The first time I laid eyes on the 6' x 6' plywood room I would (and have) call "home" for all of my 305 days (and counting) in Afghanistan, all I could think of was a Groucho Marx quote: "Hello, Room Service? Could you send up a larger room?"
But as is prone to happen when a girl travels the world alone, the space around me became a character in the story of my Afghanistan experience and my room has played an essential role in this tale (don't worry / get your hopes up - thanks to General Order No. 1 (which I have affectionately dubbed, "Get None One") prohibiting sex or even opposite-sex visitors in one’s room, my walls have seen nothing but G-rated stories for the telling).
The walls defined the gallery space upon which I displayed the collection of paintings I "commissioned" from a local Afghan artist named, Mujeeb as well as the “shrine to home” – my hodgepodge collection of family pictures and cards sent from home which I thumb tacked to the wall at the foot of my bed.
My bed, clothed in Technicolor bedding and a pink electric blanket (thanks to Mom, Dad and friends who sent home-washed sheets!) became my sanctuary from the cold, the tired, the dust and the inevitable loneliness that sometimes creeps into alone time. The bed doubled as my "display table" upon which I would open care packages and scatter my treasures for viewing and inventory! I snuggled under those covers and read letters from home about what I was missing on Dancing with the Stars (I had no idea – go Brook! Go Lance! That football player guy was a total pity-keep. He stank!), prayed for God/dess to sneak a few extra hours into the night so I could sleep(and that I spend them sleeping rather than hunkered in a bunker despite all those tasty snacks) and watched bootlegged copies of "in theaters now" movies on my old-school portable DVD player (3-and-a-half inch screen, thank you very much. The screen was to-scale with the room).
I chewed a lotta hubba bubba and consumed a lotta dark chocolate (eating dark chocolate is not a violation of "Get None One" despite rumors that it is a substitute, of sorts) in that room. I questioned my sanity in that room. I reclaimed my soul in that room.
"Hello, Room Service? Cancel my order."
But as is prone to happen when a girl travels the world alone, the space around me became a character in the story of my Afghanistan experience and my room has played an essential role in this tale (don't worry / get your hopes up - thanks to General Order No. 1 (which I have affectionately dubbed, "Get None One") prohibiting sex or even opposite-sex visitors in one’s room, my walls have seen nothing but G-rated stories for the telling).
The walls defined the gallery space upon which I displayed the collection of paintings I "commissioned" from a local Afghan artist named, Mujeeb as well as the “shrine to home” – my hodgepodge collection of family pictures and cards sent from home which I thumb tacked to the wall at the foot of my bed.
My bed, clothed in Technicolor bedding and a pink electric blanket (thanks to Mom, Dad and friends who sent home-washed sheets!) became my sanctuary from the cold, the tired, the dust and the inevitable loneliness that sometimes creeps into alone time. The bed doubled as my "display table" upon which I would open care packages and scatter my treasures for viewing and inventory! I snuggled under those covers and read letters from home about what I was missing on Dancing with the Stars (I had no idea – go Brook! Go Lance! That football player guy was a total pity-keep. He stank!), prayed for God/dess to sneak a few extra hours into the night so I could sleep(and that I spend them sleeping rather than hunkered in a bunker despite all those tasty snacks) and watched bootlegged copies of "in theaters now" movies on my old-school portable DVD player (3-and-a-half inch screen, thank you very much. The screen was to-scale with the room).
I chewed a lotta hubba bubba and consumed a lotta dark chocolate (eating dark chocolate is not a violation of "Get None One" despite rumors that it is a substitute, of sorts) in that room. I questioned my sanity in that room. I reclaimed my soul in that room.
"Hello, Room Service? Cancel my order."
1 comment:
Without a doubt, Cira-woman, that is a "home" space dreary enough to make anyone depressed, but you certainly did brighten it up. At least when I was living in the barracks on Okinawa I had a window and more than 36 square feet of space...and indoor plumbing! Of course, there were no doors on the stalls, but that's a different story.
I sure hope you have happier digs where you are going.
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