"It's clear that she's poor," he says. "Her face is dirty, her garment is ripped, yet she has a sort of dignity and confidence and fortitude. In her eyes, I suppose you could sense that there was something troubling her, something not quite right. She's seen more than she should at such a young age. Her village had been bombed and her relatives killed and she'd had to make this two-week trek through the mountains to the refugee camp."
There comes a point in your life, when you're officially an adult. Suddenly, you're old enough to vote, drink and engage in other adult activities. Suddenly, people expect you to be responsible, serious, a grown-up. We get taller, we get older. But do we ever really grow up?