On new hair cuts
I really, really shouldn't be doing this, but I feel the dire need for distraction and random stress relief after my hair cut and something very very irritating called English Homework!
(crap and it's 11 and in 10 seconds my brother will start playing the piano!)
Ok. Anyways. You know about hair cuts, when you're at the salon and you feel clean and washed and taken care of and happ? When the hairdresser snips away at your head with perfect confidence and finally styles your cut and dried hair with a flourish and gives you that voila! kind of smile and you are duped into thinking that your hair cut actually looks alright? Yes, that was what happened to me. And then this morning I got up and looked into myself in the mirror, at that silly confused and very bleary face staring back with hair standing up like some lion's mane. The face staring back looked every bit as bewildered as I was at the state of my HAIR! Because in case you didn't know (which, if you are not me, you actually shouldn't know unless you have been stalking me..) my fringe is now short and STRAIGHT and my hair's a lot shorter which means all that effort I put into growing it longer has gone down the drain. Oh well, time to start again. It's not really that horrific, though... I hope. Could be much worse in any case! :D
So I just spent the past hour working out my monologue. I went about as far as two thirds of it when I decided that nope, there was no way I was going to be presenting this for an oral assessment. How in the world am I supposed to act something like this out?
Bones.
All I can see around me is bones.
Mountains of them. Bright white limbs, glaring in the sunlight, faceless skulls staring eyeless in all directions. Some bore into me with their emptiness, while others face the heavens, as if still asking, still waiting for God to tell them why this had to happen to them.
Where is God? I stare at these scattered remains and I wonder if He is really here protecting us. Where was He when the rebels came and slaughtered these innocent people in their fits of manic rage? Sometimes I am tempted to believe that maybe there is no such God watching over us, only cruel, ugly fate.
That’s what it comes down to, Fate. When a messenger came to the village one night telling me my sister was in labor, I grabbed my clothes and was about to run when my husband stopped me at the door to tell me to be careful.
“You must be alert. There are dangerous people everywhere. Have faith that God will watch over you. Come back to me, come back to our children, come back safe.”
And I did come back. But after three days it was not to my husband’s loving embrace or the laughs of my children that I returned to. When I came back, all I could see around me was the charred remains of houses, of homes, of people. I could hear cries and shouts in the background and even my own shrieks of fear felt like they were coming from the far off distance as I felt myself rush forward towards a space that had once been everything I’d ever known.
Strange, this fate. People tell me I am lucky to have survived, but I would rather have died a thousand times over than be trapped here, alone. Alone here, standing now in the midst of a mountain of bones, searching, digging for the hands I once held, the feet I once rubbed, the faces I once kissed.
“Sir, have you seen my husband? My children? This one in the photograph, the pretty one with long hair? Her teeth are as white as snow, her smile radiant as sunshine. Please sir, do you know where I can find them?”
And they all shake their heads and give me the same answer.
“Excuse me ma’am, I’m looking for my family. Have you seen any resemblances..?”
And then I see him. The white man in the distance, face obscured behind a large black box- a magic box? I walk towards him. Amin has always hated the White Men, but maybe this one can give me answers.
I watch him for a little while at a distance. He sees the horror, sees the bones and the dried up blood through his black box but when he turns I know that he cannot feel the pain. His eyes meet mine, they’re alert, but unfeeling. Does your black box take away the pain?
“Sir, I am looking for my family. These people in the photograph. Have you seen them…?”
He stares at me blankly, and shakes his head as if he actually understands. I point insistently at the photograph. I gesture at the bones.
“Please sir, please help me find them. My husband, this tall, wears glasses, he’s somewhere here. Please, sir.”
Haha, yes as a matter of fact it does actually just die half way because I really didn't feel like launching into some melodramatic narration. Blah. This is a bit too sacrilegious in some ways, and more importantly it just kind of meanders into these vague dramatic attempts which would be epic phail if I tried to actually act the thing out. So goodbye, monologue and friday evening! Not saying I didn't know this would happen, but I always feel elated at my supreme time management. :(:(:(
Geez why do holidays always have to disappear so quickly? DDD:
Ok whatever, I think I should research post traumatic stress disorder and get on with my life.
Stupid orals. Gosh and I've got that essay too! Can I please kill someone...?