a novel

I write to make sense of the world. In reality, Jane Austin is somewhat full of it. There isn’t the choice between sense and sensibility, sense is simply an illusion. In the words of my students “I am comprehending nothing”. The world is a mess, and somehow we are all under the illusion that we much make sense of the incomprehensible. And romance, the largest illusion of all. The authors, the playwrights, and the directors make us believe that is we wait long enough, try hard enough, etc life will be a romantic fantasy. The harder, and more realistic mission is to accept the illusions. I came to Chad with hopes and dreams, and romantic expectations. Accepting that most of these were illusions has been a challenge. I am not going to make a noticeable difference in the world. My language skills will never be up to par before I go. Life is going to be boring. I am young, and immature, and romantic. My family is not, and has never been, the be all and end all of life styles. Humility is my...