maybe you wont believe me.
but i went to a play last night.
at the university, in the theatre departments big whatchacall, theatre i guess.
it was about a reporter who spent a lot of her young life as a reporter in lebanon.
she was there, taking pictures, writing stories, as youd expect.
and she took one picture in particular of a young teenage boy who had been partially trapped under parts of a building after it had been hit by a missle, bomb or the like.
everyone was leaving screaming, but she told the boy he was going to be ok.
he was. he left alive. long after the reporter was gone, but he was alive.
a decade or so later, (this is the official in my head during the play timeline) she is in her comfortable canadian apartment sitting by the window enjoying the view when a young 20 something man climbs up the fire escape.
she heard the alarm, but remained where she was when she saw him climbing up the building rather than down.
they had a short conversation, small talk, etc, and began a small relationship.
where he would every so often return to meet her on the fire escape next to the window.
soon he tells her he left his wife to be with her...but she will not accept the offer.
he disappears, returns the next time with a bag full of his things, and blood all over himself.
he explains that she had ruined his life twice.
once by rejecting his love. and once by taking a picture of him that made them both famous.
her for being an amazing journalist, capturing a moment of desperation.
him for being "something broken, something damaged, SOMETHING USED"
it just made me reflect on something that doesnt necessarily hit home for me,
because ive never been to war torn lebanon, or iraq, or afghanistan, congo, israel, and so on.
ive always been on the other end of the camera,
never been used to show how much the countries on the other end of the camera "care" about the young boy trapped in rubble, while they destroy everything a person could ever love in the background in a matter of minutes.
over something like the oil and gas biz.
at the university, in the theatre departments big whatchacall, theatre i guess.
it was about a reporter who spent a lot of her young life as a reporter in lebanon.
she was there, taking pictures, writing stories, as youd expect.
and she took one picture in particular of a young teenage boy who had been partially trapped under parts of a building after it had been hit by a missle, bomb or the like.
everyone was leaving screaming, but she told the boy he was going to be ok.
he was. he left alive. long after the reporter was gone, but he was alive.
a decade or so later, (this is the official in my head during the play timeline) she is in her comfortable canadian apartment sitting by the window enjoying the view when a young 20 something man climbs up the fire escape.
she heard the alarm, but remained where she was when she saw him climbing up the building rather than down.
they had a short conversation, small talk, etc, and began a small relationship.
where he would every so often return to meet her on the fire escape next to the window.
soon he tells her he left his wife to be with her...but she will not accept the offer.
he disappears, returns the next time with a bag full of his things, and blood all over himself.
he explains that she had ruined his life twice.
once by rejecting his love. and once by taking a picture of him that made them both famous.
her for being an amazing journalist, capturing a moment of desperation.
him for being "something broken, something damaged, SOMETHING USED"
it just made me reflect on something that doesnt necessarily hit home for me,
because ive never been to war torn lebanon, or iraq, or afghanistan, congo, israel, and so on.
ive always been on the other end of the camera,
never been used to show how much the countries on the other end of the camera "care" about the young boy trapped in rubble, while they destroy everything a person could ever love in the background in a matter of minutes.
over something like the oil and gas biz.
posted by kristofher at 10:07 PM
1 Comments:
i believe you, but it's a stretch.
this sounds interesting kris,
thanks for sharing.
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