A Canadian Immigrant Story Part IV
Brian Sankarsingh weaves a tale of a Canadian immigrant
August 15, 1988
I often wonder why I did this to myself. Here I am all alone. I have no friends in this place. Why did I come here? I could be back home right now hanging out with my friends. I miss those guys. I wonder what they’re all doing now? Probably at Shiva’s house getting drunk. While I am here alone, drinking juice and eating left-over chicken.
The problem is that I am now too ashamed to say that I want to go back home. I remember the night I was leaving the island to come here. I was encouraging the boys to follow me. I felt kinda like Jesus. I go to Canada to prepare a place. Just have faith and follow me soon after. My message was not as popular as Jesus’ and no one followed.
Assholes!
Well, it’s Saturday and I have to find a job first thing Monday morning. Someone was telling me about someone who would sell me their social insurance number so I think that may be a way to earn a little money. I am still waiting on Immigration and the government to give me a work permit so that I could work at least until they hear my case. This sucks! It really sucks.
It was sweltering hot outside, and the stench of garbage filled the air, combined with the humidity it threatened assault and battery on the nostrils. Vijay didn’t have much to do. He had to save his money and that didn’t help. He decided to walk to the grocery store to see what the specials were. Every day, the story would have certain foods that were drastically discounted. If they were eaten on that day, or at least the next, it would be okay. Grabbing his already threadbare wallet, he headed out the door. He was able to snag day old bread and some deli meat. This would do nicely. They had a sale on pickles, so he splurged and bought a jar.
Monday came and went and still there was no job in sight. Vijay was beginning to wonder whether it was a good idea to quit the diner. He vigorously shook his head to get rid of that horrid thought. No! It was the right thing to do. His rent was paid for the month, so he still had a couple of weeks to find a job. Until then, he would have to try and minimize expenses. This meant cutting down on food. He did not have a phone line. When he needed to call home, he would walk to the phone booth at the top of the street and make a collect call to his parents. He knew this was expensive for them, but they insisted on hearing from him at least once a month.
Stay tuned for the continuing story…
Bio: BRIAN SANKARSINGH is a Trinidadian-born Canadian immigrant who has published several books of poetry on a wide range of social and historical themes including racism, colonialism, and enslavement. Sankarsingh artfully blends prose and poetry into his storytelling creating an eclectic mix with both genres. This unique approach is sure to provide something for everyone.
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