the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

world believed the country was about to explode.
“I’m supposed to be going on vacation,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” my boss said. “I’m really sorry. You can take your
vacation in Pakistan. Unless something happens, and then you’ll have
to write.”
Or I would be blown up in a nuclear conagration. Either option
sounded like a bad holiday. But I agreed to the new vacation plan,
wary of recent rumors that the Tribune and the Los Angeles Times were
launching Ultimate Fight Challenge and would require all the
correspondents to punch it out for the few jobs left. I drank my way
through Christmas Eve, and then I drank my way through Christmas
Day. Depressed, lonely, worried about the lack of balance in my life, I
was hardly alone. The small international community in Islamabad
made the best of the season, of celebrating a Christian holiday in the
middle of a potential nuclear war between an Islamic country and a
largely Hindu one.
The day after Christmas, I wrote a story about Pakistan moving troops
from the tribal areas to the border with India. Then I went back on
vacation, which meant hiking in the Margalla Hills above Islamabad
and watching true-crime shows on TV. After three days of this, I wasted
a day on the Internet. I checked Facebook, looking to see if pictures had
yet been posted of my friend’s wedding. Then I noticed that my exboyfriend
Chris, the man who had moved to India before descending
into paranoia, had changed his relationship status. Twice. In fourteen
minutes, he had gone from single to being in a relationship to being
engaged. This was a surprise. We had stayed friendly—we were friends
on Facebook—and I knew that we never would have stayed together,
even in the States. He had managed to heal himself after his journey
into darkness in Delhi, but had stopped communicating with me over
the previous summer. I wrote on his Facebook wall “wow,
congratulations”—because that seemed the proper response to a
Facebook engagement announcement.
That night I sat at home, vaguely sad. I didn’t want to be married to
Chris. I didn’t necessarily want to be married. But I didn’t want to be
where I was, with the threat of war and an employment ax hanging
over me every day. With a new year fast approaching, I felt sorry for
myself, a mood that grew quickly boring. Maudlin and self-obsessed, I