someone stayed with me while i bruised my legs all over from the pedals of a bike i was trying to ride, which someone else had lent me. in return i washed dishes and i spoke romanian for a minute and peeled a mango for salad.
someone helped me file my taxes – which is pure pain in the ass, and would cost an immigrant hours of her life and hair torn off, honestly; even if most of what had to be done was put a 0 (= my income) in about 50 boxes.
someone typed an improvised resume for me, and waited in the street til i went in and left it on the manager’s desk.
people i met at some social gathering message me on facebook and email me and invite me to free events. (i lose count of inventorying, and i know answering emails back is not enough to qualify as kindness).
yes i got two hugs today, from someone i know. it’s someone who hugs people on a general basis, but in my most rigid frame of mind it wouldn’t occur to me to avoid her when she comes forward, with her arms spread – yes giving me the space to signal no.
easter is the crappiest holiday ever, and i’m glad no one here knows it’s my easter. theirs went by pretty mundanely. somehow i feel compelled to send a shoutout to accidental acquaintances and ask them to come for a weekend picnic on wreck beach, or at point grey. (not mentioning easter.) but i know i won’t, cause it’s just not me. or is that the reason?
the last time i gave someone something (except for time) must have been on another continent, for sure. except for the spare change, which only makes me more ashamed. (you have the kindness, or you don’t- probably?)
waiting for lora in front of the army&navy on carrall and abbott (that street is becoming a huge part of something i’m not sure of), a woman stopped by me, and waited too, for a while. blond, ponytailed, the lot, in a top and the normal tracksuit pants. her face a bit splotchy, but nothing too strident. and then i fucking saw her arm for a second. the rest of the time she was there, i tried to look at her, but not at the arm. i tried to not ignore her. this is not an apology.
with lora and the bikes, we crossed peoples pigeon park through the middle. i waited to turn onto cordova before i said, with fury, „in my country at least there are many more roofs than here”. is this hypocrisy?
back on my west van street, with my backpack, a father and two about 4 year-old daughters cross my way. „daddy, look!” i am an amazement all of a sudden. „she’s got a backpack!” – „yes, just like you!” he says to his youngest, who indeed has a mini pack, and she turns around to show me. „hello, little backpack person”, i say, and shake her hand. her sister comes forward: „i’ve got a doll” she tells me, very solemn, and so i shake hands with her and the doll, smile once more and move on. „where is she going, daddy?” – „to her home. just like we’re going to our home.”
„everyone is essentially alone.”