Posting.

Today is a strange day.

Lately, I've felt like life is moving much faster than I am. I only have 60-some more days here. My time in India is nearly halfway through. It's odd.

Apne Aap is amazing. My girls are fantastic. They're learning, like, actually learning. As I wrote previously, I haven't had a translator for about two weeks, and it's actually easier to teach without one. We're easily, definitely communicating - one third English, one third Bangla, one third gestures, expressions and intuition. When I come back to Sudder and speak English with my American friends, I feel lazy.

Recently, I taught my girls up, down, right left, go, stop, fast, slow, turn, backwards, forwards, which way, this way, that way. We played a game that involved walking in a circle and me giving directions. If they messed up, they crashed into each other. We laughed through the whole thing, but by the end, they definitely knew all of the words.

After class last Wednesday, my girls insisted on Henna-ing me. It took about two hours. While it dried, we sang and danced and talked as much as we could. One of my girls said "no teacher, no students. We are friends." And that's what it feels like. We're all the same age. It's more like a bunch of friends hanging out every day, and one of us happens to know English, so I teach them English.

Also, I found out that my girls aren't prostitutes. Praise God. They do, however, live in the worst slum of all of Kolkata. Under tarps and such. When one of them wrote "I live in a hut" for her homework, she wasn't mistranslating. I want to go visit their homes, but I'm not sure if that's crossing any student-teacher line, or if it would be disrespectful. I won't ask, obviously. But I kind of hope they invite me. I want to help them financially, but I know that I can't. Teaching them English is, in a roundabout way, financially helpful.

Kalighat is difficult. I'm finally realizing that people die there, all the time. Last week, during tea, I suddenly felt an extreme imbalance in the world. My breath went short, it felt like someone had mentally shoved me off a chair, and I had a sudden awareness that someone had died. I stopped mid-sentence in a conversation, walked downstairs, and the Sisters were covering a man (well, his body) with a sheet.

What does it mean to die? Why does it inherently bother us so much? My current thoughts are these: God's Spirit dwells in us. When someone dies, God's Spirit leaves the body, and that feels AWFUL to anyone who sees or senses it. You could take the standpoint that it's really just life leaving the body that's so terribly disconcerting. But what's "life" anyway, but a verbal placeholder for "God"?

My new friends are amazing. Seriously. There's nearly nothing else to say. I've been praying about God granting me the ability to exist nearly completely here, and I can see Him providing me all I need again and again. I feel so ridiculously blessed.

I know this is a short post, but I honestly don't know what to write.

I'm here.
I love it.

And I'm listening to Mother India for the first time in a long time.

Love and henna,
Stephanie

Now that I have seen, I am responsible.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGx-xU6TnU8

"Now that I have seen
I am responsible
Faith without deeds is dead
Now that I have held you
In my own arms
I cannot let go till you are..."

Albertine - Brooke Fraser.

Tonight, I saw "Born Into Brothels". First off, it was brilliantly made. However, it made me think about the effectiveness (and ineffectiveness) of service work. Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong advocate for serving others. But...in the movie, the filmmaker went into a specific brothel community in Kolkata, and taught nine kids to take photographs. Subsequently, those nine kids were motivated to do something with their lives other than hang out in the brothels. Most of them ended up going to either boarding schools, or staying at home but eventually going to a university. This is good. Education is good. But it bugged me, because...what about all the other kids? Doesn't it make more sense to do something through the government, or a giant NGO that affects thousands of children? I mean, I'm glad that these kids' lives were changed, and that they're no longer sitting around in the brothels all day. But...I can't help but think of their younger siblings. How are their lives? Do they have to do more work now that their older sisters and brothers are gone? Are the mothers sleeping with more men per day? Are the fathers beating their wives more now that the kids are gone? I mean, I'm sure some of this is just my personal bias, but...there's got to be a better way to help more kids.

Granted, at the end of the film, it was said that, with the money made from selling the photographs and the movie's income, a school for kids from brothels has been opened in Kolkata. Hurray! This is super!

And I might work there.

But...argh. I just...I can't shake the knowledge that there's so much more that needs to be done. And I feel so blessed that I have the resources to pay for a plane ticket, to have financial support in India, and to work my butt off trying to help these kids get educations so they can do what they want to do- which isn't wash dishes in the brothels.

And I'm reminded again how blessed I am to be able to go to IWU.

11 days. I'm not ready.

-Stephanie