The Kite Runner

I read the book, and I went to watch the movie. The Kite Runner is an extremely moving tale about friendship, betrayal, and the hauntings of the past that return to haunt. As a line in the movie simply puts it, the longer you do not deal with a problem the worse it will get.

Set in Afghanistan, you follow the childhood and adulthood of a boy. Kite flying brought him much joy, and was a reminder of a past in which the snow was pure, and the streets still filled with the smell of kebab. The invasion of the Russians, the grip of the Taleban, and Afghanistan was changed. And so too was the life of the boy. He left, to start life in the promised land, yet images and bonds of the past were not so easily cast away.

Touching, moving, tear-jerking. Not only because it deals with the struggles within each of us to be honest and brave even in times of fear, but because it reveals the truth and the its forcefulness to transcend lives, times, and places. The truth tears people apart, but also eventually serves to bring strangers together.

And it reveals another truth too. One that too often this sexist world is unwilling and unprepared to face... that boys, and thereby men, for men are but boys of bigger growth, can be rape victims too.

I came out of the cinema, eyes still somewhat moist from the end scene. Awed, and taken aback. And taken back...back to when...

"Wow," my friend said, "What a great movie."

I agreed with her.

"It's horrible... Sodomy. How could people do such a thing... to kids?"

"It can happens," I said, "It happens a lot."

"Yes, and the sad thing is it's not talked about. It happens a lot more than we realise, but men just have a hard time talking about. Society just cannot see men as victims."

"True. It's hard to talk about. You're looking at a victim right now."

No word spoken

I have been home already four days, but not a word was spoken with my so-called housemates. I know they are home, they know I am home, but we seem to pretend that the other is not home. If one hears the door open, the other does not go out of the room until the other is out of sight. I can hear where they are, and when I do, I do not go out of my room. If they are in the kitchen, I simply cook an hour later. Home sweet home.

As I came home from swimming this evening at around half past eight, I saw a silhouette walk in the same direction as my house. I cycled closer, and realised it was the hunched back of my brother, who looked tired and beaten. I got home first, and left the door open. Moments later he came through the door. I greeted him, and spoke to him. He just stood there, stared at me as if I were the most vile creature in the world, and said nothing.

I chuckled deep inside, and turned to walk up the stairs... how petty! How disgustingly petty and childish! I have not seen him for two weeks during Christmas and New Years, and he looks at me as if I am some sort of viscious criminal trespassing in his house.

But believe you me, I live here, I pay the mortgage, and I have more right to be living in this house than he with his precious little girlfriend. Of all the many ways I have helped him, helped them when they needed my help, this is the way they treat me... I could easily kick them out, I could easily make them homeless and force them to find a place of their own, which they should have done years ago, but I tolerate their presence, and let them enjoy the luxury of the house and let them occupy the whole house as if it were their own. And so ungrateful, so loathing of my parents just because my parents told them a few months ago to go find a place of their own. They are the occupiers, but this is the kind of treatment I get... to be treated as if I am the unwelcome occupant who should not be there to ruin their wonderful petty little lives. They do not know what is coming for them. And they have been warned.

Anyways, in the past few days I have set in motion a number of things that will perhaps fundamentally change my life. Finally, after all this time of pondering and wondering, I managed to fill in my application to study another degree this coming September. There were more than ten pages of application forms to be filled in, and a number of motivations to be written.I had been procrastinating and putting the task off, but somehow after I came back from my holidays, I felt such a sudden urge to write the application.

And now it is done! Not only that, I am also applying for scholarships, which will hopefully, hopefully, hopefully be able to cover all my expenses of studying and living. It will be a real adventure if all my plans go through, and I will be able to get a new start to life in another country, and get away from petty little things and people like my brother.

As I was filling in the application forms, I was feeling really giddy and happy with myself. If there is one thing I can do, it is write, and I somehow have a way to write motivation statements that even flatter me. The crisp language, the clear choice of words, the subtle rhyming and smartly structured sentences... I get such a kick out of writing it!

Now, let's hope that whoever will be reading it and assessing my application will be just as, if not even more, impressed as I am.

Home again...

I pulled away from Strasbourg as the day began to dawn. Slight drizzle followed by rain, greeted with sunshine as the train snaked through frost-biten hills and mist-veiled valleys.

Two weeks already. To think then I was so looking forward to taking a break from life and work, so looking forward to see my friend(s) and baby Aslan. Hard to believe that that time has already gone by, and a new year has just begun.

I entered their home to be greeted by a beautifully decorated Christmas, dazzling with lights, and spreading the house with the scenet of fresh pine. Yesterday as I took off the decorations, the needles have browned and some have fallen, as the tree looked a little tired, from the almost constant feasting, laughters, and wonderful memories now captured in my mind, and fleetingly snapshotted with my camera.

I never thought much of Christmas, other than that it was a commercialised hype hijacked to make people buy and buy. And I never can understand why people can get so excited about a new year, or how some can get so crazy to attack passerbys on the streets with fireworks, or even set cars, if not themselves, on fire. But once again, I was taken into a home, and my friends showed me the spirit of sharing and caring that makes this season of lights, Gluhwein, carols and tasty home-cooked delights worth all the while.

And Strasbourg is such a romantic place, such a magical town decked with lights and tinsles, as if the entire (old) city were one big Christmas tale brought to real life. The bitter cold in those few days, and even a shower of snow, covered the land in a chilling white, but somehow gave it a warm, homely feel.

Now, back home, back to the rain and windy climate of the Low Lands. Tomorrow, work awaits, and schedules, and deadlines, and appointments too. But that is tomorrow, another time and another place.

Now, the pictures and short little clips will be able to relive the moments and memories of the weeks gone past.