Part II
Yellow Snow
I fell into this trap once.
I never understood it.
It is like a sudden rush of must-escapeness comes over an 18-year old- “ I must escape my family, I must escape Trinidad, I must become part Trini, part moron” With absolutely no faith in the education system in Trinidad, many Indians find ways of escaping the island and rushing off to another placed filled with nearly the same amount of Indians- in case of a mass evacuation back to de mudda lan.
Closest Indian approved destination- CANADA
I was 20 when I was afflicted with must-escapeness. My mom was never one to subcumb to the disease, since she was always taking “we have no money” pills, to keep her grounded. But once her oldest chile decided she wanted to leave Trinidad and try studying in Canada, she consented to let her go. After careful preparations, plenty prayers and a few bush baths, the relocation plans went into effect. I was going to transfer to a university in Canada, in the illustrious hick infested town of Fredericton, New Brunswick.
After first glance, a new town seemed to reveal all hopes intended. Snowy white mountains, tiny cottage homes, filled with fire places, dimly lit interiors of stores, the smell of freshly parched coffee and a library full of unread books.
Then reality sets in.
Mud soaked snow, below human like temperatures, frozen pee, dogshit disguised as stones, and glaringly white creepy individuals surrounded me. And such began many days of tears, screams and desires to become a Muslim terrorist amidst these white folks. My first act of terrorism struck around mid way through the first semester. One afternoon, after 20 minutes of skating across frozen car parks, pelting meh ass fas fas over the “rape trail”, I finally walked through the doors of the cafeteria, to find it completely empty except for a lone cheesecake on a chair. I looked at cheesecake “hmmm, me wonders who this belongs too.”
It took me all of two seconds to grab it and run to the elevator, “Open , Open , Open!”
Once inside I attempt to shove it into my bag.. then decided against it, didn’t want to get textbook taste all over cake. “Open, Open , Open!” the elevators doors open, halls empty I dash to my room, unlock door and dive under covers. Silence. No foot steps, no one yelling, blasted thef… nada With nimble, hungry fingers, the cheesecake is opened and whiffed. In less than 10 minutes the cheesecake is gone. After silently contemplating my first adult bout of larceny, I imagine a frenzied cheesecakeless individual downstairs, hunting and crying.
Nothing fazes me.
With a cheesecake high, I log online and tell my mom. “Mother, I stole this here cheesecake and there is no turning back. You are now an accessory to a crime.. so do not repeat.” All went well, I graduated, left Canada with a sigh of relief and made my way back to the banana republic life of so many. The incident was thus locked away and forgotten, except for my birthdays, when everyone in my family decides to buy me cheesecake.
My first came interview came around. With excitement and dam blasted fear I entered the interview room. The interviewer was a man I knew from my younger days spending time in the bank waiting for my mom to get of work.
He looks and me, tells me to relax, settle down settle down, nothing to worry about child, nothing. I calm myself, two seconds before he asks: “ yuh eat the whooooole cheesecake Ms Hosein?”
Yes yes I did.
Yellow Snow
I fell into this trap once.
I never understood it.
It is like a sudden rush of must-escapeness comes over an 18-year old- “ I must escape my family, I must escape Trinidad, I must become part Trini, part moron” With absolutely no faith in the education system in Trinidad, many Indians find ways of escaping the island and rushing off to another placed filled with nearly the same amount of Indians- in case of a mass evacuation back to de mudda lan.
Closest Indian approved destination- CANADA
I was 20 when I was afflicted with must-escapeness. My mom was never one to subcumb to the disease, since she was always taking “we have no money” pills, to keep her grounded. But once her oldest chile decided she wanted to leave Trinidad and try studying in Canada, she consented to let her go. After careful preparations, plenty prayers and a few bush baths, the relocation plans went into effect. I was going to transfer to a university in Canada, in the illustrious hick infested town of Fredericton, New Brunswick.
After first glance, a new town seemed to reveal all hopes intended. Snowy white mountains, tiny cottage homes, filled with fire places, dimly lit interiors of stores, the smell of freshly parched coffee and a library full of unread books.
Then reality sets in.
Mud soaked snow, below human like temperatures, frozen pee, dogshit disguised as stones, and glaringly white creepy individuals surrounded me. And such began many days of tears, screams and desires to become a Muslim terrorist amidst these white folks. My first act of terrorism struck around mid way through the first semester. One afternoon, after 20 minutes of skating across frozen car parks, pelting meh ass fas fas over the “rape trail”, I finally walked through the doors of the cafeteria, to find it completely empty except for a lone cheesecake on a chair. I looked at cheesecake “hmmm, me wonders who this belongs too.”
It took me all of two seconds to grab it and run to the elevator, “Open , Open , Open!”
Once inside I attempt to shove it into my bag.. then decided against it, didn’t want to get textbook taste all over cake. “Open, Open , Open!” the elevators doors open, halls empty I dash to my room, unlock door and dive under covers. Silence. No foot steps, no one yelling, blasted thef… nada With nimble, hungry fingers, the cheesecake is opened and whiffed. In less than 10 minutes the cheesecake is gone. After silently contemplating my first adult bout of larceny, I imagine a frenzied cheesecakeless individual downstairs, hunting and crying.
Nothing fazes me.
With a cheesecake high, I log online and tell my mom. “Mother, I stole this here cheesecake and there is no turning back. You are now an accessory to a crime.. so do not repeat.” All went well, I graduated, left Canada with a sigh of relief and made my way back to the banana republic life of so many. The incident was thus locked away and forgotten, except for my birthdays, when everyone in my family decides to buy me cheesecake.
My first came interview came around. With excitement and dam blasted fear I entered the interview room. The interviewer was a man I knew from my younger days spending time in the bank waiting for my mom to get of work.
He looks and me, tells me to relax, settle down settle down, nothing to worry about child, nothing. I calm myself, two seconds before he asks: “ yuh eat the whooooole cheesecake Ms Hosein?”
Yes yes I did.
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