Profile - Archive- RSS
Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017 @ 2:22 pm
I stand on the wrap-around deck of the apartment, balancing a plate of homemade curries with a lukewarm cup of soda. I'm sure there's ice around here somewhere, but it's too much effort. The place is packed, fifty people in 800 square feet.
The sun is going down, and there's a magenta streak that's somehow behind the mountains. The Lions silhouetted and grand. The city sparkling and buzzing. It's been so long since I've *seen* this city, my city.
This is the pre-party for Friday's wedding. The bride's family with their Polish faces and accents contrasting with the groom's Indian. Women in saris breeze around with vats of steaming curries. Plates of pakoras. Piles of Indian sweets. And a grouping of men wearing turbans holding court in the living room.
Us 'kids' are the typical mosaic of Vancouver. This, in general, is so Vancouver. The mixing of cultures. I can't pronounce anyone's name properly. I shake their hands and smile and hope to god that it will all be OK on Friday when I can't remember.
Daniel and I on the balcony. Exhausted, glad to be here, but disconnected from the moment.
The realtor sends a text message.
"Great showing. They loved the place. It's going to be busy at tomorrow night's open house."
As we leave, the groom's mother hands us a gift bag filled with sweets. I glance inside - it's all different tones of yellow and tan, round things, square things, squiggle things. She smiles up at me. She can't be much over 4'10". Her white sari (actually, it's probably not a sari, but that's the only word I know for Indian clothing so please forgive me) glitters with sequins.
I bend down to hug her small body.
This - we're giving up this. It hurts, when it's times like these. Surrounded by the friends that we've made here. Knowing that it will never be quite the same as this.
But, is anything ever the same?