The Path Less Traveled By

I've known for months now that I wouldn't be taking up my place at the London School of Economics. I've known since September that my one-year deferment would turn into an indefinite one. And I've known all of this because the more time I spend with Justin, the deeper I fall in love with him. It surprises me every day how my love for Justin continually expands and grows, making my heart stretch far beyond its selfish capacities.

Yet I had such a hard time last week filling out my letter of decline. It was only a simple online form with a few general questions, but I stared at the screen for minutes on end, unable to press the final "submit" button. I couldn't understand why I felt so overwhelmed when I had made this decision months ago. But I sat there frozen with the computer monitor in front of me---and I didn't want to press that damn button.

I wanted to attend LSE for many reasons---some of which I broadcasted to everyone I knew while other ones I kept quietly to myself. On the exterior, I told my friends and family that LSE would be a good launching pad for my doctoral studies and that a one-year Masters degree in the UK would be cheaper than a two-year degree in the US. And who wouldn't want to live in London? The city was stocked full of great museums, historic sites, fantastic theaters, and let's be honest, the best shopping in the world. My year in London would be one of the highlights of my life.

But then there were the reasons I needed to keep to myself: London was my escape from a terrible relationship. A year before I met Justin, I was in an awful relationship that was emotionally-exhausting and heart-wrenchingly painful. For months I had stifled my passions and spirit to salvage my dying relationship. After everything was finally over, I hoped that my ticket to London would act as the balm to make me whole again.

And there was another reason too why I wanted LSE so badly---why I even applied to the school in the first place. I needed to prove to other people that I was smart and an MA from the London School of Economics would accomplish that. Blame it on my Chinese parents or on my intrinsic need for approval, but I've always needed reassurance that I'm not stupid. When I was in high school I constantly felt below par compared to my classmates who were all bright and shiny Ivy League embryos. And so, a Masters from LSE was a way for me to prove to myself that I was intelligent and that my opinions were valid. I needed that degree. I wanted that piece of paper.

Yet I pressed the button and submitted my letter of decline. Whoosh. My year of London escapades was gone with a click of my mouse. And I admit it---I was a little sad. I thought about the classes I would have taken and the professors I would have met. I thought about the British Museum and the Tate Modern, Hyde Park and the National Theatre, Tesco and TopShop. I wondered what my life would have been like if I had stepped onto that plane in September and plunged into my Masters studies. Would I have been happy?

And I think I would have been happy. I would have loved my classes and my professors and all of those delicious Hobnobs. But I don't look back and regret my decision. Nope, not in the least. Because a life in London would mean a life without Justin, and I can't think of anything more heartbreaking. Justin wakes me up in the morning with kisses on my cheek. He sings me silly songs to the tune of "Oh Holy Night." (We're weird.) He teasingly calls me a baby sloth because I love to sleep and eat---and honestly I think this is the cutest nickname in the world. (We're cheesy too.) He wants me to pursue my dreams and to attend graduate school, but he always looks me in the eye and tells me that he thinks I'm brilliant despite what any piece of paper may say. He loves me with his entire heart even if I don't deserve someone as honest and as good as he is.

To paraphrase a well-worn poem, two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I took the path less taken. And indeed, it has made all the difference. I would trade a thousand years in London for a life with Justin by my side. He is my best friend and we have something worth sacrificing for.

(This picture of me is gross, but it's the only one I have of Justin and me on my work computer. Alas!)

I'm Ba-ack...

First of all, many apologies for the lack in blogging! I usually blog at work (hehe, don't tell my boss) but recently they've blocked blogger.com at the museum. But for some reason, I have access to it today so here goes...

On Saturday afternoon, Justin and I went to the art-house theater in Fayetteville and watched The Last King of Scotland. The movie follows a young Scottish doctor named Nick Garrigan who is fresh out of medical school and who decides to do volunteer work in Uganda rather than work at his father's stuffy family practice. He heads to Uganda in 1970 in the midst of a coup: General Idi Amin has overthrown the current president and assumes leadership of the country.

At first, Garrigan is charmed by General Amin who trained with the British army and who promises to bring prosperity to the Ugandan people. Amin takes the young Scot under his wing and hires Nick as his personal doctor. Garrigan quickly becomes a close advisor to Amin, helping to re-organize the country's hospitals and offering advice on international affairs. In Garrigan's eyes, Amin is building a new Uganda---a country independent from imperialist European connections.

But Amin's promises of peace and prosperity quickly unravel. The General hastily executes the followers of the former president and kills anyone who dares to oppose him. Amin even orders his wife to be mutilated and murdered because of her infidelity. Garrigan too---the blue-eyed Scottish doctor who once adored Amin---falls into Amin's disfavor and is tortured.

A significant portion of the movie is fictitious since it was based on a novel. But Amin's ruthlessness is far from a mere story. From 1970-1979, the General ruled Uganda with a fierce hand. By the time he was overthrown, over 300,000 Ugandans had died under his provision.

When the movie ended, I just felt empty. There was no sense of redemption, no sense of hope. Yes, Amin was overthrown and was forbidden to return to Uganda, but he spent the rest of his days in Saudi Arabia---he never was brought to court to answer for his sins. He never expressed remorse for his actions.

It just made me terribly sad that awful people like Amin have actually walked this Earth and have left such a trail of atrocity. And it made me so sad that the same thing is going on today in Sudan and in many parts of Africa and in so many places in the world. Historians often cite the importance of learning history so we can "learn from past mistakes." But I don't think---and I don't think I ever really believed---this mantra. War has been a staple of human existence since our first days on this planet. As long as people are greedy and arrogant and selfish, war will continue to exist.

I don't mean to sound overly cynical, but this movie conjured such profound sadness in my soul. I don't regret watching this film though because it reminded me that I need to do my part in this world, no matter how small my sphere of influence may be. If I can alleviate just a drop of suffering from someone's shoulders, then perhaps I have made this world a better place.

After the movie, I told Justin how helpless I felt and he brought up the idea that maybe I should pursue a Masters in International Development. If I took this path, we would eventually move abroad and work in an NGO trying to help others. This is an idea that I need to think more about... I still want to get my PhD in history and teach at a college, but perhaps I should dedicate my life to a more selfless pursuit? I don't know. I feel like I have been given so much and I need to give back as much as possible. Hmmmm...