Prologue
Strange
are the days, stranger the tides.
I.
I
tell people at home that I’m working at a refugee centre.
Sometimes
that makes them think of me as an angry social activist.
In
fact, my work involves making music with cool people, and eating free food. Go,
figure.
So, I
ended up teaching violin, regardless of the fact that I haven’t touched one for
years. Apparently, learning to play the violin doesn’t have to be about
practicing scales and being fascist about off-key notes.
Intermezzo
No
one will ever be truly capable of knowing the full extent of human suffering.
It doesn’t make it a secret for one to keep though; nor is it the kind for one
to share.
II.
There
was a brawl last week, a rather nasty one at that. Rehearsal was fun until it
wasn’t, and, guess what, the Middle East is not the homogeneous Republic of
Islam Fundamentalists and of Women in Burqa.
And
when being away hurts, but being home is outright deadly, then national pride
or the lack thereof is a button you really, really shouldn’t push.
Understanding
is not approval, and this is not the time for judgements.
I
spent the night reading about the history of Afghanistan. There is not much
else one could do, really.
Epilogue
Let
us spend a silent moment to cherish the U.S. citizens’ sense re: 6th
of November, and be appreciative of the fact that the nuclear winter is, hereby,
postponed.
- Thuy
