The Dillema

First day at lab: managed to completely screw up my protein assay-standard curve was a joke, forget completely how to convert from moles, when looking for reagents forget sodium bicarbonate was also known as sodium hydrogen carbonate…things just kept compiling until I started messing up on say counting test tubes and forgetting how to tell the time. The people in the lab do not yell at me when I do something wrong, they just outright laugh. But it’s you’re so silly laugh not a you’re a fucktard laugh.

I ate a big plate of Bengali food in the canteen (cafeteria type place for the institute) for lunch. 20 cents. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I don’t think I like the Bengali fish because it has many pin bones in it (which they eat) and stick in my throat. Apparently eating in the Canteen was very adventurous and we were appreciated all day for liking their “real food.”

Everything approaches when you make eye contact. Men, begging children, stray dogs—I have learned to look at the floor when I’m walking somewhere. It really upsets me. I’m missing Kolkata because I’m too cautious to look. Maybe I’ll learn how to.

We were told we were going to move to our apartments and got in a cab. The cab ride was a complete adventure. At times we were speeding so fast I had to hold on to my seat and at others the traffic jams were so bad our driver turned off the engine. The windows were open and the pollution created a haze around the car lights. You could feel it sting your eyes, burn your throat and churn in your stomach. In the plane ride the entire city was cloaked in a veil of it lined with beautiful green ring. The garbage takes many forms in the city. It becomes resting areas, is propped up for storefronts and huddled together for housing. It was eerie looking at market places, only illuminated by torches, the black silhouettes sorting between garbage and product.

We get to Michael’s apartment and look around and then walk around 10 blocks to my apartment through busy and then through very dark and quiet streets. Ok so 1) The only thing I asked the Institute for in regards to housing is to not live alone 2) I had no idea Michael was living so far away 3) we are paying $530 a month each!!!!!!!!!

The longer I’m in the dark streets walking to my apartment the more I start hyperventilating. The apartment is very simple but pretty (I’ll post pictures when I can). It has AC, a bed that feels like the floor, 2 bedrooms!, a shower with a drain that's a whole in the wall all on the same level as the toilet (not a squat toilet!) a "kitchen" with a sink, and a desk without a chair. It's bright and airy and very clean. I really like it.

But I was starting to freak out at the prospect of living alone. Michael saw I was upset, asked what was wrong, and I started to cry. One of the PI's struck a deal with the landlord asking if Michael and I could stay in the same apartment. Oh and that we were married. He said yes but he would have to pass the new living arrangements with the other tennats to see if they approved. When I left for the institute this morning I was told the tennats didn't believe we were married and didn't want us to live together. We are going to try to ask the tenants in the building where Michael's apartment is and see if they're ok with it, but Dr. Sandipan doesn't think they will be.

So know here's my dillema: Should I stay alone or continue to create this big mess for everyone (the Institute signed the apartments for 3 months so we would have to find the money to pay for that if we wanted to live somewhere else) and continue to search for living options where I'm not alone?

I stayed in the apartment alone by myself last night (b/c there was only one bed in each apt) and didn't feel scared in the slightest. Should I chalk up my initial scare due to culture shock? Because I arrived at a strange place at night? (everything looked less threatening this morning) Should I live in the apartment alone? I want opinions!

Also keep in mind it would be a huge hassle to arrange something else on everyone's end, 2) the apartment has so many locks and gates it feels like a jail cell.