I am halfway through my PhD. When I put it this way, it sounds like a lot of time has passed, and that I have also done many things. Perhaps I can still say that I have just started my PhD. Either way, I am still engrossed and entangled in this walk.

The past two years unfolded before me, while at the same time begged to be opened like a gift wrapped in a fancy paper. There was no way I could stop its unfolding, as time is a critical factor, and there is an end in line. This is not another personal project that I have started and have the ultimate control of time and trajectory. This is a gift that I desired, but also a gift that comes with specific terms. There was also no way I could stop myself from tearing the wrapper – sometimes ever so carelessly to my own demise – to see what is inside and if it lives up to my expectations. Funny enough, the past two years took me to a painstaking walk to my past.

Walking towards the future with loud echoes from the past

The past two years of the PhD felt like a painstaking visit to my past, or perhaps my present disguises itself in the shadows and the jargons of my past. I learned back in 2009 that science is for the people, and that is the paramount goal of our endless quest to understand the world we live in. Otherwise, what and for whom are all these explorations for? I never saw science as a purely fun exploration of what is or what might be. I always saw science as a process where I can involve other people so we can improve our learning and development processes. This upbringing and understanding of science led me to places where I found myself grasping for an escape. The reality is grimmer than we think; because I saw that no amount of theorizing can silence the realities that need to be heard, and to be attended do.

I also thought doing a PhD in the western world will help me gain new insights. I will not discredit the fact that it does help me gain new insights, but I think what I see more is how colonial the learning and scientific system is. It helps me gain new insights, because here life is comfortable, and somehow detached to the greater reality. That means that by being here I have the time and the freedom to theorize, to philosophize, and to detach myself. If I did a PhD back home, where every day is a challenge for survival, I would have broken my heart more easily. However, the learning and scientific system is still highly colonial in a sense that our realities back home will only count as valid and relevant once a white scholar writes about them. It is only then that what we do matter.

There is not a day that I do not remember my mentors back home, and how if the world was fair and uncolonized, their voices would have reached more people. There is not a day that I do not remember our farmers back home, and how our agricultural farming systems are built upon the complexity of changing climate. There is not a day that I do not remember my colleagues from development work back home, and how they have the brightest, most pragmatic ideas for helping communities. Yet because the ideas are written, described in simple terms, it will take five to ten more years before the academic community picks them up, and gives them a new, fancy word.

These days I am surrounded by discourses on science and impact; and how I wish I can carry with me the plethora of ideas and realities that already exist from countries like mine. Somehow, I choose to be silent. This is my choice; one I am particularly curious as to why I find myself mostly silent, and only observing. Perhaps I am frustrated because I thought that discourses today will be different. But they also sound like the ones I had back in 2009. Perhaps my silence is also my way of disciplining myself and choosing my battles. Because I know if given a chance to continue development work or do something more applied, my PhD would look different. One that is fueled by rage, fueled by reality, fueled by voices of the unheard; but one that the scientific community says might lack theoretical rigor.

From hereon

However, as I listen to my silence, my rage is now directed towards myself. Because for the past two years I was so absorbed by the need to write four papers, to be productive, and to live inside my small PhD box.

My rage is directed towards myself, because in this pursuit, I almost forgot who matters. Until I did my fieldwork this year and met different people. Having the chance to step on reality, to listen to people, and to open my heart while I do my work brought me back to my senses. This is the harder route for me, because I know that the moment I work with my ears and heart wide open, my ability to detach will be more difficult. But I asked myself when I started this PhD, “What type of scientist do I want to become?”

I want to be a scientist who listens, who engages, who provides opportunities for communities to learn, and who writes with care for the people I work with. Is this going to be easy? I do not think so; especially that the scientific community still favors a positivist view of the world, where lived experience is just another box to be verified.

I think the struggle is more than producing the four papers. I think it is finding the courage, and the tenacity to engage in discourses that do fail to acknowledge the plural nature of lived experiences, and the plurality of reality. I failed to assert what I think and what I experienced, because I was afraid to be reduced, and to be questioned. I was afraid that the narratives I share will only be another set of inputs to a model.

The past two years has sounded like a discourse I already had in the past, and rightfully so. Because until now, we struggle with the same issues. We might have been talking, but perhaps no one was listening. Everyone was busy with coining new terms, getting the idea right, validating what we already know, and reproducing what we also already know. Hence, it felt like that we have been moving forward, but in leaving some people behind, we find ourselves almost in the same position. If we only listened, before we assumed.

I realize that this sounds like a dark and disheartening story of doing a PhD. But for me, it is quite the opposite. The PhD in itself – the fieldwork, the research, the writing process – is fun and gives me opportunities to be creative. I enjoy having the time to think about my papers, and how I want to frame them. But I cannot separate the PhD from the context and the environment where it unfolds. It happens to unfold in a greater academic setting that is not always easy to navigate. And as I engage with questions from my past, present, and future, it helps me navigate my ways within the academia that hopefully makes me more aware of who I am becoming, and which voices I might be silencing.