Another one

 

Another old write up.

_______________

I don’t exactly remember how I got here first, I guess it was a little drizzling. The sky was a little cloudy, you know, Toronto sky, you can never predict. I was sad and saw something colortful, had an impulse to go inside. Instead I stood outside for a long time and tried to predict how costly this café could be. Based on the graffiti and exterior it seemed pretty costly, but the customers going in all wore clothing that was not expensive at all. Maybe I decided to took a chance. And if it was a $4 coffee then I’ll not come back. I can afford to pay $4 once, at least. But it seems very unjust for this world to pay $4 for one cup of coffee.

It was a $4 café. I took a seat beside the couch. I wanted to seat on the couch but it seemed daunting. There was someone already seating on one side, what if she wants to talk to me? Besides, what will everybody think? This poor shabby girl does not even belong here. And how dare she is, seat on the couch?  

Anyways I took a coffee, a regular one because I don’t know yet that Bombay fog will be my favorite one day, although they make it very lighter which is not at all my taste in tea. I think the almonds on top made the difference.

In a nutshell I came here as a refugee. I never believed that I deserve the asylum because there were people in far worse situations than me who deserved this. Sometimes I felt ashamed because I thought I cheated on Canada government and betrayed my country. I am the one who always tells the truth. In the courtroom, where we pleaded for asylum, every sentence I told the judge were truths. The killings, the poster, the book cover. At last the judge asked me if I felt I would be killed if I was in my country. I took a pause, took a deep breath, and told yes. I lied. I didn’t really believe I would be killed. My then husband? Yes, but me? No. a big hard no. I never felt I was in danger. It was my home, my country. I knew every road, every tree, every trick you need to know to be alive. How to dress, how many seasons were there, how to predict the weather and, I knew my tea shops.

My life till now, is all about abrupt changes, and autumn season, and winter, and then finally getting the summer.  Means, the hard transition where you look beautiful but lose yourself, and go through a hard time and then finally find yourself and then discover that “that losing yourself”, was also you. Yeah, that’s me. I love with all my being, I become jealous, I am aggressive, I am a bitch, I am a saint. And all those are me. If someone loves me, they have to love because I am all those things, not in spite all those things. 

I am furious, I am peaceful. I am respectful, I am not.

I am creative, I am stupid. I am innovative, I am traditional. I am balanced. I am not.

I miss the scent of my wood shop. How much I would give to go to the terrace of Aranyak. 

But here? I am no one.