And so we moved. We packed our bags and off we went. We had a quick sale of our things (including my very beautiful picture of a ballerina's feet close up), the piano, the Japanese tea set. Everything. Gone. Yes the horse too.
We fit things into boxes. We fit things into suitcases. Only the suitcases came with us. The boxes, I later realized went back to the city, someone, somewhere was going to take care of our things until we figured things out.
My sister and I had a student visa. My dad had to keep working in the city and he would travel back and forth. My mom was a loose end. She went with us and was expected to wait, without being able to travel back home, until her visa came.
Everything about it made no sense. Why so quick? What were we running away from? Why so far away? My sister liked Vancouver, in fact she loved it. She had lived there a few months as my parents sent her to learn English. Not me, ofcourse, she was mature and well deserved every opportunity of growth they could give here. Me? Ahem.
We stayed at a hotel with a kitchenette for about a month. It's funny how little I remember of this period. I was 14 and yet I remember almost nothing. I remember sleeping on the sofa bed. I remember my mom trying to cook food in that horrible kitchen with no Mexican ingredients available other than Old El Paso style, which are really rubbish if you are looking for the proper stuff. I remember looking out to Burrard street and not really understanding why I was there in a high building looking down at the rainy street and dimmed lights. I remember the tiny tv on the corner and how everybody was glued to it when the news of Lady Di came through. I remember my mom saying "the Queen did it." I didn't know what to think. I never liked her, she was weak, frail, boring, so plain and stupidly rebellious. I hated that my name was the same as hers. I would never grow up to date someone like Dodi!
I assume that hotel got too expensive and we still had nowhere to live so we moved to a much smaller cheaper looking place. It was still good, don't get me wrong, but it was different from the first place. We went from a four star to a two. I definitely felt the change in the decor, but the sofa bed remained the same. The neighbourhood even though we were only a couple of blocks away from the old place, had completely changed. Rainbow flags decked the streets and friendly strangers waved each other and commented on their respective dog collars. It was nice. Everybody was always so nice.
Eventually we found an apartment. My sister had taken us to Stanley Park and she said "look across the water, this is the point where every tourist guide points to the area where the richest of the rich of the whole of Canada reside. We are moving there." Her word was always good as done. She said it, we did it. So we moved to West Vancouver.
We lived one block up from the waterfront. We lived on the 9th floor. We had a two bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a balcony facing the magnificent mountains. One window had a "sea view." The carpets were cream. Clean, soft... so clean. Everything was so white. We started to take off our shoes at the door. That was weird. But it was so white!
At the time I was going to an ESL school. I learned so miraculously fast that I went from a beginner's level to the most advanced in the whole school within a month. I was hanging out with kids that were a lot older than me (I was 14 they were 16, massive difference!) I developed a crush on Wormir. Wow. What a name he had. Wormir. I had to like him, he had blue eyes and a strange name and he was from Poland. Where exactly is Poland? Maybe I should have stayed at that all girls school in the city. I wouldn't just know where Poland was, I would probably be able to speak Polish too. But then, I wouldn't have been at that superbly easy ESL school where we went tandem biking, ice skating and bowling as part of the curriculum. I became a rebel. I was late for school. I ignored my teachers. I didn't do my homework. I left to go roaming the streets of downtown everyday. The teachers were so bad at being responsible for us that they would never dare call our parents and say "we have lost your child." I was rude. But I knew, it didn't matter. My mom and dad were so worried about us being here, my mom was so disconnected, my sister was into her own school and being the best with straight A's. My teachers were young and very stupid. Whatever grades I got would not make a difference at all. So I enjoyed! I was so free, so lonely too, but I liked it. I loved being this completely different girl. I knew I didn't want that for ever and ever, but I had a crush on the baddest boy ever and I was a bad girl. He never liked me, I was so overweight and ugly! But I didn't really care, I didn't want a boyfriend, I was happy with my crush and the way I was in control of so many around me, including my teachers. Not at home, my sister was the master puppeteer, and I never really cared much to be like her at home. It was a lot easier to fly under the radar and under promise my performance. No one really expected much from me.
But that had to end. After Christmas I got subscribed to a preppy downtown private school full of international students and a ridiculously short skirt. Did I mention I was really overweight? That wouldn't have worked out. I protested. I made it clear I wanted to go to public school, like on TV. I wanted to go to a "high." I would miss the uniform, all my life I had gone to private school. But I didn't want to make friends with international kids anymore. I wanted to make proper friends not the kind that go away for holidays and sometimes never come back. My parents understood and my sister too. Well, she probably just liked the idea of the schools on TV, just like clueless. Regardless, I was very lucky and they helped me get into public school very close to home. They paid the exact same as they would have if I had stayed in public school, but the hope was that our immigration papers would go through and I would then be able to attend free.
Off I went. They had an ESL program too and I was forced to start on it. I had some regular classes (like maths and PE) but I had "special classes" like English and Social Studies. I was also forced to go back one year as I had lost four months of grade 10. So I started grade 9. I was a bit too old for this grade, but not crazily so, I was very young for grade 9 so it wasn't too bad. I never got teased about this. In fact, I never really got teased. I was completely ignored. I didn't exist. It was such a contrast from my ESL school and from my other school back at home. I was nobody. I was a dark skinned overweight bushy eyebrowed girl that didn't speak at all. I never spoke. I was quiet as a mouse. I listened. I was afraid of speaking and having this Speedy Gonzalez accent. How horrendous and life ending that would be. I would spend my lunch time at the computer room. Email was just starting to be used and I tried emailing my bestest friends back at home. 9.9/10 times nobody would reply. I was lonely, sad and wanted to run away terribly bad.
I have this thing. I always ask myself "In five years, where will you be? What will you be like? What will you be thinking? Will this moment matter or would you have completely forgotten about it?" I talked myself out of getting frustrated and I told myself to get over it and move on. My English learning had gone mad and I was now removed from the "special" classes and thrown in the regular ones. I was taking grade 10 classes too. School was really too easy at that point, so I took advantage of it. I got extra credit for typing, Spanish, English and Chemistry. Academically speaking I was doing impressively great for someone who had learned English in less than 6 months. But I didn't think I was smart. I still don't think I was. I took advantage of situations and I took control where I could. But I was still lonely and friendless.
Somehow and I really can't remember exactly how this came to be, but I ended up hanging out with the second most popular crew. For a while I had befriended the least possible crew. I knew that if I were to survive this I needed to learn more about this world, and to do this I needed to understand the "top." So I meanly ditched those girls and moved on to the top of the chain. Somehow this just worked. I got talking to this one girl and things went on from there. I had a slight make over, they took me under their wing and everybody was so nice. To my face of course. Behind my back, it was a completely different story. And I knew it. But I had no interest in being their friend. I was there to capture their accent. I sat through all their empty gossip lunches, back stabbing after school hangouts and in between classes locker talk. I never said much. I was really boring and so far from my true self. But I learned. I learned their accent, I learned their culture, I learned their ways. When they got fed up of me (I was never allowed to go to parties), and I got fed up of them (I could only take so much about whose boyfriend kissed whom and what make up they bought). I moved on. I was alone again. But I didn't care. I wanted to be alone until I planned my next move.
Our school for grade 10 merged with another school. All of the sudden there was an influx of new kids, everybody seemed to know everybody somehow and I had thought it would be a lot easier to make new friends, but it wasn't. It wasn't at all! It was daunting and horrible and I was so scared I resumed to hang out in the computer room or toilet. Ah the toilet and lunch. Very hygienic and glamorous!
Eventually I found a group. I studied them and determined they were perfect. They were nerdy enough but not so nerdy they were scary. They were funny and very smart. I liked them and I thought I could fit very well with them. So, I wiggled my way in. And finally, at the end of high school, I had friends. (Yes it took me about 2 years!) The summer after grade 12 was one of the best summers ever. For the first time in my live I enjoyed a travel free teenage summer with my friends. It was perfect. We had moved finally to our proper home, 4 bedrooms, lots of bathrooms, amazing high ceilings and bright windows, sea view, gorgeous kitchen. Everything was finally perfect.
I wanted to fit in so much, that I completely started to forget I was from somewhere else. But I could never really be just from there. I tried to forget, I forced myself to forget, but there was always something there that made me feel different. And it wasn't the muffin top.
When I was old enough, I forced my parents to support me and send me to France to learn French. I guilt tripped them about how much they had supported my sister with everything she wanted to do and it worked. They (and my sister) organized for me to go for three months to France. I was over the moon. I was ready to leave everything and once again, re-invent myself! When the plane took off, I cried. I had never been on my own before and it had dawned on me that I had no idea how to be on my own. I knew how to be lonely, but I would always go home and feel the warmth of my family. This time I was properly alone. And I didn't speak a word of French. What was I thinking?!
Arriving in France was one of the scariest days of my life. I went through immigration, I have no idea what he said to me, he laughed when he saw I didn't understand and stamped my passport. I then had to find a train that would take me to the town I would be staying at. I had no idea how to say train station and there were no little drawings anywhere. I had my luggage, the address of where I was going and a few Euros. I thought "what if I never find this place?!" I couldn't help but laugh at myself at that second. What a ridiculous thought. I'm not that stupid! So I walked and eventually found help (British Airlines counter was so helpful in English!), I got on the train and off I went. I made it to the town!
I got a taxi from there, it was late and I was so tired. I gave him the piece of paper and he took off. He then dropped me off on a street and pointed down a long misty road with stubby tall trees on either side. I thought I had walked right into a Tim Burton film. I was in one of the most romantic countries in the World, it must then be my very own nightmare before Valentine's. My two giant suitcases weighed what you are no longer allowed to carry on a flight. I grabbed both and started walking. There were no roads on this street. The side walk was earthy and in the middle the ground was gravelly. Am I in the right place? What if I'm not? It's the dead of night and I have no idea where I am.
I walked and counted the houses. When I thought I had the right one I knocked. Cruella Deville came to the door. At least she wasn't made of fabric, I thought. If only I had my very own Zero I thought. She looked me up and down and said Bonjour and a whole lot of something else which I didn't understand. Her hair was dark and long. Her shoes dark and pointy. She had a long cigarette in her hand which she was holding as her other arm was crossed. She then said in English "your sister, call." I said, oh great, I can call my sister, awesome. So we walked in, I put my suitcase down, and I said "phone?" and she said "non non" Then silence. Long and agonizing silence. She then said "room." So she walked me up this wooden old windy staircase with uneven steps. My room was on the third floor. the toilet, to be shared by 6, was in between the 3rd and 2nd floor. My room had two twin beds, a t.v, and a shower room. I thought "jackpot!" We then went downstairs and I pointed to my suitcase. She then unfolded her arm slightly bent forward and grabbed her back and said "non non." I said "but they are heavy!" and made a gesture pulling my arms up and grunting. She said "non non." Silence again. Agonizing long silence where we just looked at each other.
The phone rang. Thank God. She picked up and started speaking in French. Then she walked to me and passed me the phone. My sister was on the line and she said, "whew, you are okay, I've been trying to reach you, I was so worried!" She exaggerates, she always exaggerates. I had landed in CDG, grabbed the first train, grabbed the first taxi and walked here. Unless I had had a helicopter pick me up at the airport and dropped me off right outside my door there, I would have never been able to cut the time of travel. But this is her. Always "worried." She then said "is the lady okay? she seems very nice." I said "yup, it's all very good! she is lovely." "Call me again tomorrow, my mom wants to speak with you and ask how you are, for now go to rest and sleep off the jet lag." "Great, thanks, I'll call you tomorrow, thank you."
"Merci," I said to Cruella, she then said... nothing. Pointed to the suitcases and the stairs. So I opened the suitcase and took several trips up and down until it was lighter. Once it was almost empty, she quasi helped me up. The other one stayed downstairs until the next day.
I sat on my bed. Cruella walked in, pointed to the t.v. and said "non non," and walked out. I laid in bed and fell asleep.
The next day I woke up at around 1pm. I was so hungry but I had no food and Cruella didn't offer me any. I managed my suitcase upstairs and went for a walk. Cruella gave me a map.
The town was tiny. I walked it all within 1 hour. I walked past a cinema and I saw Lost in Translation was playing. Perfect. I grabbed some food and went in. I wanted a coke inside but realized it was 4 Euros for a tiny bottle. Um.. maybe not.
more to come!...
