How thick is your skin? Rhino or amphibian? I always thought mine was quite thick but since arriving in the capital I’ve experienced an interesting array of questions and comments and I can’t quite decide whether to categorise them as genuine interest or just plain rude and intrusive.
The first incident involved a plethora of taxi drivers asking me some pretty personal questions. They wanted to know everything including if I was married, why on Earth I didn’t have any children yet and why my hair was a strange golden colour. This lead to them telling me that I certainly wasn’t getting any younger. Ease up people, I’m 27, and since when did a short taxi ride turn into the third degree about life choices? For a few weeks this happened every time I stepped into a taxi, and I couldn’t really decide what was bothering me more. Was it the questions? Or the way that I either went into an aloof defense mode or started to divulge my deepest darkest secrets and blubber like an idiot.
Not only am I subject to this ridicule myself but it seems that I have now recruited my friends into the firing squad with me. My friend (who has very cool personal style) and I were out on the town recently at a very swanky after party that we had been looking forward to for weeks. We were dressed to the nines and thinking that we were looking pretty good. But as the evening wore on we started to cop some serious flack about our outfits – someone asking me whether I had bothered to iron my dress, while my friend was almost mistaken for someone else because she was ‘actually dressed up’. Yes, I may have pulled my dress out of the cupboard and it was a little, shall we say ‘crumpled’ but since when did it become appropriate to say these things to people? I am all for honesty, but seriously!
The straw that broke the camel’s back was at immigration, with a comment that saw my jaw drop to the floor. As I handed over my passport to the lady, she quizzically scanned my picture and then me, then the picture and then me again and abruptly said ‘Have you lost a lot of weight since this photo was taken?’ I nearly fainted. But she wasn’t done yet. ‘Did you go on some sort of super diet to look the way you do now?’ It was like evil fireworks that kept exploding in my face. I quickly grabbed my passport, explained that it was just a bad photo that was taken only very recently and walked off in a huff. I believe this would leave even a thick-skinned person under their desk in a foetal position.
I guess I’ve learnt to just go with it and have a laugh, otherwise I would cry. Still, it can be challenging to find the balance between remaining open to feedback while protecting yourself from abuse. I guess what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’m off to get another passport picture taken.
