Breaking the Idealist

This is an anonymous diary of a social entrepreneur who secretly lives in poverty and how they see the world around them.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 25, 2013

I bought a ticket back to India. I will be living off of less than $600 a month. I attempt the impossible yet again thanks to unemployment, the fact I'm already broke, and I will be able to sleep for free on couches as well as the clinic in Bangalore- ah, startups!!!!

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 21, 2013

I came to Chicago to go to another conference. Part of me is reluctant to speak anymore, as if I have been chasing down so many unknown soldiers I have turned into one myself. I went to the conference. I was the one of three whites, and one of four women in a room full of about 100 Indian men. These are my odds. Day by day I am starting to feel more like Hunger Games, "May the odds ever be in my favor".

Lately I have been at odds with the person who I had hoped would be my partner. He was able to get a $20,000 grant for an idea he had. So I spent my Saturday night building a fundraising plan. I started crying soon after the bare minimum draft was done. I can tell this guy thinks I am stupid and does not get it. He is a man, he has a masters degree, he is ready and polished. People do not look at women in this space and give them credit they deserve. And like most women, I want to put all other people before myself and my own needs. His question after sending the plan was, "Why is it taking you so long to fundraise?"

I need a partner. I need a partner in every sense of the word. At this point I can't really tell if its personal or professional or both? I still have no word from the fellowship programme if I have been accepted in the September cohort. I am desperate. I thought God wanted me in this space. I don't really know- I am just trying and seeing what happens. But one thing is for sure, I really am just alone with God in this. I look around in these rooms of people, especially Indian people, and there are no women. And for that- it leads me to one conclusion- I need Indian man partner. I need someone Indian men can feel comfortable with. And I don't know. Maybe I am meant to walk alone. Maybe I am. Looks like I need to take a cue from Mother Teresa and build anyway in her poem below.

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered; Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God; It was never between you and them anyway.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 18, 2013

I was awarded a small grant of $10,000. What this means in fundraising is that doors will begin to open and hopefully I will be off on my way sooner rather than later. 

I have decided to return to India next month, pending this check, and hopefully I will receive the fellowship I am desperately, desperately needing in order to pay my own salary.

Last week at the free clinic I attend, I got the chance to meet with the director and founder- who very curtly asked me why I didn't have insurance. I tried to explain, but explaining you are anxiously waiting on help and support from others doesn't really strike confidence in your doctor.

Next month I am off to NY to hold my change purse and smile at NY's best and brightest foundations. Will this work? If anything goes according to my calls today, the answer is no. There's nothing scarier than being told to come back in a year with proven impact and data when you are literally living off $2 a day yourself. The glimmer and glam of winning $10,000 was replaced with "oh fuck, this is barely enough to operate with a team of 5 for more than 3 months....and I still can't even afford my own medicine, housing. Looks like I will be living inside the hospital itself."

What has been hardest is being away from the friends and near-family I have waiting for me in India. Everywhere I go I am missing someone on the other side, trapped by feelings of guilt that much of this is largely out of my control.

Yesterday was my boyfriends birthday. We went from seeing each other every day, and now have been separated 7 months. We haven't Skyped- he doesn't own a computer at home. We call, we text, but largely it's even more depressing to see him get older and know every day I am gone is another day before he falls into an arranged marriage that I won't have him in my life. Or will I? Is there a guide for these situations? Are extra marital affairs considered taboo if the girlfriend was around before the wife? Dear God, this is the shit I think about daily.

Lord, have mercy. And Lord, please hear my prayers of desperation.

Tonight- another overnight bus ride. Tomorrow- conference. Always-happy. 

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 7, 2013

I have been so anxious the past few days my stomach is rebelling. Approximately five minutes after I was told I was rejected from one of the foundations, I got a call that Fox News would be doing a piece on me. This is the irony of rejection. Someone you don't want walks in an kind of saves your dream that's crumbling before you.

Sure, I'm a liberal, but I need the press- right?

Since returning from Chicago I haven't done much. I am kind of in a stalemate. Do I come? Do I go? When do I actually leave for India? How much more waiting do I need to do before I can move ahead? Today I have tried to do more than make phone calls and draft emails aka deal with shady shit that's on the horizon.

Why is there so much shady shit in social enterprise?

There's a lot of answers to this question. Recently a man I know offered land to my organization. I have raised approximately $5,000. I would love to put some zeros behind that. Unfortunately land and other assets, if not handled properly could make me an accessory to a crime. And I know this guy- there's a good chance he would attempt to write it off above value of the land and fuck me over without even knowing what hit me.

The truth is, that you have to be smarter than the people you do business with. And nonprofits and social enterprises are filled with stupid people, so HNIs have learned this system as much as how to scam it in order to make a profit off of it. That goes for the corner bar that sets up the property as a trust, in order to get away with tax evasion, and the super rich folks that reinvest their funds into their own companies which inflates their stock price. Ah- what a win win for everyone but the charities and the poor.

I will continue to sit in my bathtub and ponder this. I just got a call from a woman who has some answers about the land, but unfortunately I am naked and it's not too professional to do business with water sloshing in the background.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 3, 2013- Post script

I was rejected from one of my foundations this week. I cried so hard. The days you win, you win. The days you lose, you really lose.

Within five minutes I got a call from Fox news asking if they could do a piece on me.

Mom's only concern in all this is if the boy was actually interested in the arranged marriage proposal. Like this is a feasible solution to my current issues.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

July 3, 2013

I returned today back to my home by Megabus. You don't know poverty in America until you have traveled by bus. I am generally the lone white on the bus. This time there were two of us, traveling by midnight bus while druggies begged drug dollars off my unemployment ass in the queue. Sure, I had nothing to give, but mainly because I was distracted by the shrill sound of a man's voice.

He wouldn't stop talking. I couldn't tell if he was on speed, or genuinely had another issue. I made a mental note to avoid this man at all costs when choosing seats. 

The bus was entirely full. No seats were left. Except one next to me. And yes, that man I swore not to sit by gets comfortable next to me. I sighed and prepared for a 10+ hour journey home. The man continued speaking, and come to find out he was on parole after having some kind of anger issue at work. He got laid off, and was deciding what to do next. He was in Chicago for anger management workshops and began explaining what to me sounded like Scientology- like dogma. 

He asked me to sleep on his shoulder as I dozed in and out of consciousness, mainly at the start//stop of his voice. I was lucky though- he was gay and chose to speak for several hours about missing his cats whom he adopted to treat like children.

Sometimes I hope I will look at these times of poverty and remember men like my new friend Jimmy with nostalgia. I'm not sure I will. There's nothing fun about poverty, unemployment, and seeing the suffering of others. I love speaking to people who believe me taking the bus is a kind of self-imposed irony or hipsterdom. 

No seriously, I cannot pay for another ticket. This is my only choice.

UnlessIgetaFulbrightandIcanleavetogobacktoIndiasoon.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 28, 2013

Today is my mothers birthday. I am missing it. But I am the child who misses lots of things, but I always ask for permission first. Sometimes I feel so guilty I am gone. Other times it is second nature. I am there when I am there. When I am gone, I am lucky to have phone calls and updating my Facebook status to reflect my love. It sickens me. How I wish I could duplicate myself.

I'm feeling this need for two selves more and more. And more and more am I feeling two different persons- Indian me, American me. American me wants success and awards. I think anything is possible. I am idealistic. Then Indian me desires a family, a husband, children, and the reality of working in India, being molested daily, being in danger, and doing life-threatening work actually begins.

My partner from India has been in town. It brought my accent back, and that suddenly I am converted into this man's baby. I worship the ground he walks on. He is my father. He brought me seven months of free medicine as I struggle to find medicines available here living without insurance. He knows the ins and outs of America. Our BS. Our change the world BS. But he is genuine, and he knows I trust him with my life.

The event we planned earned a ROI of around $600. I calculated out that for the effort put in I would be earning a salary of barely $10 an hour. That's shit.

I am in last rounds of a fellowship that will pay my salary for up to two years. And have been recommended to apply for a Fulbright. Dear God, let you listen to my poverty prayers. Please let me survive this pilot. Please don't let me die in vain- please don't let my last memory be of giving a TED talk about how I am doing x, y, and z amazing thing and let my doucheyness ruin all memories of my positive attributes.

Please let me get this fellowship Lord.

I wonder when I will be able to have a smartphone and not have to carry a computer with me everywhere I go. Maybe it will be the fellowship. Maybe I'll have enough to get an apartment thats not a borrowed couch or parents spare room. Maybe?

My Indian father had a strange discussion with me the day before he left. I had arranged a meeting between one of my best male friends, and him. I didnt tell whom he was meeting. Monday he asked, and I told him it was someone I cared for. He pushed- why so secretive- why does it matter-what's the deal? I explained this is the only man my parents have approved me to marry out of any of my friends, and I want to see what you think. He used this as an opportunity to tell my friend that we should get married, and that I like him. There was another person present whom I had met on that day itself.

I've never been so embarrassed in my life.

Luckily I had told the guy the day before that this man was going to propose some kind of marriage, and we have been able to make some jokes about it. But my sarcastic ways are vexing. And even today I was asked directly if I was dating this guy. Does my international job doom me to the single life forever? Is there is place for my heart to fall, and is this guy it? Will I be forced into having my dreams pit up against another- having a family versus having major impact with my life? What if I'm not ready to make those sacrifices yet? Aren't I sacrificing enough right now?

My Indian father looked at this guy straight in the face and asked what he thought I was doing with my life. Am I messing up my life? At first I thought this was a Indian- chauvinist way of not asking my opinion. Soon I realized it was a test- to see if this guy supported my dreams and actually knew me.

The thing is part of me wonders if my Indian father and this guy just feel sorry for me. Sorry I can't date real men of value because my life is so unpredictable. Sorry I have a disease. Sorry I am alone in much of this journey. We don't know. Why does India continue to haunt me by asking more questions of why from it's men, rather than just asking the women?

Every day I am asked 100 questions of my plans- by investors, foundations, corporates, and even men wanting to date me. And every day those plans become more and more nebulous as I sit here waiting to escape poverty myself. I can't plan for my future. I can barely survive today. And like most survivalists, I am bingeing on free food leftover from my event at 2AM in order to pacify my anxiety. 

I can't sleep. Entrepreneurs don't sleep! We worry. And our measure of worry is the only way to tell if we are close to success yet or not, and I am.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 17th, 2013

I was asked for 7 million dollars yesterday by an investment fund that doesn't have a fundraising plan.

I have less than $15.00 in my bank account right now.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 15th, 2013

I leave tomorrow for a conference, and our launch event. I know what to expect at a conference. I will be the youngest person in the room. I will be the most poorly dressed. I will be one of handful of women. Rooms of men, and at night the nerdy men will get wasted off free pharma-sponsored cocktails and hit on me. You would think development would make you less vain about these things, it doesn't. It makes it worse in a lot of ways. Because there are two sides to every table in development- the poor and the wealthy. Men and the women. Young and the old.

One pharma company is entering India and I'm trying to pitch to them. Their entire team is men. There is one woman they threw on the advisory board for diversity sake, but Google doesn't know who she is. Maybe she's a Bengali doctor, secretly pretending she's a doctor but actually never finished med school after her husband made her stop practicing after an arranged marriage.

I spoke to my dear friend in the Philippines last night. Talented, smart, attractive, but can't get real work or salary to save his life. He is eating barely one meal of noodles a day and seems to do nothing but hang out outside KFC restaurants in Manila. He's veg, mind you. We spoke about the price of clothes, and how at least he is in better situation because he is not expected to dress well. He can wear jeans and ripped shirts and it's sexy development clothes. If I show up to this conference in my tank tops from 8th grade I'm recycling, I won't be let in.

Yesterday I was able to find some black flats for $10. This was small miracle. Yes! I can pretend I am a professional now with my outfits made for a woman that is 5'5'' that I have to wear as tunics with my German body.

I wonder how long we will dumpster diving our solutions to poverty.

My mom took me to PF Changs yesterday. I ate lettuce wraps and gobbled them down like I had never tasted one before. It was rich. I freaked out on the way home because I had a proposal due. Taking more than an hour break to be with anyone feels like I am stopping my internal machine, my drive, my destiny, my future. Everything feels so precarious. I imagine this is what quicksand feels like. Or knowing your death is coming. Like I am constantly waiting to be t-boned. I don't know why I feel like this, but I do.

Yesterday was the first time I have seen people outside of my family in a week. I went to a girl's bunco night, or the beginning of what seems like the end of fitting into this culture I was raised in. Some women spoke about their trip to Jamaica in friends 7 million dollar homes, smoking blunts in infinity pools and sneaking off with the staff. Others just wore giant diamond rings. I wondered how many people I could save for that price. I wondered if I will ever have a ring. One girl asked me if I knew everyone else from Anthro, since that's where most of the girls knew each other from.

"No, I don't. I have grown up with these girls. I have been gone a long time. I'm just back for a while". 

I am in the last rounds of a business incubator program and another fellowship that would pay me a salary for a year. I would be the first woman ever in the business incubator program. I never considered myself a feminist. At least when I was naive enough to believe things were fair for women. They are not. Why are they not fair?

We have to think about putting everyone else in front of ourselves. Our pissing contests involve diamond rings and Anthro, while men discuss how many chicks they've banged or how their retirement accounts are doing. A man is never expected to validate himself with a relationship (unless he's really unfortunate looking). Somehow I fall outside this system with ultimate do-gooder trump card. It sounds really nice when you say it and tilt your head a little. "Oh, I work with village women in India". Then inside you wonder if you could just switch places, if you would be happy with their big McHome and husband, having a dog, and furniture from Pottery Barn. I can't even afford rent. Fuck me.

I haven't seen my boyfriend in six months. I can't tell if he's being more distant this week because he's started resenting me or if he's working a lot. He too is trapped in poverty. He's pretending to have something better than he is. He will be in an arranged marriage in approximately two years. I don't know how long I will be able to stick around. Not because I don't love him, but because I have to protect myself from the shrapnel. Another idealist who has been broken toward the world.

I sent him another letter this week that will come to his office because I can't send anything to his house, or have his family know he is dating me. I put my photo from when I was 17 and a coupon for a night in my arms. I say lots of positive things in my letters and hope for the best with him. But I am torn.  

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this lifestyle of mine? Turn celibate? I am not Mother Teresa. I wonder if she ever went on a date. Maybe that's her problem- she wasn't even from India. She got to India, realized her dating life was fucked, and just said fuck it, I'm turning into a saint.

Earlier this week I saw two older aunties of mine (aunties from non-desis= older women, usually friends moms). One is single and the other has been married 30 years. After the married's son left us to drink tequila shots, they asked me about my dating life. I told them about the guy I am dating. They looked at each other. They look back at me. They look back at each.

"Oh no," they say.

I told them about the one guy my family has ever met and approved of. They told me to break it off with my boyfriend and make a move for this guy. "What? No way- not the right time, not the right guy." I don't know what to make of this conversation. They told me there's never a right time. That there's just opportunities between men and women that you have to try, and hope the feeling is mutual. I'm not so sure that's how it works. Truth is, I love so deep but I know there needs to be more on the table than that. Especially in a country like India.

This lifestyle does not mean freedom. This is bullshit. I live this way because there's no where else to go. Current boyfriend and I talk about buying a dog when I am back in India. Why do I want a dog that will remind me every day that my boyfriend will leave me to get married to a stranger? I want someone who actually wants to speak to me every day, and is filled with hope and joy and all those good things that I feel like I talk about in my letters.

I pray that this week goes well. I also pray I dont run out of money. I pray that God is watching over me and has a plan, because I am in the dark. Every day I move ahead hoping he is watching over my life, because in reality I feel lost in cloudy doubts and unbelievable pain. Where is my partner in all this God? Are you even listening? What- you give me an article in TIME but you can't feed me? You can't give me a boyfriend that I can see more than once a year? 

Sometimes I wish I had not been born to do this. I wish I was born to be like one of the other girls who works at Anthro and has big diamond rings and donate $20 to Salvation Army once a year to feel good about themselves.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 6, 2013

Tonight I found out an ex of mine has been dating someone since August or so. That wouldn't be a big deal. Aside from the fact she is in life-threatening condition.

I forgot to mention two months ago he asked to Skype with me about and showed me his dick. Then started wanking. And my mom walked in. 

It's so hard to trust when every instance I have of Indian men is something along these lines. Prostitutes, ambiguity, married, cheating- there are no boundaries. I know good men- yes- but good men can't be with me. They can't be with gori girls. Very few Indian men can.

What does this mean for my personal life in the next few years? I'm fucked. That's what it means. And that all I can think about is how lonely I'm going to be. Or if I am giving up my dreams of marriage for something much larger than myself, and if it's worth it.

It's okay though. My current boyfriend will get an arranged marriage, and I'll get to watch. There will always be something new and shitty on the horizon in terms of relationships in India all seem to follow this tragic, upsetting, depressing pattern.

I'm still disgusted at that man. So disgusted. What an asshole. Seriously 8+  months of dating someone and you tricked me into Skype sessions so you can wank to me? What a loser!

The best part is when he told me only a cruel person would leave someone who had a life-threatening condition. Wait what- so it's okay to wank off to other girls and not tell them you are dating anyone? 

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 3, 2013

I slept approximately one hour last night. It is now almost 8PM and I am still working, and never had the decency to get dressed or showered yet. It has been one of those days.

I had a call with the head of Public Affairs for a major private equity firm in my city. I know they give funds for local organizations. The woman was so nice, so thankful, so appreciative. What I appreciated the most is her candid honesty.

She didn't bother to lead me on, like the other people at her firm that had passed the buck. She told me plain and simple: we only fund organizations our VP level and above sit on the boards of. They decide who we fund, and although you can send us a request, the chances it will get through are very slim.

At this point it occurs to me I am operating in pyramid scheme. I am last person to join the pyramid scheme. I have been duped and my 401K totally drained. What happens to guys like me? Not sure. Let's see.

Dealing with the Executive Suite is exhausting. You do weeks and months of research just to find the right people. Then you contact them; sometimes coldly. Because let's be honest- I don't really know anyone. Not anyone in power. No one with real resources at least.

People think you are asking for money. Rarely do I ask for money. I need real help. I need someone to come introduce me to Fortune 500 guys and people who will actually read the email if I send. Startup guys will respond; but those aren't the people you want for your Executive Board. You need someone with multinational presence, and skin in the game. Not just a checkbook.

I'm just a bachelor....looking for a partner....

World is so competitive. I am not sure I ever realized this is how it would be. You are never competing against peers. I am David competing against Goliath and about to shit my pants. One of first times I met Managing Director of Abbott India, I was wearing my one good outfit. Everything else had been ruined in the monsoon. Or I was too fat//too skinny for. Or as I like to call it, transitional body weight.

We met in the Four Seasons. I had saved my extra money for almost two weeks to ensure I had funds to pay for a breakfast at Four Seasons. Luckily he paid. He was late too. When he had agreed to meet me, I thought I was imagining things. Then he told me I was doing it wrong. That India will be unable to help. I need real backing, from the C-Suite of American or European based companies, in order to move forward. India has no incentive to help me. But their global strategy divisions, do.

Well, guess what asshole, thanks for the advice, and the breakfast. Thanks for not introducing me to the people you promised, and crushing me as you drive your armored car away from the five star. Thanks for leaving me while I walk by the slums, and return to work pretending I am just running late while my jerk of a boss just reminds me how worthless I am to their organization. 

Princess Diana was my idol growing up. She was my picture of development- saving children with HIV, walking through African fields with her sons walking behind. I was duped. No one told me you need to have princess title to do this work. No one told me that philanthropy is only for the rich.

Why do you need to be rich to help others? Why do you need Ivy League schools, and trust funds, or rock stars supporting you? I know why. Because this shit is hard. Trying to get a company to back you is like being from Compton praying for scholarship to Harvard. I am going for Super Bowl passes, but I've never scored a touchdown. I am a child heart in world of adults. Who will I have to turn down, ignore- to keep my own dreams alive?

Answer is not comforting.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 1, 2013

Yesterday I met 3 friends to attend wedding for another conservative-born and bred couple. This one was in Kansas.

Kansas has to be one of the emptiest states in America. It wouldn't surprise me if an ear of corn ran for governor. Recently Bob Dole came back in the news for his take on our current governmental issues with Congress and Senate. It kinda tickled me. "Hey, I know that guy- I met him in Independence, Missouri when he ran for President. I watched him lose. Then I shook his hand".

One of our friends who was already drunk gave us directions. I was with three orthodox kids. After an extra hour of driving on unpaved roads, the driver asked me to pull my smartphone to find us. I laughed loudly. Car of 4 young people- none owning a smartphone. I was proud of the fact mine was actually a burner, or for you folks that don't know, disposable phones that drug dealers use to remain anonymous. Throw aways. The other three had flip phones which were meant for some kind of longevity in their purpose. We pretended to Instagram and Pinterest during the wedding reception, making jokes of our ability to miss most of the ceremony thanks to our drunk-ass friends. And the farmer at the Casey's gas station buying minnows who gave us wrong directions. Luckily we got service around two hours of being in the car and were able to get 411. Unfortunately car smelled like old rotten trash thanks to the mildew which had come from leaving the windows down during a rain. And not having air conditioning, working brake pads/shocks, and the like.

On the way out we made predictions of how much the wedding cost. In orthodox terms, they were surprised there would be actual staff working the wedding, as opposed to friends doing everything. The thought of being able to hire anyone was so outlandish they could barely fathom. As both the driver and passenger were married (to each other) the wife reminded the husband their entire ceremony cost less than the dress of the wedding we were going to.

It was never clear if the sarcasm was meant as a defense of our shared circumstance, frustration, or jealously.

That's never clear with hipsters- how poverty is somehow glamorized. When I hear poverty turned into a commodity it makes me nauseous, as if they have never experienced real poverty. Never experienced humiliation as a result of their socio-economic status. Maybe their communities are much stronger than mine. Maybe they don't care, or they are married and don't have anything to prove. I still don't get it.

I applied for a small grant upon returning from India to setup my organization. I made the mistake of again, honesty, and confiding in them I needed to use $100 to turn on my cell phone. My taxes were filed last year for $4000 of income earned in America. My income earned in India was not enough IRS cared for me to report it. I was working for one of the wealthiest families in the world, and like most "fellowships" they supply you with almost no salary, but loads of change the world bullshit.

Back to story. I send proposal through and receive this email back:

May I ask why you dont have a phone? I ask b/c now a days everyone has phone and someone who doesn't have one is a bit odd. What special circumstances have come in your life that have prohibited you from having the funds to access this basic necessity?  DId you just return from living abroad perhaps?  I would like to include this snipbit of info when I present your proposal to our panel. I know they will be curious. 

Your application looks great, 

  Grants Assistant Questioning Why You Do Not Have Funds for a Phone

  I ended up receiving the grant with a small note written up about my work. Generally they publicize what the grant will be used for, but because of the embarrassment over the phone issue, I specifically asked them not to share that information with the general public and received this kind response:

Dont worry I wouldn't even think of it. There are so many other things to note about you besides the phone thing. I understand your situation completely. I lived in Haiti for a few years and when I came back I didn't even have warm clothes to wear at night since Haiti is so hot. I felt really odd and people thought I was joking when they would invite me out and I would say " I dont have anything to wear". It took me almost a year to get back to 'normal'. 

  At this point I began to panic, that I too would give up my dreams and end up administering $1000 grants meant to change the world after being unable to afford warm clothes. I was angry on behalf of my new grant assistant friend telling me she understood how messed up this world is. I was lucky. She had taken the time to clarify, and help me understand who, what, and why they would need clarity. Clarity for why I wanted to take the Megabus to travel, clarity for why my website would be so cheap, clarity for why I needed a phone when it "looks a bit odd".

Yes, it is awkward when you mom picks up the phone to tell you fried chicken is ready when you are on the phone with the man who started first MFI in the world. And the CEO of the largest healthcare NGO in the world. Oh yes, and the head of research for best public health policy program in US.

But on the orthodox bright side, I will have friends help clean up during my (imaginary at this point) wedding. And my flip phone again brings me more in common with the village women I employ and serve than those I am generally speaking to on the other side of the phone.

[breakingtheidealist-blog]

June 2, 2013

I needed a place to share my thoughts with the world. My heart is large, and full. It is 3AM and I stay awake to share my beating heart with my brothers and sisters fighting in Turkey for democracy; my mothers in South African lands destroying racism with their work. Sometimes I am afraid to sleep because I see the faces I want am serving with my pilot program in India.

Life is unfair.

My upbringing is strictly American. I get upset sometimes that to me Santiago and Manila have always mysterious and exotic to me. Being American has been shameful in all my foreign excursions. I first learned this in India when I got a rock thrown at me on day two of my life there.

Foreigners have it all wrong. National Geographic and our media has spoiled us rotten feeding us photos of swollen bellied babies begging for bread with flies sitting in teary eyed corners. We can barely pay our bills, most of us. We live on credit. We give on credit. Credit will save us. Look- credit saved our government. And probably China's and everyone elses ours touched in 2009.

2009- what a terrible year.

2009 was the year I lost my job at the financial firm. 2009 was the year I saw investors making millions while I was unable to pay my electricity bill. 2009 was the year I met a Brazilian investor who was only 22, and I showed him around town. He bragged to me about his families helicopter and how they made their money in big agriculture. Then he tried to seduce me by taking me to a place he claimed was "local- right off Michigan Avenue".

It was Houlihans.

These douchebags are who own our world economy. Most keep their money. For the select few they open up a trust to protect their families wealth. Some give the dividends away. After over a year of evaluating IRS 990 forms of the largest family foundations in America, I am rebelling. 

They say the world is getting smaller. I am not sure I agree. I think world is getting more and more divided with the rich on one hand, and poor on another. Soon our arms will be stretched out so far like Jesus we will beg Christ for mercy on our burdensome cross.

People seem to forget what poverty means. Poverty is largely contextual. Poverty is relative. Living off $2 in America may not be same as living off $2 in Malawi. Rich people seem to forget poverty even exists in America. Fuck, I remember growing up and having my school clothes on layaway. $20 t-shirts and jeans at Sears on layaway for months. And my father had a PhD and this was my upbringing.

What is stranger about this last statement is my current irony: privately educated white girl, combating poverty in India, lives with her parents and lives off less than $2 every day. Primary responsibilities at self-founded social enterprise: business development with HNIs, C-Suite Executives, foundations, development banks, university/research funds, and private social investment funds.

So I talk to millionaires (sometimes billionaires) all day.

These people do not know I live in poverty. They do not know I am using my parents landline to make calls to their private lines. They do not know how young I am. They do not know I don't have insurance. Sometimes the entrepreneurs will ask how you are surviving. Sometimes I am honest. I secretly pray the now-successful entrepreneurs will take pity on me and donate after our call. They don't. They tell you good luck with FDA and hang up.