Confessions of Another Mask

Do you want to be an unhappy person?

“No, but I do feel in an absolutely perverted and unacceptable way I’ve benefited, really benefited, from being quite a dour character. It’s like the wheelchair celebrity syndrome” Morrissey

One of the gay icons in literature is Yukio Mishima Nominated 3 times for Literature noble prize and despite he never won, he left a legacy of novels that now, I’m just stealing a title to tell you the story of another person wearing another mask, trying to fit in many dimensions in this world, society and family.

I was world in the third word, in South America. My mother tongue is Spanish but I speak fluently French and English. Since I was 4 years old, my oldest memory is seeing a tv program for kids and staring the beautiful young model girls. They were gorgeous, delightfully perfect, dancing, floating around with grace….and me, watching them, just looking without saying anything and looking and looking again.

Yes, as some of you can imagine, I came to this planet without asking it in a shape of a girl or woman, or kind of, at least that’s why parents thought, specially my mother. It was strange but I remember clearly I was trying to dress like my brother. I don’t know but those days, boys had a sport uniform, blue shorts and white t-shirt. My brother was older than me so I was wearing his old small short. I had long curly hair at that time. I was trying to do everything that my brother did. I remember also he was very upset and angry that I was copy himself like Xerox 80’s machine. He pushed me, punched me several times, he did everything until my teenager years to I do not look like him or being masculine in my way. My mother, when she was choosing clothes in the cabinet from me said “you’re not a boy”. The funny thing she never, never ever she said you’re a girl or a woman. Not even today.  After hearing the sentence like of a final trial, I didn’t say anything back, well, I was 5, what could I’ve say to support my pointless way of dressing?

When I was able, not very often, to choose what I wanted to wear, it was always, jackets, pants, t-shirts, never pink colours, always dark blue, brown and the colour that I hated the most (of course thanks to my mother taste) green. I remember my mother trying to buy me dolls and me founding ugly, useless and sometimes forcing myself to carry with me. I always wanted a teddy bear….one Christmas my mom bought me a….dog….what a deception. I should start therapy just when I remember that event. But he was my friend, no choice, at least he was a male, no pants required for him. I loved him despite he had an arm longer than another. Do you know the most incredible thing about the dolls and the plush? My mother in effort, of course useless, to not return any doll, she knitted pants to all my stupid dolls collection. I never chose any of them; it was her and her horrible taste for plastic feminine example of womanhood. A twisted one. At the time it was popular boys had soldiers, the small ones. Once, in supermarket, I went to the toys sections, I saw a big bag full of little soldiers….another kid in the same row looked at me and said “ that’s for boys”. So, mad, I went to look for my mother in another row, crunching my bunny teeth.

The only person who I could rely on those hard kid times was my dad. I saw in my a curious person, eager to learn, to play with his tools collection, asking every single minute about the car, mechanics and learning how to play cards. He knew so many tricks that, as an old school father he was, he had to teach everything to his children. My father loved more than brother, a bored boy, antisocial, bad tempered, stubborn and ugly. But for my mother he was the best in everything, intelligent, good marks in school, awesome in maths and book-eater. Everything I wasn’t.

I remember my mother bought me blue and red cotton jacket, cowboy design, I loved pretty much because it was more my style. And I was wearing a shirt. And I asked my dad to teach me how to do a knot tie. I expected his refusal but on the contrary, he did it. He was serious and didn’t smile, he just did it. I was wearing my pseudo cowboy jacket and a black tie. The same tie my dad used to go to the office every single day.

My idea of being adult in those young years was something like this. Since my dad belongs to the universal Baby Boomers generation, a guy with no further education than high school, working at the beginning as a clerk and retiring as chief of section in his area, wearing a suit and the famous black suitcase, driving a car for going work…my ideal was always being like him. More than once, when I was 6, I was looking myself in the mirror, thinking the only way I could be with a woman should be being a man. As a good day dreamer I was (I’m still I’m) I saw myself wearing a suit, my black tie and the black suitcase, a woman cooking and waiting for me in the table. In my dream, that woman would be loving and caring, as you can imagine, my mother wasn’t like that at all.

I didn’t realize the journey I was, without knowing it, to start, a struggle with my own body, the relationship of love/hate with it.

“Does the mind rules the body or does the body rules the mind…I don’t know” Morrissey.

Everybody, absolutely everybody doesn’t like a part or several parts of their bodies. In my case, it was the entire package. I never felt comfortable with my body. Since I was a kid, because of my dress everybody got closer to me and asked me openly “are you a boy or a girl?” I haven’t told you my teenager years, it was worst. But I have to admit my boy look put in troubles sometimes, especially for going to the bathroom. The teenager years and hormones weren’t pleasant. There was a time I had long hair but it was like feeding a dog with cat food.

At the University things changed a bit but I guess when I met my girlfriend I got a kind of reconciliation with my body. But still, it’s not a love story either. Back in the teenager days I thought the only way to be with a woman it was being a man, or having the role of one. The talkshows were popular in the 90’s and I loved watching emissions about gays and transsexuals. In the 80’s thinking a changing your sex, especially in a poor third country world it was impossible. But that was my dream. When I reconciled myself with my body the idea went 6 feet under. When I started working at the office I used the office style, one colour shirt one colour pants. Elegant and simple, with middle long hair, no questions about my sexual orientation, at least not in Montreal, since in Ottawa nobody asked even my name or my origins.

When I moved here, I got an interview with a drag queen that was doing a thesis about linguistics. The subject of transexuality came out. He asked “why don’t use hormones or try to change your sex?” I answered that I was old and at this point I was feeling comfortable with my single love-cat life and work. Until know, I don’t know if my answer was sincere. But I’m sure, if I would come in Canada in my 20’s, it would have been a good alternative. Now, that I cut my hair again, I miss the suits of my father, once I wore one of them and let me tell you I looked handsome. Probably I’m not a man, but I’m sure I’m a gentleman.

I wore a mask or probably many others depending of time, situation, geography and work. Sometimes I feel ok, sometimes I deal with it, once, I questioned myself, whatever it is, it was it will be, I feel like hybrid, half metamorphosed, half incomplete. I started loving my body slowly, it’s still hard but…things happens for a reason. My self-esteem has a rare relationship between what I wanted to be and what I’m. Sometimes can be difficult to explain to others, like friends or family, but sometimes can even be harder to tell or confess to your lover. Those conversations you only have after having sex, when she looks at you into your eyes…knowing you can’t hide anything because in a relationship the standard is to be honest with that person. Even with the risk to be betrayed or hurt for her.

I’m not imposed my voice, it sounds natural, not like others that pretend to have bass boost, I don’t walk like a cowboy, I don’t seat like a gentleman or a lady, I don’t eat like caveman but I’m not far from that since I live alone. I’m gentle, if I like a flower, I will tell it, I smile and have sense humour, as you see, I’m not the stereotype of the hard dyke, with the James Dean look, now I look like George Clooney with my white hair on it. I don’t need a label, an identity is a thing always in construction, never ending. I don’t know about my look in 2 months, or when I met Miss Right (assuming she exists), for the first time, I just want to be in peace with myself and….with my body.

“I still don’t belong to anyone – I am mine.” Morrissey.


Plates, Sticker And Other Labels

After another quiet day at the office, I left earlier. I went to the Ontario Service office for finally get my plate. I got a quote from a company that until now it’s relatively cheap. With that ridiculous printed scanned paper I went there. I see the screen on the wall, it say 35, my number is 42. In less than 5 minutes I woman was really fast and asked me for my driver’s license, asked for several papers, I signed here and there. I bought 2 plates and sticker for 2 years, a total of 155$ went to the debit card.This time everything was very fast, 15 minutes in total. So, until now I don’t understand very well about the sticker but I’ll figure it out in 2 years. If you compare it with Quebec, 1 plate is like 70$ plus renewal per year of over 100$. I don’t forget to renew your driver’s license, something around 80$, everything per year. Your piggy bank becomes a cry baby.

Since I was driving I decided to go to Hull, to my second hand store. Nothing much, nothing interesting but then, there it was! I found a cd from Shirley Horn In fact, I thought I found a disc from Dianne Shuur, the blind singer. I had doubts but I verified the booklet, all musicians were from New York. I took the risk and it’s a real jewel and pleasure for the ears. I bought “May The Music Never End”. The last one she recorded.The perfect scenario for a drive with a sensual sunset in the horizon.

After, I decided to go to another store. Ok, my gay people, I got a question for you guys? Do you recognize that look that puts you a gay label on you? I got that look from an old guy, inside his 4X4. He not only was staring at me but I felt he was scanning me with his look, his eyes of disapproval. Was my Flash t-shirt? Was my dyke look? My short hair? My….what? I looked at him and I said “what?” And the guy continued to scan me. I won’t say it was pleasant but bothers a lot, specially when you love your hair cut. I did myself, so more merits but not everybody found it nice. I guess the label I received from that guy was more “what’s that?”.

It was funny to receive my plate from Ontario, I was happy to got it finally, happy to have my silly sticker for 2 year there, but the last label….was….I don’t know. I didn’t think that much. But at some point in Hull/Gatineau you’re visible, remarkable when on the other province you’re totally invisible.

Have you ever felt that sensation when you walk on the street and you think or feel everybody is looking or staring at you? And the contrary sensation, that you walk like a phantom, invisible, imperceptible, ignored, you don’t exist for some minutes or at least the time that takes you walk in a particular direction. What does it hurt the most? Do you care? I sometimes do, sometimes, and for a very strange reason like today, I didn’t behave in a aggressive way, knowing what happened last weekend. I responded to the guy, thing I usually never do, I pretty sure all the events of moving, paperwork, calling brokers promising to call me back with a quote, I think just wanted to react to, for me, was fair and legal.

I will finish this post with another Morrissey’s lyrics. “They said they respect me, which means, their judgment is crazy.”

Tomorrow my post will be more intimate, it will be the first time I’ll be more open to my gender. It’s a nice and funny contradiction. My therapist asked for my blog, she wanted to read it but I refused to give her the name. Sometimes be naked, not physically but more emotional or the most you hide to other people, things like sexuality or gender, sometimes I feel more comfortable writing it here, where almost anybody can check, read, judge, be on my side or against me. But I prefer the invisible and unknown public, able to read only English, to be part of my inner me. I never talk to anybody about those subjects, only to gay people, not even my therapist…despite in her family there’s a guy member. I don’t know, I really I don’t know.

I, Me and Myself. Yours truly.




Ash Wednesday

I continue my quote research, no success yet. I’m very disappointed of quality of service, most of them they ask you for your number and promise they’ll call you back….guess what….nobody calls you back. I literally finished the list on the phone-book. One woman gave a cheap quote and I’m just waiting if the number is  a real one and won’t jump until 2.300$ Yesterday also, my new Ontario driver’s license was delivered. It’s ugly, and with my picture of me, even uglier. I look like somebody from India and not from Peru. Before the picture was taken and any picture for provincial purposes, they advice you first “don’t smile”, that’s why I got the look of ” I shout my mouth and I follow the rules”.

Things at the office are very quiet. Hours pass in slow motion, no invoice dramas, no frantic research for a lost bill, nothing much, employees pass their time talking to each other about vacations, how the kids are going, family grass dilemmas, BBQ season, how much they spent in the backyard, it’s seems like any episode of TV American show about a suburb like: Desperate Housewifes or Suburgatory  or Cougar Town or I don’t know, those things like “happy families” do for feel less miserable. I mean, since the point of view of an immigrant, it’s is, since the others, this is totally normal. That reminds me that song of Bad Religion:

“‘Cause I’m a 21st Century digital boy,
I don’t know how to live but I’ve got a lot of toys,
My daddy’s a lazy middle class intellectual,
My mommy’s on Valium, so ineffectual,
Ain’t life a mystery?”

I didn’t write since 2 days for 2 main reasons. I was getting better from my violence episode. Sting and Dave Matthews were back in my radio. My 2 friends of mine in France where there to support me, much better than have a therapist beside me. I was like been totally blind by that irrational (but logical) growing inside of me like in the Alien movie, that when the creature is “ready”, rips and tears your stomach apart for getting out and escape. At the end was that, escaping. My friend told me and remarked that pissed me off when I went to the bar and I saw people in groups. “yes, you’re alone but you must do something in order to get contact with people” and again my friend “there’s no justification for violence. I can understand you’re alone and sad but I can’t understand why being violent. Don’t let the walls of you apartment like a Gruyere cheese”. I was that furious that I thought to punch the walls but I know the destruction could cost a lot, more than a car insurance at least. She made smile and laugh and she finished saying “open yourself to the people, you’re not the only gay and you won’t be the last one”. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

I went to school to return a book to a colleague of mine. I think she’ll take another course with me this Fall. She was talking to me about her difficulties in her online class….of course, I didn’t pay attention and I was feeling sleepy. We did a “prisoner exchange”, I returned her book and she lend me another for my future exam in August. Believe, I was boring being there but at least a bit of chatting in Spanish was good. She’s another immigrant dreaming to have a diploma. We go to the same college and we got 80% courses in common. Despite we are latinos I don’t feel any particular connection with her. Is it me I got used to be that alone? Is it me who changed my values in all these years in Canada? I feel like an hybrid, not only for my sexuality but all the social impact I suffered since I arrived like 8 years ago. 8 years…no roots in this country yet. I don’t identify myself as Canadian or Montrealer or Ontarian….just the label immigrant goes with me.

The other reason why I didn’t write it’s because I was exhausted, really, really tired. I could sleep well yesterday, I’m getting up late, like a “normal” person and the cat is helping with that since she’s no jumping and scratching the mattress for long minutes.

Thursday. Weekend in coming soon. Bar ideas? Not for the moment, that reminds me my beloved Morrissey’s song:

“There’s a club, if you’d like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you.’
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die.”

Being Erica or Myself?

I borrowed from the library Being Erica. I didn’t know it wasn’t a tv show from Toronto. I chose it because the plot it’s about a girl with a master degree in her 30’s, single, living in one bedroom apartment, all synonymous of being a loser. She met her weird therapist and help her to go back to the past to fix things she thinks could have an impact in her present life. So far, I like it, and I had a mini marathon of the 1st season.

Today I didn’t go outside, 30c, apparently a beautiful day. I was still furious from yesterday. I was crying the morning, by the way, I woke up almost at 9am since I was watching Being Erica 1st dvd.

I was looking at my super Samsung phone that also, by the way, never rings since nobody calls me. I said to myself I saved money with the plan I got which it’s true but at the same time for a moment I thought it’s an useless device, the purpose is communicate and talk to anybody but it’s not reaching that purpose.

This morning I didn’t have breakfast, just a cantaloupe and coffee. I watched the You Tube channel of TJ Jourian, do you remember him? Well, years ago he was a she. She starred in the documentary TransGeneration He moved to Nashville 2 years ago or something like that, I don’t remember, but now he’s leaving town. I was in shock with his last video. He was talking about his breakup, and he made some reflections which are valid for all gay, lesbians, transgender or whatever you want to call it.

He said it was the first time somebody could love him the way he is. Of course, being transgender is not easy and find a partner must be harder than for the rest of us. He was talking he “can’t keep hoping this thing happens” talking about a relationship. “I don’t really wanna get there, wherever it’s is….alone”, that wasn’t the sad thing. He said “I don’t see many choices”, something true when you’re trans, “I can’t effort to believe anymore” “I don’t feel good enough and it sucks being not good enough all the time” “I’m really tired, tired of crushing and burning” “I wish I stop believing in fairy tales cause I don’t live in a fairy  tale”. When you change your sex woman-to-female, when is done the process the hardest step is meet somebody able to accept you the way you’re. Sometimes the physical limitations are there, that means, no having genitalia or even your partner won’t accept you and could reject you. I felt that sensation with my ex a couple of times. Since I’m masculine she never wanted me to be closer to her, that way nobody could suspect she was gay. That was my case. But for TJ I felt very bad and sorry. He was closer to find somebody, and this person was good but for some reasons, that TJ explain vaguely it didn’t work out.

I had almost a fight with my French friend on Skype, after watching that video, I was trying to explain her how aggressive and furious I was about all things happening to me, that I was tired to drive without direction, to listening to the music and kissing my cat. That people in the office probably know I’m gay and because of that nobody invites me to do some activities, most of them are men. People can kill you with their look, the can judge easily, being rejected at some point is ok, being ignore is so painful. It’s true if you’re too masculine nobody will get closer to you. It’s true if nobody knows you nobody will try to talk to you. And sometime that’s your daily life. It hurts so bad, it’s just awful. And makes you feel awful from the inside. I looked myself, the mirror wasn’t lie, probably I didn’t go out because I was feeling ugly, awful, dirty, miserable but those are things they are my daily life.

If I could have a therapist like Erica has….probably I wouldn’t ask to go back to the past. Probably not being here in this planet, in this body, with these ideas would be a better reward.

After All

For a Saturday morning, I woke up relatively late, around 8am, my cat was already bugging me for food. I was feeling beat, down but over all, very aggressive. I spoke to a French friend of mine (on Skype)  who thought I was mad at her. After the explanation, of course, I wasn’t upset or mad at her, I asked how she met her boyfriend, now ex boyfriend. She told me through a common friend. Then I was upset because I couldn’t understand how I can’t make any friend, I said friend male or female, not girlfriend. I told I was sick of being alone, sick of everything, I was crying and I was so furious, all Summers are like that, unable to meet people. I decided to go to the library, I was driving crunching my teeth, so angry and crying. All tears were flooding my eyes, but still, I was driving. I didn’t know the Centerpoint Library was a Chinese spot. Every time I go there is a Chinese activity, kids, seniors, bilingual training, preparation for the citizenship exam, bilingual announces, always.

After picking up my dvd’s I reserved, I decided to go to Manotick, with my GPS  telling what to do every 5 minutes.I was still angry, still crunching my molars, so I changed my Dave Matthews Band, soft, tender, relaxing, peaceful for something more related to my mood: Limp Bizkit, so vulgar, so aggressive, I was feeling able to hit all cows, squirrels and marmots who didn’t realize I was driving like a serial killer.

Manotick is a small town, full of white old people, I went to see the mill, a little museum and walking a bit. As it’s full of seniors you can imagine the activity of town: shopping and eat, otherwise, they need to do something in order to not get bored. Expending money is always good the economy.There was a farmers fair but I didn’t buy anything. It was almost 1 pm and I saw a pseudo Irish pub restaurant. So I decided to go and have a brunch. Bad idea. Many of you have heard Ottawa is popular for its bad food. Thing absolutely true. I went to the terrace and I waited more than 20min to somebody took my order. Of course, I waited another 20 min for my food. Two ridiculous eggs, tiny extra salty potatoes and carbonized sausages. Something like in Tim Horton’s can cost you less than 5$, for that service and that fraud I paid 8$ plus tax plus tip. Honestly, I was more furious than when I arrived to that town.

Everywhere I go, it seems everybody knows each other since eternity. The sensation to be outsider is overwhelming. I know I just have some weeks in Ottawa, formally that I can’t stand being alone or not talking to somebody. Enjoying getaways are never enjoyable. Under those circumstances, I mean, under unchangeable circumstances I feel even more alone.

When I came back, I cut my hair with a clipper. After all, nobody seems me, I’m invisible for men or women, I cut a bit but it’s shorter than before. I saw more white hair on the floor, and some survivors singing victory over my forehead.

It’s been a long time I realize I don’t like my body, of course, being a girl it wasn’t my choice. If I could change it I would but I got other priorities like have a stable job and find a car insurance. I never talked, I mean, openly to my therapist about it, I remember I told her once I never did because she’s straight, so I don’t know…I don’t feel comfortable and of course, she doesn’t care if I speak about martians or my homosexuality. I changed town, I changed papers, as an immigrant you have no choice than change. But my environment is something I can’t change, which I struggle every single day, alone again. Some people take for granted the fact I speak English sometimes not understanding everything said, about procedures, paperwork, or places to go for fun? (with that service at the restaurant I prefer Harvey’s) They thing I know everything, it’s always me who has to learn the lessons in the hardest way. I’m tired of that role.

Aborted Gay Bar Mission

I forgot this morning my paper with all insurances companies I had to call….damn, anyways, it’s Friday and since the service is so bad in Ottawa I just took day off for doing my painful research. Around 11 am I decided to go back to that Thrift Store and buy some other cd’s, today was 50% less, that means 1$. So, I tried to check this time if the cd’s corresponded with the case….first try, Sinead O’Connor “I do not want what I haven’t got”, when I opened the case, Sarah MacLalan was there. So, first down, I checked The Saint OST, good one, I had it but it was damaged and without case so I bought this one, Cruel Intentions OST, ok, cd was there, Annie Lennox “Medusa” ok as well. I though I found Apocalyptica and I picked and opened and verified…for me was ok. When I put the cd in the car for playing….no cellos, no violins or any string instrument. Wasn’t Apocalytpica? No, it was Apotygma Berzerk, a Norwegian band, as all famous Scandinavian bands, the sound was a mix goth, dark, synth pop but it wasn’t that bad….ok, it was my fault, I just read Apop..and the color was shaded so I couldn’t read all the word and I assumed it was Apocalyptica. Snif snif snif another mistake.

I was feeling very sleepy since I was studying till late for my exam. My friend on Skype suggested me to go to a gay bar. To be honest I found it a bad idea in my mood. That afternoon I went to do some groceries, I spent less than 10$ broccoli, fruits etc, some things can be very cheap in Ottawa contrary to the stereotype. I went to Hull to find some used cd’s and I found Beck, the Odelay, L7, my favorite girl group of the 90’s, U2, “All that you can’t leave behind” and the Blink 182 greatest hits. Interesting combination, and after I went to buy a bluetooth  device for my cell….second I buy so far and it doesn’t work! I’m checking online what the problem could be, I will try later. That part of the day finished around 8pm.

Back at my apartment the tic tac in my head was more intense, a kind of soft anxiety was embracing me but I was feeling sleepy. So, I forced myself to wash my brain and push to go outside. I went to my closed, I found my grey pants and my white shirt. Pretty fancy. I looked into the mirror…I saw a few white hairs saying “nararanaraaaa we’re all here” I gave a kiss to my cat and I forced me again to open the door and go outside. I went to the bank and I took out 20$ just in case. I was driving for some parts of town before reaching downtown. I was in the Little Italy, it was almost 9.30pm, the streets were desert, empty, some smokers ostracized were smoking out side of some restaurants and bars. Probably it was too early but I was sleepy I didn’t want to go out at midnight. In downtown, at Elgin street the panorama was totally different, the great challenge was to find a parking spot. After turning twice I found a little space in Frank St. Well, here I’m.

In Elgin st. the population was under 27 years old, yes, the little dinosaur of me was walking among those young half dressed bodies. Some hostess were outside, there was a little one the when she saw she did like the others in street….completely ignored me. In fact, that’s a very common phenomena. For all those lesbian who go to a bar alone, being ignored is the most painful part of going out, thing that discourage anybody. I started looking for a bar, all terraces were full of groups of people, most friends, some couples, some old, old, old friend talking about delicate issues and you see that because they’re not smiling just talking seriously, although, you don’t choose an Irish bar to discuss those topics, but anyways, they were doing it. At some point I decided to went back on the same sidewalk, this time I wanted the hostess ignores me because I was feeling ashamed to return without no perspective at all. Everybody was in  groups, nobody was walking alone, correction, I was walking alone. I checked in my Android for the gay bar Flamingo, when I was at the right place there wasn’t any sign, only an ad saying Era. It was 10pm so I guess the bar was closed. Too early, when you get up at 6 am and start working at 7am your body gets use to that timing and around 10pm or 11pm you feel knocked out. I was feeling that way. I went to another Bar and the parking situation was worse, I saw 2 women outside sitting and talking to each other smoking….not very tempting to go inside. I drove twice for finding a spot without any luck, probably was a sign. I sign to crash the bed.

My other option was going to Byward Market where all the alcohol concentration is measured for noise and drunken partisans walk around. Without mentioning parking is nonexistent, well, exist but you have to pay twice as the normal rate. So, mission aborted. In my way back I was playing Dave Matthews Band “Some Devil” it was the best soundtrack for this little aborted adventure.His music was kind of relaxing but also kind of sad talking about relationships, this album keeps the same rhythm, some elements of fusion and jazz are present which makes it more pleasant, relaxing and solitary, yes, that’s the term, peaceful but solitary which it doesn’t mean depressing, it was reflecting what I was feeling. Let’s face it, in a bar which it’s a kind of disco music is too high and noisy, so eventually if you want to meet somebody I don’t think it’s the place. But in the other hand you can yell each other, probably a way to know how your future partner will react in a fight. So romantic.

Should I try today Saturday?

Cold Salad Cold Future

The day started looking at my clock at work waiting for 9am, at 9 most of business start, specially the insurance brokers that look have a lazy life in Summer time. I made some calls on Monday and some people didn’t call me back or didn’t sent any email despite promises of doing it. So, I made more calls and ….I had more bad news, or higher quotes or quotes with surprises. Like the woman who told me 1600$ finally with collision policy will rise until 1920$, so, I’m thinking I’m…or becoming a Pro or being  professionally fooled.

I did another list this afternoon, I made calls and they promised me to call me back tomorrow. A friend of mine told me “keep positive, last thing to lose is hope”. I’m immigrant, I expect what is not expected, the surprise effect is always bad received. Did I tell you I hate surprises?

At lunch I called my second mother, my therapist, as usual she didn’t answer the phone…I wish I could talked to her…it’s the most closer model to a mother. Wake up, she’s doing business, it’s just a fake good friend that for money can listen to me. I didn’t want to ask for therapy either, since I moved I know getting social or doing social activities is going to be a real, I mean it, a real, real challenge. And I don’t want to hear from her “go to a bar”…oh nooooo, not that please. I prefer medication before listening to that.

After work I went home and I played Erasure. Oldie but goldie, come on guys, Erasure is part of gay culture, an icon, a paradigm, a …. dinosaur, am I still in the 80’s? My heart is in the Grunge generation but my historical curiosity push me to love 80’s, despite fashion was so ugly.

Yes, against all my principles I went out to have dinner with my Swedish friend. Against my principles? Yes, because I don’t like have dinner at 5.30pm. Where have you seen people dinning so early? Of course in Canada, because in other civilizations like China, France and Arab countries they have normal dinners after 7pm.

The menu was leftovers of a restaurant where my friend went out yesterday. She made salad with feta cheese, peppers, microscopic tomatoes and put chicken in curry sauce on it. It was good but for many of you, you don’t know where the food came from. She went to a restaurant called Mia’s. The owner was an ex refugee who was at the Unitarian Church for 2 years. He was living there and was pushed to stay there since papers weren’t ready. I heard stories saying Police was outside checking if he went out of Church, or coming late at night checking again. People of the congregation were visiting in shifts all day taking care of him in case Police could break in and take him away. After his papers were in order, he brought to the country his family, after 2 long years of waiting. Now, he’s son has a master degree, his daughters are in college and all together take care of this restaurant. Of course, his market is people from Church, but apparently the business is going well, and food is good despite I’m not a good fan of Indian food.

I was talking to my friend about politics and asking several times where Canada is going to? The situation is going bad, the conservative government is cutting jobs, salaries and me? I’m still in a contract that will end end August….and I still don’t have a car insurance! I won’t deny that I’m stressed for everything. Feeling alone doesn’t help either.

Tomorrow is Friday, pre anguish season is starting. What to do this weekend? a bar? doing my homework for Communications I course? why should I care about the assignment if before my teacher’s eyes I don’t know how to write in English? Do what? looking for more insurances? and being behind then begging for quotes?

Who reads this? No even my friends dare to click to see what’s going on in my life lately. So where do I start? This is ground 0, ET dyke calling home….contact soon.