Towards the end of the year, I shared the reflection below on LinkedIn.
A Development Worker's Reflection of 2025: More Courage Next Year🙏
🔹I still feel small when I face problems that are enormous, complicated, and deeply intertwined.
🔹I am still afraid of whether I indulge too much in the 'reductive seduction of other people's problems.'
🔹I still agonize over how to uphold dual accountability both to taxpayers at home and to the people I serve abroad.
🔹I am still in doubt when I ask myself if my approach is efficient and inclusive enough to make a real difference with the limited resources
that I can never afford to waste.
Overwhelmed by a lot of thoughts, I had the chance to give a guest lecture to undergraduates flying to Laos to teach this winter, which
brought to mind the book "The Courage to Teach." (That is a must-read book, by the way, for every aspiring teacher in Korea. I also read it
during my time teaching mathematics in Eswatini.)
"This book is for teachers who have good days and bad, and whose bad days bring the
suffering that comes only from something one loves. It is for teachers who refuse to harden their hearts because they love learners, learning,
and the teaching life. When you love your work that much, and many teachers do, the only way to get out of trouble is to go deeper in." by
Parker J. Palmer.
"Enter, not evade." I know my job is no different in many ways. Rather than away from them, I hope to embrace
all the fear, concerns, and uncertainty that I have. I wish to live with countless unanswered questions, yet still move forward with courage.
Take courage. COURAGE.
Yes, I still feel small and afraid as I observe what is happening in my soon-to-be next post: Iran. Protests there have escalated at a rapid
pace, and the estimated casualty of
around 6,000 (if not verified) reported in the headlines this morning was so shocking that I couldn't help dwelling on the figure.
In the midst of fear, concerns, and uncertainty, where has the belief gone that life is full of
wonder and beauty, and that it always matters more than anything? How on earth could so many lives be lost within such a short period?
My colleagues in Tehran who supported the initial phase of my onboarding haven't replied to the email that I sent a few days ago, written with a
heavy heart, wishing that everyone in the office is safe. From afar, the only thing I can do is to say a prayer every night for a country that
I haven't yet arrived in but have already begun to love since I decided to go.
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