Runaways and Runway Models

May 25, 2010
Today I had a revelation: being a grown-up is hard. I hope I can start to get the hang of it by the time I''m 80.

When you're a kid, you have this idea that all your problems can be easily solved by some person you perceive to be a "grown-up." Its great to be on the kid side, but I've only recently started to experience things from the grown-up side, and that's not so great.

Around two weeks ago I heard that one volunteer's 16-year-old host brother ran away from home. The volunteer was away for a training, so couldn't really do much about this. When the volunteer told me this over the phone, I said something along the lines of "hmmm, that's too bad,' and when he asked me for advice, I assured him that he shouldn't worry about it because it isn't his problem.

My apathy bit me in the butt when the runaway turned up at my front door Sunday night.

The self-proclaimed "fugitive" (he had to spend some time flipping through his Kyrgyz-English dictionary before arriving at this word) had been floating around southern Kyrgyzstan for the past two weeks, staying with friends and acquaintances and avoiding family before arriving in my village at the house of his friend. He then asked around until he found me, knowing that I was friends with the volunteer that lives in his house and hoping that I could help him.

So, the kid said he had a place to stay, food to eat, and a change of clothes, but nothing else. He said he'd grabbed 100 som (about $2) before he left home two weeks ago, but now he was broke. He was trying to play it cool, telling me he was looking for work, but I could tell he was getting desparate. He asked if he could come and help me teach at school the next day, and I told him that would be fine, but when he continued to stand around expectantly I didn't know what to tell him. He wanted me to promise not to call his American brother, but I wouldn't promise, even though I had the urge to be the cool grown-up as opposed to the responsible teacher type.

In my childhood, I read enough books about runaways to recognize this story. At this point in the plot the runaway is getting scared and feeling alone. The happy feeling that came with freedom has worn off and realityy has set in. He's broke and out of options. Everything is looking bleak; but wait! Enter a new character: the wise spiritual guide who will offer sage advice and point the young protagonist in the right direction, resolving the story and teaching the runaway and the youthfull reader a valuable life lesson or two.

Only the author of this novel did a shitty job because the runaway got me instead.

Anyway, after following me around for two days, we finally sat down and had a good talk about his options. It was hard for me to look at this kid who is directly asking me for help and telling him that I can't even offer a possible solution for him that is anything other than going back home, which I knew he didn't want to do.

At long last, I offered to go with him back to his village and stand by him while he apologizes to his parents. I expected him to turn this offer down flat, but his face kind of lit up and he promised to think about it tonight.

I guess it wasn't that grown-ups always knew the solution, but they knew a solution. Wisdom comes with age, yes, but even more so it comes with the opportunity to experience responsibility over the life of another human being. And the difference between a child and an adult is sometimes not a difference in years, but the difference between trusting and being trusted.

And that is my sage advice for the resolution of this novel.

May 31, 2010

Paris runway models in robot-like leggings looking like characters the sci-fi film.
Quiz: The above phrase is
a) the name of a champion racehorse
b) the title of a punk-rock song from the late 90's
c) the text printed on the back of a shirt worn by a middle-aged woman in front of me in line at the bank

The correct answer, of course, is "c"

Today I was walking through my village when I was met with the usual chorus of cheerful and overly enthusiastic "hello"s from the little boys playing in the street. As I walked away, they begain to shout at me, "I am a sexy guy! I am a sexy guy!" I was confused for a minute until I realized that they were reciting the lyrics of a popular dance song.

I would like to place all the blame on things like t-shirts and pop songs for confusing the hell out of my students, but I think I am often to blame. Once, a pair of sweek eighth-grade girls asked for my help in understanding the lyrics of an Enlish pop song. They had already done an excellent job of translating, but were stuck on the phrase "make love." Not knowing an eighth-grade appropriate Kyrgyz equivalent, I told them in Kyrgyz, "for example, kisses, and ..." and then acted out obnoxious, noisy kissing. The girls had a giggle fit and ran away, so I couldn't check their understanding. I forgot about the whole thing until the last day of school when one of these girls wrote me a note that said, "Dear Miss Audra. Thank you we learn English. Summer good. Make love!" I guess they didn't get it. Oh well.

Update on the runaway: after tagging along after me for a few more days, he finally went home to his parents. Hooray!