let lemons be angry

Part of me wishes I hadn't signed up for the royal family kids' camp. I know this is only the beginning, that queasy moment just before I put on my helmet and step into my armor. Like the night I lay awake not daring to fall asleep, because i saw all that could go wrong in thailand and was afraid. Out of my comfort zone, most suddenly. I'd rather be having dinners out with shared mudpies and roundabout talks by the river. But this is what I signed up for: no sugar, no cameras, no post-camp communication, no hugs, no perfume, no sitting on the bed, no shock at burn and chain marks, no fuss over queer behavior. Many more rules than any other kids' camp, because these are very special kids.

I don't know why I felt I had to sign up as a volunteer. I'm an only child; I've never had my patience limits pushed. I'd known about child abuse but not in the way I learnt about it yesterday. Two weeks before I meet these children with survival mechanisms I didn't know were necessary. It frightens me that the world goes on like that whether or not we know about it.

I could just walk away and go back to pleasant dinners, it's not too late yet. But I know about these children now. It's irreversible. Even eating cherries in front of the computer in my own home feels like a horrible luxury. The simple fact that they are cherries says a lot about my life.