Wednesday, December 15, 1993

4:45 PM
I have a chorus of those little African warblers chirping in front of my house now. I'm in my usual spot, sitting in my chair with my feet up and Reality [the dog] doing absolutely nothing next to me.


Ron [a British neighbour who was a chemistry teacher at the school and a bit nutty] made a comment about my beard (I shaved it off a week ago and I'm letting it grow back)" "Oh, that's coming along nicely, Paul," he said. "It's actually growing quite fast. What did you do, put manure in your shoes?" Thanks, Ron. Bad joke, Ron.


I made a trip to Whitex yesterday to buy some chitenjes [Malawian cloth] to have them made into pants - size 33", which is something I haven't been able to fit in since the mid-1980s. I bought, of all things, a pattern with a bunch of ostriches. I can't wait to see the results Friday.


Christian and Louise wrote letters to me today - each took only a week to get here. Louise still has a lot of negative attitudes about herself, but she seems to be developing more self-confidence. She said something which, for some reason, managed to bug me a little which is why I'm writing now. Her boyfriend is moving in with her in April, and that combined with what Julie wrote yesterday [she wrote that she'd found Mr. Right] has made me wonder (only a little) about how I'm going to wind up with "Ms. Right." Here are two women I was involved with and they're already at the next step in their relationship, whereas I can't even get to the first step. No part of me is looking for anything with the slightest hint of permanency with any girl around here. But on the other hand, that means another two years will go by. That shouldn't be my outlook on things, though.


Yikes! I just read over what I'd just written and it's goddam depressing! Wake up Paul - play THE song!


Postscript 2010: The song in question is Life Is a Highway by the incomparable and uniquely Canadian artist Tom Cochrane. For whatever reason, when the song came out in 1991, it instantly became my favourite song, and I doubt any other tune will ever dethrone it. "Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long" conjured up such an immediate, urgent tingling sensation throughout my entire being that I became deliriously happy every time I played it, no matter how frequently I pressed the REPEAT button on my disc player. Living at home, I played it incessantly in the basement, much to my mother's consternation; it played during my wedding; I listened to it innumerable times while traveling across Canada; I played it over and over again while sitting in my home alone in Malawi; and softly at the end of my mother's funeral. The song is undeniably a part of my character, and while I don't play it nearly as much as I did all those years ago, there's no denying that the song still has the intended effect of making me feel good. 


Living in Malawi, I did what I could to minimize the moments when I felt sorry for myself; it's actually quite easy when you're surrounded by people who are unquestionably worse off than you. At that point in my life, back in 1993, getting into a relationship was not a pressing issue, but still, companionship would have been nice. I was a little taken aback with the news from Julie and Louise (not their real names), writing to me about finding Mr. Right (for Julie) and moving in with her boyfriend (Louise). The news from Louise was particularly surprising. We were together back in September 1993 on the eve of my departure from Canada. Getting close to her was always a struggle, there was always a reluctance from her to open up. In our last hours together, she admitted to me that she'd recently begun seeing a therapist who had been helping her unearth the painful memories of being sexually abused by her grandfather. Memories she'd repressed for years. Saying goodbye to her that night made me feel as though I were letting go when she needed me most. I could not imagine the suffering she must have felt back then and the deluge of sorrow, anger, betray of trust, shame, and insecurity resulting from such abuse. As I drove away from her apartment, I questioned my own motivations for leaving my friends and family for two years. But I moved on, and so had she in a short period of time, and because it had only been three months, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of person he was, and whether or not he would show her the love she deserved.