Since arriving, my age has often been a subject of question. Upon hearing the answer, there’s a lot of “oh my, you’re still a child!” etc. etc.
I hate this so much. I feel like I compose myself with a considerable amount of class and maturity that does not warrant me being called a child. And by the time a human male is eighteen, he’s usually considered a man! In some cultures, even younger. This all relates back to the whole “don’t judge a book by its cover” cliché (ugh I hate using clichés and its even worse when you point out that you are using a cliché). A lot of adults, in that case, have a lot of growing up to do themselves if they automatically come to the assumption that a young person is a child. I have goals, complex (sometimes) thoughts, and I’m not uneducated and unintelligent. I think I am opposed to the negative connotations that come with the world “child.” I am by no means denying that I have “growing up” to do, but I just despise these quick assumptions that file me into juvenility. There’s a certain amount of respect that is due to everyone, and in this case I don’t think that I’m receiving my fair share. I hope I don’t sound totally stuck up, but I strongly feel that I’ve worked towards this point of professionalism and poise that doesn’t deserve to be trashed because of how I look or my age. And I know that other people my age probably feel this way as well.
Anyway, rant over...
We’ve completed every scene in the play now and we just have to work on cleaning it up and adding music in the next fifteen or so days. The musicians have arrived and apparently they’re the best in Afghanistan. They add a lot to the play and are incredibly talented - they’ve never worked in theatre before, but their ability to mesh with the actors is awe-inspiring. I’ll maybe try to record their music one day and share it with you.
Also, total mosquito bites: one. Seriously, on the first day I got bitten within the first fifteen minutes, and I haven’t had one since. I’ve also not been using my bug spray... I feel so powerful. The Indian mosquitos must not like my Canadian blood. Yucky.
I’m off to shower, which can only be described as one of the most awkward body positioning moments of my life, mostly because it’s not really a shower. It’s more of a tap that shoots out cold water... and it’s nudged oddly into a corner only a couple feet from the ground.
I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.
I hate this so much. I feel like I compose myself with a considerable amount of class and maturity that does not warrant me being called a child. And by the time a human male is eighteen, he’s usually considered a man! In some cultures, even younger. This all relates back to the whole “don’t judge a book by its cover” cliché (ugh I hate using clichés and its even worse when you point out that you are using a cliché). A lot of adults, in that case, have a lot of growing up to do themselves if they automatically come to the assumption that a young person is a child. I have goals, complex (sometimes) thoughts, and I’m not uneducated and unintelligent. I think I am opposed to the negative connotations that come with the world “child.” I am by no means denying that I have “growing up” to do, but I just despise these quick assumptions that file me into juvenility. There’s a certain amount of respect that is due to everyone, and in this case I don’t think that I’m receiving my fair share. I hope I don’t sound totally stuck up, but I strongly feel that I’ve worked towards this point of professionalism and poise that doesn’t deserve to be trashed because of how I look or my age. And I know that other people my age probably feel this way as well.
Anyway, rant over...
We’ve completed every scene in the play now and we just have to work on cleaning it up and adding music in the next fifteen or so days. The musicians have arrived and apparently they’re the best in Afghanistan. They add a lot to the play and are incredibly talented - they’ve never worked in theatre before, but their ability to mesh with the actors is awe-inspiring. I’ll maybe try to record their music one day and share it with you.
Also, total mosquito bites: one. Seriously, on the first day I got bitten within the first fifteen minutes, and I haven’t had one since. I’ve also not been using my bug spray... I feel so powerful. The Indian mosquitos must not like my Canadian blood. Yucky.
I’m off to shower, which can only be described as one of the most awkward body positioning moments of my life, mostly because it’s not really a shower. It’s more of a tap that shoots out cold water... and it’s nudged oddly into a corner only a couple feet from the ground.
I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.
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