Teenagers

So the other day I was sitting in my room, playing the guitar, when this young man walked into the room (all Brazilian teenagers look much older because of the amounts of hair gel they apply) and introduced himself (rather pointless, since remembering names in a different language is, I've found, much harder than learning the actual language). Then we started chatting, in English, about the things that strangers usually chat about, and then he asked me if I wanted to go to church with he and Aline (clearly the reason he had come). This seemed odd to me, since it was, well I wasn't quite sure which day it was, but I was pretty sure that sunday had just been recently. But, as is my general rule about such things, I consented, and got ready to go. Then he told me that this was just for "chins." Rather quickly, I am not modest to admit, I picked up that he was trying to say "teens," and then I realized that this must be some special youth gathering, and sure enough when we got there there was no one there except youths frittering about, sitting, chatting, even playing fussball (which they just called futebol, to my great confusion). Not too late on, I realized that on the stage at the front of the long rectangular room, there were a number of instruments of the rock bent, a drum-set among them. From this point on, my base heart-rate increased by about 10 bpm, always at least at a brisk pitter-patter. As I found out in the car, Stevan (I'm not sure of the spelling, or even if that is his name, but I'm about 80% sure) told me that he played the drums, and thus he seemed like the most logical person at the time to ask: "Could I, um... [gesture towards drum-set and pantamime drumming]." He said yes, later. Later was better than I thought it might be. Of course, the best case scenario was that they'd tell their regular drummer to take a hike and let me play the set with them, but I suppose it takes awhile for one's drumming prowess to reach the level of international recognition necessary for said scenario to be realistic.

But on to the actual event - the show. I hesitate to call it a sermon, because it blurred the lines between church and a rock show as much as I imagine such a line could be blurred. The part immediatly after the rock show bit was an attempt of some sort to imitate variety show interviews. The main pastor-or-sorts would sit in a chair and call on people to come up and sit on a couch to the side and ask them questions of some sort (most likely about how the music affected them, or problems they'd been having, or some such thing), and before long, the pastor-of-sorts seemed to remember meetin me before the service, and, according to Aline, invited me up to the couch. I'd come to enjoy being such an object of curiosity, so up I went, and he then fielded questions from the audience and interpreted them for me. They were of the typical sort, and eventually they got to the question, "What is your biggest dream?" Still feeling a little drugged by their presence on stage, I pointed to the drums and said to play drums; I actually didn't really mean "in the future," I meant right now, and seeming to sense this, he asked me if I wanted to play for them, to which I didn't respond, but got up and sat down at the set and played Whole Lotta Love on the drums. After awhile I realized that I may have surpassed the realm of demonstration (also noticed the nods of the pastor-of-sorts), and rather awkwardly stopped, and the only fitting way to end such a cathartic experience is the explosive applause that followed. Even if it was for the novelty of an exchange student playing drums rather than for skill, it was an immense relief. And after the service was over, I got my chance to really play, which felt even better. And after awhile, Stevan came over and asked to play drums, and then I switched to the bass (incidentally, all the instruments and equipment were left lying out ready to play again - I don't know why, but it was most convenient), and we had a veritable jam session. So that was in itself a very important experience for me, but that night was also significant in a different way - it was my first real immersion in teenage Brazilian culture. But my first real interaction with teens would come later.

The occasion to which I allude was a bit later (it may have been the next day, it may have been the next week - I lost the ability to gauge time when I got off the airplane in Sao Paulo), when we went to a restaurant - a party of sorts. I think the occasion was a farewell to a friend of Leo's who was also going on an exchange. Anyway, once again it was an all-teenager assembly, and my immersion began immediately. Although throughout the evening I grew friendlier with everyone there, I also felt rather intimidated by them; as is true for teenage culture in America and most other places in the world I should imagine, the standards for fitting in are much stricter. Not to say that teenagers are mean (these were insanely friendly), but you can feel in the way they dress and carry themselves that they put emphasis on appearance, as well as the subconscious judgements being made, some by them, but most by you. For a lot of the evening, I even had the song Teenagers by My Chemical Romance stuck in my head. In the US, though, I don't have this problem. Why? This is a legit question, good job! (that's right - my blog has it's own self-referential inside jokes) The reason is because I know all my friends very well - well enough that if I break the norms, it's a joke, rather than a turn-off. That's the big lesson I've learned about teenage culture - one must get to know the people whose norms you defy before you defy them, otherwise you're just weird or even insulting. So I suppose I'll just have to let my inner iconoclast sit below the surface for awhile. Then, when they trust me and have their backs turned, I'll spring it on them. They wno't know what hit them. But I've already said too much - this information may be leaked by nosy and misguidedly conscientious friends to the people in college who will become my future victims. To those "friends" I have but this to say: it happened to you once - don't think it can't happen again.