“Listen, God did not make me a fearful person,
The only fear I have, Is my failure to adhear his path” (Mos Def)
There is something ultimately terrifying about writing for the public eye. I think I stole that from Carmen’s internet, but it is true, I have often looked at many internets and find it difficult to understand how one can expose their feelings, published on the world wide web for the planet to see. Users of Xanga or Blogspot don’t even hold copies of the content that is put online. So it is with great internal debate that I even consider lending my shakespearean prose to my so called feelings. Nevertheless, writing about my tin man heart is atleast a step above writing about what I wore today or how much soy sauce was in my chow mein.
Stress of the final year of formal education looms over my head as the final days of the summer lay ahead. I am on the edge of a cliff that overlooks an ocean called adulthood and the final push is only eight months removed. An interesting thing happened while I was in Montreal two days ago. My mother, sister, cousin and I drove to Montreal to help my cousin move in and get settled in for her first year at McGill University.
While we were there, my Aunt who lives there (Ken’s mother) wanted to introduce my cousin to another girl who is just starting there too. We meet up and exchange uncomfortable friendly glances. The other girl has 3 other sisters and was there with her parents too. While walking to MCBC, I struck up a conversation with the girl’s father who had just driven to Montreal from Richmond Hill a few hours earlier. We talk about our churches and a few other generic things and he asks me what school I go to. He is surprised at not only that I am going into my final year but also at what I’m studying.
He remarks that I’m lucky that I know what I want to do and I agree. I reply by saying that I’m lucky that my mom let me go into the field. “That is true! It’s very surprising, there’s no money there, just drawing cartoons” he quips. At that point I seriously wanted to rip his head off. Who the hell do you think you are, that comment disprects me and my mom. You farm chickens for goodness sake, and you think just because you are 30 years older than me, wear a yellow polo with khaki slacks, you can look down on me because I’m wearing a t-shirt, jeans and a ball cap? Needless to say the conversation ended there.
It makes no sense cutting him up here and frankly this post is pathetic save for the two poetic lines in the second paragraph. It seems that alot of things have been making me angry but this ones for yellow polo. Don’t tell me what I can’t achieve because it’ll be done like you wouldn’t believe. I’ll drop your jaw to the floor when I got bread like the grocery store.