memoirs on a rainy day

1.

Today I saw a girl in the bus. She was young. I’d say 18-21, but I have trouble really telling what her exact age was. She was in army fatigues. She was obviously in the Canadian Armed Forces. She had the beret and her unit insignia.

She was an incredibly striking girl. Very full lips, grayish eyes and striking features. I almost took a picture, but she was on the phone shortly after and the magic of the moment was lost. I was sitting in the back and she was sitting directly in front of me, on a bench that was perpendicular to my seat. She kept showing me this incredibly beautiful angle from her neck to her cheek lost deep in her thoughts.

2.

On Friday, I saw two guys practicing parkour in a park. I just saw them for a short while, but that was enough to see one of them to a backward somersault. I almost got off the bus to take some photos, but it was the end of a hard week and I wanted to relax.

3.

On the way home for lunch today, it started to rain. On the way back to work it was still raining. I saw a lady using her reusable grocery bag to shield her head from her head. It really looked bizarre since she really had the bag on her head.

I really hate having wet socks. As soon as my socks are wet, from sweat or just plain dampness, I change them. I don’t like having wet feet. I can change socks four times a day if they get wet. I’ve different types of socks. Home socks and socks for going out. I always wear two layers of socks, no matter where I go.

What do you hate?

My roommate is a smoker. I barely notice. He smokes a lot less than before. I’ve known my roommate for over 15 years, which is surprising to say the least that we happened to be rooming together for the last few months.

This made me think about other roommate smokers, some of them weren’t as careful as my present one. During my first semester at Sherbrooke University in 1995, I stayed in the dorms. Since I was an undergrad, I was bunking with someone in a double. It wasn’t the best arrangement, since he was a bit strange. Really strange. He was from the Maritimes, but his strange acts are another story.

The next semester, I was off on a paid internship for an aluminum smelter near Quebec. The following semester, I decided to rent a place extremely close to the university with one of my good friends named Ken. He’s an anglophone and in engineering and we got along well together. We signed a one year lease. The big perk was that the apartment was actually closer to my faculty building than the school dorms.

Amazing. It was called Le Montagnais.

Ken was a smoker, but he never smoked inside. He always smoked outside. I was a non-smoker and absolutely abhorred smoking. I hated smelling smoke on my clothes. But we had clear rules for our guests. There were numerous adventures during out stay there.

I was at the apartment off and on since every four months, I had another paid internship. As with all roommate situations, there was also the switching of the rooms which was important to us. One room was a big room. The other room was smaller. We switched periodically. This was common sense.

From time to time, Ken would also get to leave on paid internships. This was what our university was well-known for. I don’t know if this was good or bad, since a lot of undergrads decided to leave before they finished school when they got job offers from the places where they completed their internships. The most coveted internships were at Softimage, a special effects house in Montreal, and in Japan.

It had always been my goal to try and go to Japan on an internship, but things changed as time passed. My interest in Computer Science was stifled when I had my first Machine programming class. Lisp didn’t really help matters either. I changed majors and started in Mathematics, a subject which I had always loved and initially wanted to pursue but didn’t since I thought that there weren’t that many jobs in that field.

It was the duty of the leaving roommate to find a replacement roommate for the apartment. I remember clearly that once I had trouble finding one. I don’t remember when it was, but the only person that I could find was a hard-core smoker, who smoked everyday and he had told us that he would smoke inside. I had put him on my very short list since it was hard finding someone else. In the end, I didn’t find anyone else. So hard-core smoker became Ken’s roommate. Ken wasn’t happy, but there was nothing I could do. The only other option was for me to continue paying half of the rent, while I paid my own rent in Montreal. That didn’t really work.

So the hard-core smoker moved in and Ken told me that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Then again, Ken was also a smoker so it must not have been that bad.

I’ve been teaching this lawyer Annik for the past few weeks. She’s actually a director of a legal department of a financial institution. I’ve actually written more than one post about her. This is the first and the most recent. More will be coming.

Annik is a thirtyish lawyer. She’s about 5′6″, with short brown hair and brown eyes. She’s attractive and the mother of two young children.

Annik is an advanced English student. She’s actually my most advanced student. At the end of our last class, which was on Friday, after my last exams, we started talking about food. I said that I loved oranges, and the Americans really knew how to grow them. In Taiwan, they weren’t any good. She said that she liked oranges as well, but she was the only one in her family who liked them.

As we started talking about food, I started thinking about food. I hadn’t eaten all day. Well I ate a banana in the morning before going to my first exam. I had a cup of tea as well. But that was it. I had thought about getting something from the cafeteria at the financial institution, but I remembered that giving classes and eating is awkward at best.

And I didn’t have time after my last exam to eat anything, since my exams lasted from 8:30 to 12:30. I started teaching my class at 12:45. As I thought about this, I told my student about it. She was immediately worried about me and her maternal instincts appeared. She is a young mother of two young children, ages 3 and 5.

You should have told me before we started, she said, I could have gotten you something at the cafeteria. I said that I didn’t really like cafeteria food and that I had some home cooked food waiting for me at home. Well, then you could have eaten some biscuits, we have some here at the office. I said that I don’t eat any biscuits, bread or pasta anymore. I eat a lot of fruits.

I found her concern touching and heart warming. It’s been a while since someone worried like that about what I had eaten.

I left for home and ate some fruits, veggies and pork skewers that I had prepared the night before. It was very good and I felt sated.

I have this student named Vicki in one of my classes. All of my students this semester are adults. She’s this wiry short blond woman. She looks about 30ish, but she’s actually closer to 40ish. At least that’s what she’s told me.

She looks good. Her demeanor makes her seem much younger that she really is. I initially thought that she was about 30ish. I was actually very surprised when she told me that she was closer to 40. Petite, blond, green eyes, glasses, girlish, and flushes easily are words that describe her well.

She’s a fun student to have around. She’s very energetic and brings a great atmosphere to the 4 person class that I teach Tuesday mornings.

The week after Easter, she wasn’t at class. I found that surprising, because she always comes. I didn’t really think about it. Recently, I had one student absent because she was recovering from knee surgery. She’s about 23.

The following week, Vicky was at class, but she told me that she didn’t have time to do her homework. She was hospitalized during Easter.

I asked hospitalized? Whatever for?

I had a cerebral stroke.

Cerebral stroke?, I ask.

Yes cerebral stroke.

Well, on Friday I wasn’t feeling too good. I had a migraine. I took some Advil and still had dinner with my family. There was a strange moment during the night, but it passed.

The next morning, I found that I couldn’t really feel my arm. I mean that I could move, but I couldn’t feel it. Something was up. Anyways, I had to drive the kids to their practice. The next day, I brought my daughter to the doctor’s office for something unrelated. I started to tell my family doctor about what had happened.

He immediately grew concerned and ordered an MRI. The next day I had the scan. Immediately I knew that something was wrong. The doctor called another doctor. They looked at the result and called my own doctor. They all looked at my scan.

I knew that something was up.

My doctor informed me that I had had a cerebral stroke recently. This was why I had the strange feeling in my arm. Really? I asked. Yes, a cerebral stroke. It’s very unusual because you are so young.

It turns out that I have a heart murmur. I have a small hole in my heart. The non-oxygenated blood that went directly to my brain caused this.

I am seeing a cardiologist tomorrow she said.

They tell me that I’ll have an angioplasty. It’s going to be a routine procedure. They won’t open my rib cage or anything like that. I’m very glad that I don’t have any side-effects.

I saw a boy pick his nose in my Analysis I class. He casually ate his booger. He’s one of those “I’m so smart I don’t need to take any notes in class” types. They annoy me. Booger eating annoys me as well. Funny, because this class is filled with hot chicks from the education faculty. You’d think that he’d watch that kind of thing.

Spring is finally here. I can’t count the number of thongs that I have seen. The air at school is filled with hormones. It’s almost palpable.

This morning I was a few minutes late on my usual schedule. This was mainly due to the fact that I did a last minute edit of an assignment that was due today and I was completing my pay sheet. Usually my pay sheet can take me about 20 minutes to complete when I do it in the mornings (when I’m not really woken up). Today, I finished in 10 minutes. Before that, I had to save my paper in PDF format. At school, we are in Linux. It has trouble with the .docx format. If I save it in .doc format, I’d lose all of the equations written in M$ Word 2007. Before I hopped into the shower, I started the PDF printing process. The last time that I had tried this on such a large file (13 pages), it didn’t work. When I checked upon the progress after my shower, all had worked well. My pay sheet had been sent off. Everything was good. I just had to make the bus.

I took the elevator down. I usually job until I get to the street. When I arrived at the street, I saw that my bus was coming by and that I would miss it, no matter how fast I ran. I started running as fast as possible. I missed it and ran after it. I knew that the next stop on the cross street was just 200-300m away. There was a stop sign. The bus had to stop. I thought that I would catch up with the bus at the stop sign, but it was just too fast. I continued running as fast as possible. I arrived at the stop. A teenage girl with strangely shaped nostrils, by this I mean that they weren’t ugly, just unusual, had gotten on. I arrived at the door of the bus and knocked on the window so that the bus driver let me in.

The morning bus drivers are very jovial and kind. I had made it. I kind of half ran half skipped till the back of the bus and sat down. Boy, I was ready for a gulp of my Camelbak water bottle. But to my distress, I noticed that the bottle was missing! It must have gotten loose when I was running. It must have fallen out. Instant dilemma. Should I stay on the bus or get out and find my bottle? It was about 7:26AM. I usually arrive at school at 7:55AM. My classes start at 8:30AM. I decided not to get off.

Maybe I should have. It would have taken me some time to find the bottle. I had a little hope left that I would maybe find it when I came home at around 4PM. Alas, it was not meant to be. I arrived at school, printed out my paper and went to my classes. At the end of my classes, I noticed that my scarf was missing. It was probably in my first classroom on the 3rd floor. I was on the 1st floor. I went back upstairs and found my scarf. At least I didn’t lose that! It totally sucks losing your water bottle like that. I liked that bottle a lot. I wasn’t the color that I wanted, but it had served me well. I liked drinking water out of it. And now, it’s roadkill.

Photo by Jo Rees.

I’ve had my nickname since I was 6 years old. It’s followed me like an indelible mark across two continents.

When I started studying at the École Internationale Schumann on Rue Vauban in Strasbourg, France, I fit in like a glove. Without really knowing it, I was in the midst of diplomats’ sons and daughters. I liked school. I learned cursive writing, the phonetic alphabet. I had German classes. I learned French in about a month. It was pretty quick. I can remember a time when I was learning the language. With the help of other German speaking kids, learning French was easy. At least that’s the way it seemed.

A year later, my parents switched me wisely into advanced English classes. This was unheard of, but years later I could see the wisdom of this. I learned English pretty much the same way that I learned French, without really noticing.

I knew that by the time that I arrived in Quebec in 1986, I was fluent in German, English and French.

Back in Strasbourg, I had this bunch of friends. We all had nicknames. I was aptly called “Le Range“. My nickname had three of the six letters of my real name. I thought that it was cool and adopted it. Back then, it was pronounced the French way, resembling the pronunciation of orange.

I can definitely remember the kissing game we played at age 8 or 9 with the girls of our class. Camille, Hélène and especially Estelle happily joined in.

In 1986 I arrived in Quebec. My bliss at school wasn’t bliss anymore. The kids in Quebec laughed at me because I had a French accent. On top of that, I was a brownie. I was the only non Caucasian in the school and the middle class neighborhood of Cap-Rouge. Primary school wasn’t a happy time. I did make some great friends, some of them I still have today.

Even Germany was less racist that Quebec. I didn’t feel racism in Heidelberg or Strasbourg. Only Quebec. It’s been a constant companion in my life ever since. My regret and sorrow at being yanked away from my friends two times in a few years was palpable. I’ve never really discussed this with anyone. Deep in my heart, I still feel a bit of resentment at my parents for having done this to me.

Quebec.

It took me about 6 months to lose my French accent. In fifth grade, I had a full Quebecois accent. It always surprises the pure-laine Quebecers when I speak.

Secondary school was better, but not great. I was a bit of an outsider since once again I was the only non-Caucasian in a private Catholic secondary school.

By the time I started college, I was rebelling. I had long hair, a beard and listened to heavy metal. I was still doing well in school, but not as well as my parents expected me to do. In the end, I moved out of my parents house at the age of 18 to go to university in Sherbrooke. My parents supported me for a full semester before I started my paid internships in Computer Science and paid the rest of the way myself.

Through all of this, Range followed me. My nickname has been pronounced the English way ever since I arrived in Quebec. It became my DJ name when I started DJing in 1998. A reason for this was that I was really easy to find with my real name. I like the partial anonymity of using my nickname.

The first week that I arrived in Quebec, it was summer 1986 right past June, I was living in a hotel on Boulevard Laurier. It was warm and pleasant. I was amazed at all the cartoons. Even more amazed that they were in English.

G.I.Joe and the Transformers became a mainstay of my childhood. They replaced X-OR Le Sheriff de l’espace, M.A.S.K., He-Man and other favorites. For some reason, at my international school in Strasbourg, I didn’t have classes on Wednesdays. I did have classes till noon on Saturdays. Wednesday mornings were spent watching Dorothée on Antenne 2 (her wiki entry).

France was pretty mild. There was snow, but it wasn’t too cold. It was nice during the rest of the year, kind of like Heidelberg where I was born. Even though the Alsatian city was only 45 minutes away from Heidelberg, I rarely saw my friends from Germany anymore, except Jacob and Jamila.

One of the first things that I did on that first day in that hotel room, was step out onto the balcony. I walked through the door and… My foot went through something! My foot had gone through the mosquito screen. I had never heard or seen a mosquito screen before, but I understood the concept pretty quickly. Anyways, needless to say that it was toast. From then on, I looked carefully at patio doors, to make sure that the screen was retracted before going through.

This wasn’t the first time that I had trouble with doors, but that’s another story.

I talked with a Dean’s list student yesterday. He told me that he planned on doing his master’s at University Laval. I asked him why he didn’t want to consider studying abroad. With his grades, it would be easy to get accepted to a prestigious US university. He told me that his English wasn’t good enough for him to study abroad. He didn’t plan on doing a doctorate. He wanted to pursue research in the private or professional field. I found this surprising, yet strangely familiar. Two of my old classmates did their doctorates in Quebec as well and didn’t plan on leaving the province. Familiarity and language have isolated them.