A Love Affair

I am currently engaged in a love affair with Anthropology. Our relationship started in the summer of 2009 and I’ve been hooked ever since. It whispered in my ear sweet paradigms of thought that preached diversity and diffusion.  The first side it reviled to me drugged my insides with tales of culture and eroticized Others. I was in a haze. It knew this and took advantage of the situation. It grasped me by the hips and we started dancing in the dirt.

 Archaeology was… intriguing.

The dirt would kiss my hands and the objects would sing songs about people long past; people who were waiting to be heard and stories that were waiting to be told. Histories were waiting to be constructed, reconstructed, and deconstructed. We got dirty together and I liked it. And I loved that I liked it, because it brought me happiness.

However, happiness comes and goes.  When Anthropology began to divulge its past and creation to me my heart felt weak.  How could I love something that codifies otherness built on xenophobia and xenophobia’s friend, racism? It told me not worry. Told me that its past endorsement of colonial powers was gone. It lied. It still shows that ugly side every now and then, but I’ve told myself to only see the beauty. Only see the strength that dwells in its soul not the destruction it can cause.

Now, when we dance it isn’t as graceful. The lithe rhythms have been replaced with hard stances attempting to flow like water. I’m constantly questioning my love now and all it does is provide more questions instead of answers. The emotion felt isn’t happiness all the time, but it is stability. Our relationship is an  ebb and flow of knowledge, constantly changing yet is balanced.