Being a shining example of moral leprosy, I walked around the site with a purposeful expression and paint brush in my hand the entire second day. It was a coy tactic I adopted to get out of doing hard manual labour (heavy lifting/cementing/hammering/dangerous stuff/etc). With no measurable upper body strength, I get in the way more than I get things done. In the end, I spent the day doing PR work/playing with orphans.
I overdosed on Honey Stars at the breakfast buffet the next morning. I was without my mother’s supervision or any sense of self- control. My mom never lets me have cold milk and cereal for breakfast, because she loves me a hell lot/it’s the worst thing anyone could put in their stomachs in the morning. As a 17 year old who overuses the f- word (“Fuck! Fucking fucker!”), my cereal choice is mainly influenced by box design and TV commercials. I enjoy Honey Stars, Coco Pops, Froot Loops, Cap’n Crunch and Alpha- Bits, not the wholegrain/healthy/organic cardboard kind, with uh, nutritional value.
I felt so sick, I couldn’t even pretend to look busy doing work that day. All I could do was veg- out on the deck and watch the sun beat down on the mosque’s zinc roof (and my classmates). I turned into furniture and fell asleep for hours. Miraculously, my health fully returned to me by the time we got back to our hotel. I managed to use a facial mask, jump up and down on Charlotte’s bed, and watch Sex and The City on the TV.
I still haven’t figured out how/why anyone would/could be so happy with so little. I’m quite sure they know a secret about life which keeps them from hollowly acting out life’s motions. I hope I haven’t missed the forest for the trees. (It’s so easy to.)
