08 September 2010

Nous sommes le 8 septembre, already! We have quickly arrived at the beginning of a fresh, crispy, leaf-laden September. I am already sitting in a puddle of wrinkly highlighted academic articles, next to a Jenga-esque tower of coursepacks and textbooks. I'm in the living room of the apartment I share with one of my super good biddie friends! The windows are open and a little breeze is brushing my face and tickling the curtains, making them preform a somewhat amusing little routine in my window. Colorful Spanish acoustic is playing from my laptop and there is a littlebiddie candle burning for good measure.

Today, amongst the many thoughts that flitted about in my mind, I had somewhat of an important revelation. In fact, it may be pertinent/directly related to my literal and academic survival this year. My realization was this: Coffee makes one do things. 

I could not for the life of me figure out why, a couple of nights ago I could not fall asleep. That afternoon, I had had my first real, whole cup of coffee. I have already discussed my aversion to actually drinking the coffee I purchase. Yet, for some reason I decided to drink the whole cup. Doctored up, mind you, with a little (lot) of milk and sugar, but finished nonetheless. Still, in my mind, this played no vital part in my little insomnia episode that night. But then it happened again. I casually noted that I had coffee that afternoon, as well. BUT THEN TODAY SOMETHING AWE INSPIRING HAPPENED. I brewed some particularly delicious dark roast Hawaiin and drank up two cups (!?!?) (college). After I proceeded to drink mes deux tasses, I STARTED TO DO WORK. 

If that doesn't impress you, I should inform that I was reading a chapter out of "The Complete Work of Greek Mythology." This, mon ami, should tell you that the coffee was indeed doing the miraculous. 

I am now an aficionado of sorts. I most likely should start a coffee critiquing career straightaway. But before I join Juan Valdez on, er, a burro, I need to tell you something. 

I was walking down my street on my way to class with my iPod secured tightly in my lil ears. A nurse was wheeling an elderly woman in a wheelchair towards me. Me tête, my head, was as always, in the clouds so I did not hear the elderly woman speak out to me as she came closer. I soon caught her eye and realized she was saying something and saying it to me. 

My earphones quickly came out and the wrinkly-faced, white haired madame grabbed my hand. The nurse stopped the wheel chair. I looked down and stared at her little hand on mine. I glanced into the oldest little eyes I have seen in quite awhile and listened to earnest, garbled french escape thin little lips. The nurse was trying to apologize,  but I was bending down lower unable to stop listening to the little madame.

Then for some reason, I put my hand on her tiny upper arm and asked her if she was okay. She answered something, I couldn't understand, but it was softer, more relaxed. There we three were; me kneeling in front of a tiny elderly woman, the little madame herself with her frail hand on mine, and the nurse standing silently behind the wheel chair. After a few moments, I smiled, gave her arm a gentle lil squeeze and said a quiet goodbye. I looked back at the two as I walked away, and felt really suddenly moved by the longest 90 seconds I have ever experienced. The little madame just wanted to tell somebody something. I am really happy that I was given the chance to listen.

 Last year I experienced so much of Montréal's beauty, its vibrancy, its color, its scents and tastes and sights and places. And I love Montréal. I love it, I love it, I love it. But this year, I want to really understand something about her. I want to stop and listen and put my own weak but caring hand on her tiny shoulder. This year, I want to meet her people. 

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