There is a house on the road between my apartment and Ramdan’s (my host father’s) café. Like many of the houses here it is in the process of being built; a process that for poor Moroccan’s who don’t have the means to take out large loans can take months and years. Rebar sticking out everywhere, rickety stick scaffold, piles of cement and dirt outside. A house in process.
The other day I was walking by this particular house as I so almost every day on my way home from the café. The same old rebar and unpainted cement as everyday, but a familiarity inside caught my eye through the window. She was new or, at least, I had never noticed her gaze before. Hanging on the inside wall of this unfinished cement box in maybe a somewhat less grand gallery than she is used to was the Mona Lisa.
I stopped and caught her gaze. I know, not hard to do since she is always staring. I caught her gaze, and, oddly, instead of thinking how strangely out of place this is or isn’t this funny, they hung a portrait of the Mona Lisa in this bland, unfinished cement box that will one day look exactly the same as all of the rest of them, I thought, “that is exactly how I feel.”
Ok, so who knows what she is thinking in her portrait. I’m sure art majors have been writing papers debating it for years. Is she sad? Does her slight smile convey some sort of irony about her life? Is she just having one of those days? Maybe she is happy, but trying hard to hide it. Maybe she’s practicing some subtle emotion for acting school. Who knows besides the artist and the subject. This is exactly why I instantly felt like this picture in this house was a reflection.
I know, I know! No one wants to hear about the gloomier side of life. First, I have to say that if this blog is to even remotely explain my life, thoughts, and ideas while I’m here in Morocco, it will have to include some questioning, and, well, negativeness. Secondly, you are reading this by choice. At least I assume you are. Finally, as I precursed, we are talking Mona Lisa. I’m not necessarily feeling bad emotions, just kind of mystifying ones.
At the beginning of our service we were given a nice organized sheet of paper illustrating how we would feel from month to month. Gloomy, happy, nervous, happy, gloomy, depressed. This whole array of emotions so pleasantly contained in little Excel boxes and labeled with when we would feel them. I kind of blew it off when I got it. Yes, it’s going to be a “roller coaster” of emotions. Thank you. I know! I’m finding out now both our little guide and I underestimated the extent of emotional flux. This is no “roller coaster.” It’s a power tower.
There is a slow trend of ups and downs, but what I am finding, at least at the moment, is that the way I feel sometimes changes by the hour. Something so small as talking to a friend about a project and getting positive feedback can make me feel so good, and the next moment I’m getting rocks thrown at me by a gang of 13 year olds and being told that I’m going to hell, and I feel like shit. Everyday.
If you are thinking, “that sounds exhausting,” it absolutely is! It’s exhausting and frustrating and scary and sad and happy. Its like this soup we used to make in Boyscouts where each person brought some can of soup and we just threw it all together into the same pot. It was a rule not to bring a cream soup, but inevitably someone always did and it got thrown in with the rest. This is how my emotional world here in Morocco is. All of the flavors that I like and dislike, and always a little something unexpected on top of it all.
Salam,
Colin
I agree: there's something about the rebar. My cousin broke her arm once on the jungle gym in her backyard; her bones stuck out like little sticks, ochre streaked in black-red. That's how I see the rebar bones, structure sticking out in places it shouldn't.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I'm going to stalk you now. Liking what I've read. Hearts!