Towards Understanding

I stared at them.

There is no reason to call me a masseur.  Is this a kind term for prostitute?  What about a floor-length beige skirt and a thigh-length salwaar kameez top screams ‘Strip and lie facedown on the table while I warm the oils’? 

Why does this always happen to me.


Lesson Learned:  Ma Seour = Nun


“Ha. Her hair gets those things too!”

“What things?”

“Those things! Like our hair!”

Lesson Learned:  Knots are a global phenomenon


“How do you feel now, [Butters]?”

“Still nauseated, but I went to the clinic right away and got medication for, like, $25!!”

“That’s good.”

“It’s great!!”

...I’m a little unnerved by this level of enthusiasm, but our conversations are usually painful – I’ll just take a wild stab at supporting you:  “...Ha-ha. I always try to wait it out, but that’s never a good--”

“That’s not the point!!”

I don’t even know why I try.

Lesson Learned:  Americans pay a lot for healthcare.  Canadians don’t.


“[Sprite] sent you something from America!”

I hate mail; it takes to long, and I never know if it will arrive, much less in one piece...  But a delivery through Pastor?!  “Nooo waiiiiii!!”

Lesson Learned:  Complaints lead to (contact lens) solutions (if you’re really lucky and have a compassionate listener and no pride)


Why is this child in the alleyway to my house hugging my legs.  I do not know it.

“Well, hiiiii! What’s yoouur name?”  Kindly unhhand my knees.

Lesson Learned:  --


*knock knock*

“Um. Hello?”

“I want foufou!”

“Me too!”

“Um.  Okay.  I have none.  Bye now.”

“What do you eat?”

“Um.  Rice.  Bye now.”

“Rice?!”

“Um.  Yeah.”  You should be nicer, you evil cow.  “Um. What will you eat for dinner?”

“Foufou and sombe and meat!”

So why do you want more fou-- fudge it.

Lesson Learned: --


Floor Plan of My Crib bearing in mind that spatial relations mean very little to me.

I know I should give up my crippling disdain of this apartment.  I truly don’t even know why I can’t let it go.  I have some theories, but nothing that should warrant disliking the place I've lived (which has fairly good water and power) for the past month.  I think it's terribly built, but as I've heard otherwise from Grandpa (who actually knows what he's talking about), I really have no leg to stand on. 

And yet the frustration lives on. 

___ Doors

---- Washing lines

1. This is the entryway; the first view of our house is a purple plastic picnic table, a blue plastic picnic chair, and the side of our fridge. Butters uses this arrangement as a dinner table, and I use it as counter space. It is really not ideal for either of these purposes – it is in the doorway to the living room, low, and far away from the stove – but Butters wanted it there. Thus, entering the house itself makes me angry at the clutter. On the third floor, The Crypt (2) and The Gateway to Cholera (11) face each other in the entryway, so that’s lovely.

2. On your left, you will see The Crypt. It currently contains a bed and some of the Queen of Sheba’s luggage. The light doesn’t work and the solitary window faces the neighbouring building; if we had a skinless goat demon, it would live there. On the third floor, this room will be called Solitary Confinement as the light may work and the sun may peek through a corner of the window - it is where Butters will be placed  if  whenever he displeases me.

3. The living room is large and usually bright (even without flash and with the shaded windows), and contains nothing except our clothesline, a guitar, and two blue plastic picnic chairs for when Butters and I want to argue in comfort. If we could convert this room into a greenhouse, there would be one good thing to say about this apartment. The ceiling designs make my molars ache. On the third floor, they have some sort of recessed plan with a large star projection. Grandma and Grandpa have already identified that this will be a home for ‘...things.’

4.  Welcome to Butters’ current bedroom. It seems larger than The Crypt, though he thinks it is the same size. The large window creates the impression of openness. And does not induce Stephen King-esque visions.

5.  I use this balcony to comb my hair because fewer people will stare at me. It’s grubby and surrounded by scaffolding – which, here, means pieces of wood that men climb on to terrify me. Apparently, the third floor will give us a killer view. I don’t care.

6. Then back through the living room, past the single blue plastic chair for the fussy diner, and into our kitchen. You are facing our stove, which is one great feature of this apartment. On your left, you will see the master bedroom, which I’m currently using. It contains a small en suite (8) and a balcony (7) onto which I have never stepped foot. The third floor master bedroom does not have a balcony, which means that we will all miss the killer view and cry ourselves to sleep every night.

9. Back through the master bedroom and into the kitchen. On your left, you will see the door that leads to the sink. I don’t understand why the sink is outside, but this is a thing here. Sometimes we have fantastic water pressure. This doesn’t really mean anything valid; I just love finding positives. If you look out, you will see a glorious view of grimy men building things and possibly about to fall to their messy deaths. To your immediate right, you will see the clothesline we cannot use because our laundry would drip onto the screaming child below and distress him further. On the other hand, it gets really good sunlight and would be a great place to hang our laundry. In another dimension.


10. Let’s head inside again so we can take a closer look at our kitchen. Welp, that’s done.

11.  On your left, you will see the Gateway to Cholera. On the third floor, this will no longer exist as our bathroom will be less intimately connected with our kitchen.

And that's the official tour. I leave you with the elaborately designed. well-planned patterns on the ceiling.

Adieu.

Look at it.  

Just look.