we all are. Hanging onto guilt, fear, pain just because we are afraid of what might happen if we let it go.

Realising that I was choosing to hold onto the guilt because of this fear of forgetting, together with realising that it is impossible for me to ever forget, has helped me begin to let it go. Little by little I've been letting go of the guilt. Letting myself relax into the joyful moments. The joy of walking free and safe along the hill behind my own house. Those are the freedoms for which I would fight for any other person. So I guess I can let myself enjoy them without guilt.

PS: No confirmed news of Mr. B but thanks to HiK for her report that he may still be alive and being held. I'm holding onto that hope.

Five things making me smile these days

Foxton Fizz bottles at Deluxe Cafe

I've done plenty of crying in the past few days. But there have been moments of joy and goodness too. Here are five things that have made me smile.

1. Taking blogger Katie and her friend Sandra on a tour of my favorite cafes of Wellington on Tuesday. We started out at Deluxe for a late breakfast (above) and then after I showed them Wellington's wild south coast beaches we stopped at the Maranui Cafe in Lyall Bay for coffee and cake. Maranui Cafe is housed in the old Maranui Surf Lifesaving club building and has an amazing view over Lyall Bay beach where there is always some brave soul out surfing, wind surfing or kite surfing. I love the surf club inspired decor, the vegan cupcakes (see below) and the outlook onto the coast.

Maranui (Surf Lifesaving Club) Cafe

2. This vegan chocolate raspberry cupcake at Maranui. No animals were harmed in the making of this treat. How can it be anything but good?

Vegan Chocolate Raspberry Cupcake at Maranui Cafe

3. Hanging out with my little friend Tom on Monday. We went to the beach, messed about in the sand and made friends at the playground. Knowing that his mum was enjoying her time alone as much as I was enjoying my time with Tom made me smile even more.

4. A monarch butterfly chrysalis sitting on my desk. It was a gift from a lovely friend who last year returned to New Zealand after surviving the bombing of Lebanon with her two little boys while her husband was working for UNFIL. She understands better than most people the emotional rollercoaster I'm riding these days and chose this thoughtful, magical gift. She assures me that the a butterfly will emerge safely even under my inexperienced care.

And last but very definitely not least...

Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra at Te Papa, 16.02.08

5. The Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra. On Saturday after I'd had a good long cry about Mr B and a quiet, introspective afternoon my fabulous ukulele-playing housemate swung in from out of town and so I put on my high heels and lipstick and headed out to see the Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra play again. By golly can they cheer a girl up.

Now, stop whatever you are doing and watch this. I guarantee a smile.

After the gig Gemma had the band back to our place so I spent Saturday night sitting on my couch with a glass of red wine listening to them play and sing their way through their songbooks into the wee hours. It was therapy for the soul.

Megan and WIUO guest Amanda at Te Papa

These things are making me smile.

For Mr. B

Grave at a shrine in Herat

This morning I got an email from a friend in Ghor. It hit me like a blast of raw emotion.

"Life in Ghor, I had to get DM involved in a female detainee case.... the case stinks!! The girl was engaged and ran away with another engaged policeman and they were caught in Kabul by 2 or 3 other police men... She has been in prison for at least a month. The defense lawyer is having problems getting to see her. The prosecutor went to the Governor for help with keeping "visitors" from entering the prison.... a lot of village elders and religious leaders want her dead, but denying the lawyer access to the prison..... I also have some very sad news: Mr. B was kidnapped by the Talibans on the southern ring road and the rumours are that they killed him... so human rights wise we are not too well of in Ghor at the moment."

The email goes on - describing situations in which I was until recently deeply involved and people with whom I worked for 18 months. Mr. B - in particular - was a very close colleague. We talked, met and worked together most days during my time in Ghor. I am still reeling from the shock of learning that he has been kidnapped and probably killed. I keep catching myself thinking about how scared he must have been and it just causes me so much pain that I know I have to stop.

How can it be possible to reconcile life here in Wellington, with my ukulele playing friends, with life in Ghor?

The challenge of finding a way to live in New Zealand again after being changed in profound ways by my work in Gaza, Timor-Leste and Afghanistan some days seems like an impossible ask. An impossible task.

This week Jose Ramos-Horta was shot (and seriously wounded) and then the rebel leader in Timor-Leste was killed in a clash between rebel fighters and the Prime Minister's security police following the assasination attempt. This happened the day before I met an old friend for dinner. I had helped her get a job working with Ramos-Horta four years ago when I was still involved in Timor-Leste. She went on to work with him for two years and is still in Dili working on human rights and good governance issues.

All through dinner I was aware of the impact the shooting must have had on her, and yet I was unable to stop talking about myself - about the experiences I had in Afghanistan and how I was trying to adjust to life in New Zealand. I was embarrased at how I dominated the conversation but could also see how badly I needed to talk to someone who could understand a little what I was going through.

Every day I go to the yoga studio and take my place on the mat. It is - at the moment - the only place where I really feel at peace. As I practice I am able to quiet the commentary running in my brain and simply be. Most days the teacher invites us to set our intention for the practice or to dedicate our practice. I realise this may seem strange or self-indulgent to some people but today it was comforting to me to dedicate my practice to Mr. B's family.

I'm learning.

I'm trying to learn.

I think that I can live here again, but I haven't quite worked out how yet. I'm pretty sure that if I am patient and gentle and not too demanding the wisdom will come in its own time. I'm also pretty sure that concentrating on yoga, meditation, writing and photography is the right approach for now.

I took on a job this week. It took me onto a film set where Jame's Cameron's new movie Avatar is being filmed. I had a simple role that demanded very little of me intellectually or physically. But it involved long hours on the set. Today after reading the email from Ghor I called the production coordinator and quit.

I felt this morning as though I had betrayed the people I left behind. They respected my decision to leave because they agreed that I should spend time with my family and friends, they agreed that I should take some time to rest and they supported my plans to pursue my own creative dreams and my plan to study psychology. What would they think of me coming home to work on a film set? It was only ever a short job - 8 days. But after I read about Mr. B even 8 days suddenly felt like too much time to be spending doing anything other than what I believe in. So I'm back on track.

Deep down I believe that I can make changes in the world by deepening my own compassion, by learning how to more consistently practice loving kindness in the world and by learning the power of being fully present in every moment. But the feelings come in powerful waves - feelings of guilt, sadness and anger. I'm learning to ride the waves, not to resist them, and I'm trusting in this process.

Some beautiful things are coming together, I plan to share more about that in the coming days. For today, I'm just holding my seat. If you pray will you please pray for Mr. B (in case he is still alive) and his family. Thank you.

Ukuleles can help you let go

The Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra in action, Deluxe Cafe, Wellington. February 2008.

Life in Wellington is so different to life in Ghor that it seems ludicrous to continue writing about the former in a space originally created for my stories from the latter. But I know that some of you are interested (thank you) and also I know that this is just as much a part of my story.

Last week I got my camera out for the first time in weeks. It was the fabulous Wellington International Ukulele Orchestra that finally motivated me to get behind the lense and photograph something that isn't Afghanistan.

Up until then I had taken a few photos of my family and some wonderfully life affirming photos at a music festival where my friend Gemma had been playing her ukulele and singing and her boyfriend and some other playful souls had dressed up as skeletons and rode a multi-bike around town blasting salsa music.

Andy on the Whopper Chopper bike in front of the samba stage.

But otherwise I have found it difficult to see the subject right in front of me. I guess was still in the process of accepting that I had moved on from the subject which I had been photographing for the past two years, the people of Afghanistan. So these photographs, of my friends and their bandmates playing joyful music on a sunny day in peaceful New Zealand, are a kind of milestone for me. They are a wee symbol of my own progress in embracing the goodness of being home and letting go of the guilt and sadness I've been feeling about leaving Ghor.

It is hard to resist the joy of 12 good people playing ukuleles and singing their hearts out. Of course I love this photo of my dear friend Gemma,

this one of beautiful Megan rocking out on her uke,

this one of the multi-talented Age Pryor,

and this one of Francis - an old friend of a dear friend of mine and another multi-talented Kiwi wonder,

I love the summery goodness of this photo of my friend Nigel - yet another of those supremely talented kiwi boys (classically trained opera singer, virtuoso player of multiple instruments, playwrite, actor, comedian)

I love all those photos. But I know that you all only came here to see this one of Bret, more famous in the USA for being half of the deliriously funny Flight of the Conchords than for his role in the Ukulele Orchestra, but a much-valued band member all the same.

In other news, I have approached a few venues here about exhibiting my photographs from Ghor and received really positive responses. I described this to my counsellor as a way for me to share a little bit of the world I knew in Afghanistan with people here in New Zealand without being required to actually talk about it. It's a way of bridging the gap for me, I suppose. More on that exhibition soon.

We'll need to rethink a few things

I'm home. I'm writing, thinking, walking. I'm having dinner with old friends and babysitting new friends. I'm refilling the well, you could say. This video makes me think of us. All of us. We'll need to rethink a few things, he says. No kidding. Like community.

More soon.

What I would pray for, if I prayed

Boy in Wardak village, Ghor

I have left Afghanistan. While it hasn't entirely sunk in that I won't be heading back there after the holidays there is a quiet ache in my heart that tells me I do understand, on some level, the significance of this departure.

I learned to love Afghanistan. Unlike Gaza it was not love at first sight. Afghanistan was a challenge, I had to overcome my fears and doubts and my own desire to be in control before I could really learn what this extraordinary country had to teach me.

As I drove to the Kabul Airport yesterday morning, on the first day of Eid, I saw the large group of men on the corner of Butcher Street hoping to be picked up for day labour. I was struck by a wave of sadness at the incredible struggle that is life for so many ordinary Afghans.

On the first day of Eid these men should be home with their families, thanking God for the blessings of the year which has passed. Instead they were standing out in the cold, misty morning chasing after each truck that pulled up hoping they would be picked to head off for a day of hard labour and the reward of a tiny take home pay, barely enough to cover the expenses of their families most basic needs, if that.

If I really believed there was a God or more accurately, if I really believed in divine intervention in the business of men, I would be down on my knees praying for Afghanistan. Praying for peace and stability, praying for a space from this interminable conflict - enough space for the people I met over the past two years to rebuild their lives and begin to build a future.

Instead I put my faith in those very people, having done my very best to support them over the past two years, having failed in so many ways and yet carrying home with me the satisfaction of those small successes and the knowledge that I did my best.

Leaving Afghanistan feels like the end of a difficult but precious love affair. On several levels that is exactly what it is. Despite all that Afghanistan has taught me, letting go continues to be my challenge.

Here in Dubai I am in transit, sitting for a few days in this strange space between my life in Afghanistan and my life in New Zealand. As I sank into bed last night this space terrified me for an instant. I felt entirely afloat, cutting my ties with one home, unsure of my ties to another. I felt as though I could let go and simply float away.

My instinctive response to that feeling was to want to get a grip on something, to hold on to the place I was leaving or grasp for the place I am going to. I stopped and breathed for a moment and then chose not to hold on, I chose to drift to sleep knowing that wherever I go, there I am. Knowing that there is no solid ground beneath any of us and that in these strange days I have the chance to really feel that truth and embrace it.

I'm going to take a break from writing here, and from visiting all your amazing blogs. I need to take a break from finding a way to put my transition into words and I need to be entirely present in every moment of my "homecoming". I plan to be back because I don't think that my story ends because I leave Afghanistan.

This year my challenge is to find a way to make peace in times of war while living the everyday life of a student in New Zealand. Over the past 18 months many of you who read and comment here have told me how difficult it is for you to see how you can make a difference in your lives. Moving to Afghanistan, or Gaza, is not the only option - obviously - in response to the challenges of our troubled world. I want to bring home the lessons I learned in Afghanistan and share here the journey of learning to live a life which makes sense and contributes to a more peaceful world without packing up and moving into the conflict zone.

I expect to be back in late January or early February so I wish you all happy and peace-filled holidays and many moments of joy and laughter with the people you love in the coming weeks.

Checking out

I've just arrived in Kabul after one final week in Herat. It has been the kind of week that seems appropriate as an ending to my time in Herat. Herat was a place, for me, which was filled with tumultuous and passionate love, extraordinary challenge and incredible rewards. In Herat I hit one of the lowest points of my life and in Herat I found my way back into my personal and professional strength and confidence.

So it seems appropriate that this has been a week in which my farewell party was interrupted by explosions all over the city, forcing all invited guests to stay at home (with the exception only of the UN regional security officer); in which my final goodbye dinner with a much-loved ex saw me put on a performance of melodrama and tragicomedy worthy of an Oscar; and in which final departure to Kabul was interrupted after five failed attempts to land in Kabul by a detour to Pakistan.

I am now in Kabul and heading into to my final week of "checking out" - such a bald term, and so inadequate to describe the complex emotional and professional process I'm going through these days. But as hard as it is to move on, I'm finding myself increasingly ready for the next adventure in my life. A year at home in New Zealand studying psychology, writing and refreshing my relationships with family, friends and the land to which I belong.

Some choices when saying goodbye

I've got a stick and I'm willing to use it, originally uploaded by frida world.

When the time comes to say goodbye to people and places there are several choices.

You can rush through each day distracted by the to do list and focused on the end point.

You can focus on the new possibilities which can be opened up only through this process of letting go.

You can sit and reflect on all the factors that make this departure very right at this time.

You can wallow in the sadness, drowning in a sense of loss and of uncertainty about the future.

You can treasure every moment, making the most of each opportunity to say farewell with care and to honour each person and place that is being left.

You can feel overwhelmed by all that is left undone, all that has not been achieved.

You can mourn the alternative endings, the alternate futures which didn´t survive the crucible of real life.

You can swing wildly from one of these choices to another.

And in the end you can hope to find the courage within you to say goodbye honestly, exposing the depth of your love for these people and the equal parts fear and hope that you carry for the future of this place.