Love is Blu

I lurked around the swank, chilly bar at the Chittagong Radisson Blu last evening, trying not to lose my mind because the internet at Thames Tower (my current housing) will not cooperate. Thames Tower, by the way, is located in the Beverly Hills Residential Society, hovering over the Sun Valley campus of the Asian University for Women. Despite the aspirational and intimidating real estate references (and the coy internet), I like my eleventh floor apartment. Here’s evidence, both high and low:

Chittagong, from my (temporary) Thames Tower perch.

Sleepy lane outside Thames Tower.

The Radisson Blu Wi-Fi proved equally elusive. I even ordered a banana smoothie from the suspicious bartender just so I could get their password to work on this blog. Has anyone created a new English word for internet insanity? “Applerage”? “Blogplexia”? I fell back on the old standards, none of which is appropriate for this blog (hi, Mom).

The graffiti on the wall near Beverly Hills, Chittagong clarified my plea:

If I could grow up again, I wouldn’t spend half my life trying to establish an internet connection.

My one success last night–and it felt significant–involved an elaborate pantomime with the three-wheel taxi driver. Somehow he figured out that my flailing arms and anguished face meant that I needed to be deposited at the Beverly Hills Residential Society. I think we’d make a formidable charades team.

You’re a goose! Wait. No. You’re a waterfall going backwards! Huh? I know! You’re Charles Nelson Reilly making a pineapple pizza! You’re a Holstein calf!

Which brings me to this AUW banner. It’s perfect. Why waste precious time screaming at a screen when the actual world exists? (Well, for one thing, my students need to access Google Classroom) (a.k.a. “hell”). I also love that the advice at the bottom leaves you hanging. Just like the internet.

The future is both unknowable and constantly being written. And, most of all,

You’ve taken time from your precious life to read these ravings, so I’ll get down to business with some photos from the last three days (but I’ve lived here forever, it seems):

I accidentally chose Arabic as the language for my movie screen on the plane and couldn’t revert to English. A trend emerges.

Landing in Doha. Incredible!

More advice, this one from the staff of the Two Spoons cafe across the street from the AUW. I’ll take it to heart.

You don’t want to hear my First World problems?

Maybe an HR seminar would boost morale. (Hi, Jen Scott!)

I went to the main AUW campus with Reza, my soon-to-be roommate, to buy stuff for my new housing situation. It seems I’m being demoted to the first floor at Thames Tower. My life in the penthouse can’t be justified by the AUW (the apartment is for visiting dignitaries; I knew nothing of this). Alas. Reza’s a photography instructor from Dhaka and promises to be good company. He bought cleaning supplies at this mini-mart on MM Ali Road; I found some British biscuits and stood under the air conditioner while Bangladesh pedaled past:

A spectator’s view of things.

The AUW banner’s advice haunted me, so I got up at 5:30 this morning and went for a walk around the neighborhood. It felt good to be out among the dripping trees and the sleepy packs of feral dogs. The incessant honking hadn’t started yet; I shared the road with a few other early risers, men with red-henna beards and women in full-length hijab over trendy white tennis shoes. By the time I got home the heat and noise had returned. I washed my shirt in the shower with Head & Shoulders. The internet was down.

Beautiful early morning Chittagong.

Not to make a meal out of this, but the digital world can drown out our inner voice (mine at the moment: “What’s the #*$&#@# password!”). Trying to cling to things–even important ones like staying in touch with loved ones at home–just amps the anxiety. I’ll make my one improv observation here…scenes only work if we give our full attention to the moment; when we make demands on the outcome we’re doomed. Bangladesh won’t cater to my digital needs. It certainly won’t bend to accommodate my desire for peace and quiet. It offers fascination and complexity. Who do I think I am?

C’est vrai. (Regarder! C’est Vicky Leandros, chanteuse gréco-française qui s’est classée quatrième dans le cadre de l’Eurovision 1967 avec cette chanson!) (Merci Google Traduction!)

Oh, yeah: Some levity to leaven the absurdity. The Muzak in the AUW Sun Valley campus elevator offers a constant loop of the 1967 Luxembourg Eurovision entry “Love is Blue.” The fifth period Mixed Chorus singers at Matthew Gage Junior High School, under the direction of Mr. Williams, also sang this song in 1971. To Mr. Williams’ credit, he allowed us to sing the lyric “Red, red, my eyes are red/Crying for you, alone in my bed” if we promised not to snicker at the implied sexual relationship. He also suggested that I end my singing career with his class.

Enough levity. This is Alan Turing, the man whose computational gifts helped Britain intercept the Axis powers’ encoded messages. Some argue the Allies defeated fascism due to Turing’s unparalleled contribution. He was also chemically castrated by the British government for being gay. Teachers in Florida can’t talk about his fate and his sexuality, how the people whose lives he saved betrayed him.

Would Mr. Williams be fired, now, if he worked in Florida? Or Texas? Or any of the 20 other states that are riding roughshod over education? Because he acknowledged sexuality in a melodramatic pop song? Quite possibly.

My students are adults, but I hope I can trust them like Mr. Williams trusted us. Class started yesterday and already there’s a revolt underway. They asked to give presentations on mindfulness and the Stockholm Syndrome instead of focusing on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and anxiety disorders (my suggestions). This morning, before the revolt, I talked about the power of intrinsic motivation, how following one’s interest is, often, reward enough. I suppose I have to walk the talk. Listen. Try to understand what compels them, not try to control their minds (ha!).

I look forward to my students’ presentations on Jon Kabat-Zinn and Patty Hearst.

Stockholm.

Important: There will be questions on Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and anxiety disorders on the exam, however. And there will be extra credit.

Poster featuring nihilist quote by mathematician and poet Omar Khayyám. On the fifth floor of the Asian University for Women.

Obviously, I got the internet to work (or, really, I followed the internet signal to school where I have been since 7:30 this morning). The Omar Khayyám quote on the poster above moved me, partially because I’ve been rolling impotently along ever since I arrived. In a week I’ll have a very different view of Bangladesh and the Asian University for Women. If the past is any predictor, I’ll have found my footing, at least a bit. Or I’ll know that it will take another week. Or two. Or more.

Khayyám’s words also move me because they’re so bracing: “Lift not thy hands to [the sky] for help.” Maybe the staff at the AUW is emphasizing that we need to learn to take care of ourselves and each other, not rely on that big bowl in the sky. True and kind of treacly.

Speaking of treacle:

Blue, blue, my world is blue,
Blue is my world now I’m without you,
Gray, gray, my life is gray,
Cold is my heart since you went away.

Red, red, my eyes are red,
Crying for you alone in my bed.
Green, green my jealous heart,
I doubted you, and now we’re apart.

When we met, how the bright sun shone,
Then love died, now the rainbow is gone.

Black, black, the nights I’ve known,
Longing for you so lost and alone.
Gone, gone, the love we knew,
Blue is my world now I’m without you.

(lyrics by Pierre Cour)