I had no fixed destination, nor a solid plan when I re-entered Canada in January 2010 as a permanent resident. I chose not to have one. Yet, I had fleeting goals: improve my French and diet (yeah, no correlation), while deeming that, in the meantime, I would find a job and take it from there. Well, things didn't exactly start the way I anticipated.
I had a huge drama with one of my good friends the day after I came in Montreal; later a bigger unavoidable drama with some dude; on February 11th, I started exercising with a moderate zeal (very crucial); I remarkably improved my French; I had many pleasant encounters at 3554 Rue Bullion-credit goes to my roommates and the architect of my stay there: Uncle Sakir; things got back to normal between me and myfriend without whom my life would be excruciatingly boring; I reunited with friends from T-dot; I played hopscoth around Montreal for my friend's short movie; I had snails for the first time and now I can somewhat swim (correlated); and many more encounters that I shall not publicize.
I must say I was having a good time and enjoying the city for the first time in three years. After two months of jazzing, vagabounding, and looking for a job in this cozy yet sometimes 'the most overrated lame-ass city', Montreal, my hopes for finding one started dwindling. Uncle Sakir must have seen the signs of depression as he said he could hook me up with a Turkish patato house where I would waitress. I found the idea very tempting and really appreciated his efforst. Yet, I also knew it wasn't something that I could pull off. I simply needed a long break from Montreal. A kind of a break an aloof lover would unkindly ask to have from his lover. A kind of a break that would eventually lead to a nasty break up-not that I've had any! At the end of July, I bought a one way ticket to Madison, Wisconsin. I took all my belongings except my down parka et j'ai dis: Au Revoir Montreal without knowing I would come back exactly in two months to be sent to Zambia by CIDA-Canadian International Development Agency.
So here I am, writing to you from my friend's super cozy apartment in Mile-End (far far away from McGill, thanks god or thanks Zeynep) Montreal. In front of me are the malaria pills, the international certificate for yellow fewer vaccination (for a trip to Zanzibar in April) and some flyers on traveler's health. I am planning to take off in two weeks. So far, everything is under control. Well, may be not. I still haven't bought my ticket and have no idea where I will be staying in Lusaka.
Yeah!
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