Reasons why I cried when I first immigrated to Canada:
1. I wanted to explain how all of this felt (the rude culture shock and other consequences of uprooting one’s entire life and throwing it on foreign soil) to someone who might hear me, but I was mute.
2. I wanted to understand what was going on around me and be an active member of this world, but I was deaf.
3. I wanted to be able to read my textbooks and get the right answers to teachers’ questions, but I was blind.
4. I wanted to write, because it was my favourite thing to do and one talent I prided myself for having, but I was illiterate.
5. I wanted to be the best at everything, because I am and have always been an extraordinarily ambitious girl, but I was slow and stupid and “god, you don’t understand anything I say!” and “it’s not fucking fair - why the hell was I paired up as partner with someone who doesn’t even speak English?” and “go home”.
6. I wanted to be popular and loved - who doesn’t want to be popular and loved at that age? - but I was so alone, locked inside myself with no way out.
But all that salt water was not wasted, so it’s okay. They fell on my skin and hardened there, left its mark and shields me. Some of it I swallowed and it dripped all around my heart and made a shell of crystals. They made me invincible. They taught me to give a damn about people who are miserable (way more miserable than I have ever been) and indifferently left out in the cold - to appreciate what it means to have people around that will listen and talk to me.
And I love them, every last bit of the salt on my skin and around my heart. I love them most, more than anything else in me. They are my friends and my mother.
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Note:
This was written way past deadline, and I am going to be singing for you all (but so is Vlada). Stay tuned.
