long day, late night

Kuwait provides this challenge: if I want to complain, it will give me sufficient reason to complain for the duration of my time here. It’s not too hard to imagine myself someday boarding a plane and saying, “What a waste of two years of my life.” It’s entirely up to me whether I make this a wonderful and rewarding time or put my energy into negativity and complaining. In that way, Kuwait is a perfect opportunity for training my mind, nurturing my faith, and developing my ability to seek out the good in life. Of course there will be times when I will want to just give myself permission to bitch a little bit. I’ve been around people who put every thought and comment through a filter to make sure that they’re being up-beat and positive, and folks like that can get awfully tiresome, can’t they? Part of the fun of sharing an experience with friends is knowing you’re on the same wave-length regarding the unpleasant as well as the pleasant. I remember one time when I was in Japan, I went on a trip with all the other exchange students to visit some famous places. It became apparent that our trip was going to be all taken up with sitting on trains, being herded around with no freedom to explore, and made to sit and listen to dull lectures and speeches, and we started to adopt a gleeful irreverence. One sweet-faced blond girl won us all over with her explosive commentary chock-full of profanity and rude humor. I loved her! The trick is to do all the bad-mouthing you like in the name of fun, but in your heart you mustn’t believe it. So I might refer to this place as “kuHATE” and chime in when my comrades here rip it apart, but at the end of the day I have to remember that I am making a difference here, and Kuwait is making a difference in me. That’s a gift.

I met parents tonight. What a mixed bag of nuts they were. The last one left me with a really bad taste in my mouth. His manner was cold, rude, and arrogant. He showed no interest and had a look of mild disgust on his face. I told him about how his son had done a nice job on our first project. The boy was there, and I told him to translate for his dad if he needed to, but the dad said in good English, “Not necessary, I’m fine.“ As he walked out without a goodbye or even so much as a nod, I said, “Very nice meeting you, have a nice evening” to the back of his head. I considered that maybe he was ashamed of his learning-disabled son, and was embarrassed to be there at all. Who knows. I recently read that contrary to the official gratitude that Kuwait expresses to United States for our help in repelling Saddam’s forces during the Persian Gulf War, the majority of Kuwaitis actually dislike the United States, too pro-Israel, messed up Iraq, yada, yada, … yawn. People who judge an individual because they associate him or her with some government are just ignorant, what else is new. The man’s son is such a nice kid, really a kid you can’t help but like. The other parents were pretty friendly. Just about all of them spoke good English. One divorced woman wanted advice about how to deal with her daughter, eleven going on seventeen with a bit of a naughty rock-star girl style that is bound to create shockwaves in Kuwait. Oh my goodness, that girl is a walking sexual revolution waiting to happen. I don’t think they’re going to be able to keep her in a burka. All in all, I think the parents are glad that someone appreciates their children. And I do. I really like their kids. They are weird, wonderful special ed kids, unable to hide their hearts. But it sure was a long day, and I know I’m going to have my work cut out for me, and I wish I didn’t have to make such a conscious effort to spin positive, … and my refridgerator has broken down. Last night I had a very nice dream in which I had a baby daughter that was my own child (of all things!), and I was in a cottage-sort of a place, and my cat Peter was there with us, and my brother showed up and we were all very happy and I said, “I know I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” and my brother said, “Yes, you have been for about an hour now.” It’s late, and I’m tired, and I probably won’t be able to get those neurons to recreate that dream for me, but what the hell you never know. Signing out, oyasumi nasai means goodnight in Japanese, no idea what it is in Arabic, the burning desire to know hasn't come around yet.