When We Realize That There Is Never

Her Blog Was Doing Well, With Thousands Of Unique Visitors Each Month, And She Was Earning Good Speaking Fees, And She Had A Fellowship At Princeton And A Relationship With Blaine - "you Are The Absolute Love Of My Life," He'd Written In Her Last Birthday Card - And Yet There Was Cement In Her Soul. It Had Been There For A While, An Early Morning Disease Of Fatigue, Shapeless Desires, Brief Imaginary Glints Of Other Lives She Could Be Living, That Over The Months Melded Into A Piercing Homesickness.

We Do Not Just Risk Repeating History If We Sweep It Under The Carpet, We Also Risk Being Myopic About Our Present.

It Is Easy To Romanticize Poverty, To See Poor People As Inherently Lacking Agency And Will. It Is Easy To Strip Them Of Human Dignity, To Reduce Them To Objects Of Pity. This Has Never Been Clearer Than In The View Of Africa From The American Media, In Which We Are Shown Poverty And Conflicts Without Any Context.

...he Did Not Want Me To Seek The Whys, Because There Are Some Things That Happen For Which We Can Formulate No Whys, For Which Whys Simply Do Not Exist And, Perhaps, Are Not Necessary.

There Are Some Things That Are So Unforgivable That They Make Other Things Easily Forgivable.