I'm on the bus, and I'm watching the rain fall on the window, fat drops breaking to pieces on impact. I have a book open in my lap, It's a bit cold, and I'm hugging my sweater close, warmer, watching as the bus rolls to a stop, my stop. Only, I'm able to see the bus I need to take roll away, and I'm sighing in frustration. Fuck. Just to be sure, I run across the road to ask if the bus was too full or not. No such luck. I ended up walking. It was kind of nice, you know, just to walk along the road, even if it was a little windy. I stopped by a Tim Hortons because my hands were cold, and I wanted to get something to warm them. I ended up with getting a coffee, and while drinking it, I wondered why it had to taste so unbelievably sweet. Is that what coffee was really meant to be about? Did I prefer this, or black coffee? For that matter, did I only drink black coffee because I thought it was cool? One always has to wonder about how much of ourselves is really just... us. How much of it is the perceived... whatever it is that we're supposed to be. Is it what I think, or what I think others expect of me? I think I've dragged myself down because of this kind of thinking. I finished it anyways. It tasted good... maybe that's all that really matters. I'm kind of struck by how beautiful the day is, gray, with the rain just clinging to things. By the time I'm at the door of my work, the rain has stopped, but not quite, the wind spattering about what little remains. In that moment, I think I'm happy.
I'm visiting my aunt in the hospital, and I'm struck by the desolate nature of it all. She's happy enough, able to communicate with the care staff. Somewhere within the hospital, my father, myself, and my two aunts can hear a woman screaming for an attendant to come see her, until another patient yells at her to shut up. I'm cringing. I hate the sterile environment here. I never want to end up in a place like this... it's a rehabilitation centre, but so many are here for long term care as well. I'm... scared. I dislike it here, and I sit at the end of my aunt's bed uncomfortably, helping her when she asks me to fetch things, and eventually, I end up taking out her dinner trey so that she has more room on her ledge, but when I go out to put it away, a woman stops me, pulling at my hand. I'm overwhelmed by how lonely she seems, and we talk. She mistakes me for being Japanese, speaking in a deep French accent. She asks if I'll see her again. I say yes even though I doubt it. I can't wait to escape from this place.
When we finally get home, my father hands me a plastic bag filled with food. My grandma made me some of my favourite dishes - I'm happy, leaning over the stove as I finish the cooking process. I'm reminded of when we were young, and she took care of us. The care she put into cooking, how... we hardly understood, enough to thank her, appreciate her. It's hard to look at her now, hands lined, body shaking and aching with every movement. I wonder what can be done. To make her happy... I'm left stirring the pot, eating, sleeping... then finally, watching a bad B-movie that I got from my dad's store, hoping to find solace in the small screen. Please, God, I want to see something else. I want to forget, and remember what it was like to be naive. If experiencing hardship and sadness make one an adult, why does anyone want to grow up? I feel a little sickened midway through the movie, and I have to set my head down. I remember why I use to smoke up. It used to drown out the noise.
The night before, this hour, B and I are together in my office at school, trading funny stories back and forth. We're supposed to be practicing. But B's laughing, saying 'fuck it all,', and I agree with him. We end up giggling over our mistakes. It's fun, and somehow, it makes us both feel better. When we saw one another, he only said 'shitty weekend?' and my response was the same. It felt so real. It felt good. Honest. It's why I'm happy to have class with him again. I miss that boy.
