Its funny how much I have wanted to be a writer and how much I have not been able to do what I love. Another funny thing is what happened to me the other day while attending a protest for the 215 children lost to darker side of humanity in Canada. It all started on a day much like every other. As I was aimlessly driving and thinking deep thoughts I noticed many people wearing orange t-shirts, carrying banners and walking together. Naturally, I wanted to see what it was all about, and it turned out to be a commemoration for Aboriginal Day as well as a protest for the innocent lives that were lost many years ago and discovered just recently.
Eventually all the people, who were mostly of the original people of this land, gathered in an area and there was cultural drumming as well as speeches. I wanted to get a better view of things and so I looked about for a higher place to stand on. Eventually I found a concrete wall that started smaller in size but grew higher as it ascended. I saw a child sitting on it and so decided to climb as well. It was quite a difficult climb and so I took my shoes off for better balance and eventually made it.
While listening to a priest from the first nations I noticed a guy from the corner of my eye. A young man in his early 30s, tall and lanky, appearing homeless by the state of his clothes and bag, walking towards my shoes. He looked back at me but kept coming closer. Eventually he picked up my shoes and so I said, “those are my shoes”. Without any hesitation whatsoever he replied, “We also have had many things stolen from us, remember the 215”. And walked away.
Normally this is where a story about your stuff being stolen ends, but this is where this story starts.
I did not follow him nor yelled out for help because well it seemed like he needed them more anyway (he was barefoot) and I also did not want to make a scene. Anyhow, I continued listening to the speech and then about 15 minutes later he came out of nowhere again and this time he wanted to return my shoes!
I told him he can keep them, but we kept having a back and forth of “its okay, you keep them”, the same way old people argue about who should go in the door first. Eventually he took his own shoes out of the bag and so I relented. I then went and sat with him. I wanted to have a conversation but couldn’t because one it was time for me to head back and two, he said to me “just listen with your heart” to the first nations priest. I guess there was no need for words.
Hasnain Raza Baloach 