we take the naps we think we deserve
"And yet, and yet. The place exerts an elemental pull on me. There is no need of fascinations. People talk all the time, calling on a sense of reality that is not identical to mine. They have wonderful solutions to some nasty problems; in this I see a nobility of spirit that is rare in the world. But also, there is much sorrow, not only of the dramatic kind but also in the way that difficult economic circumstances wear people down, eroding them, preying on their weaknesses, until they do things that they themselves find hateful, until they are shadows of their best selves. The problem used to only be the leadership. But now, when you step out into the city, your oppressor is likely your fellow citizen, his ethics eroded by years of suffering and life at the cusp of desperation. There is venality in abundance here, and the general air of surrender, of hopelessness, is the most heartbreaking thing about it. I decide that I love my own tranquility too much to muck about in other people’s troubles. I am not going to move back to Lagos. Now way. I don’t care if there are a million untold stories, I don’t care if that, too, is a contribution to the air of surrender."
— from Every Day is for the Thief by Teju Cole
[This is an eerily exact conveyance of my sentiments about the struggles in life in Pakistan and my decision to come back home to the US after reporting and writing from there for nearly two years.]