Suffice to say that I am not rolling on the floor with abounding peace and joy. At times my eyes leak with tears of frustration and sadness. It is also true for me to say that I am happy and satisfied with my lot. I am, as they say, going through a phase. This, too, shall pass away.

That was 5 or 6 days ago. I haven’t found the time, heart nor energy to return to this space. It was a very dreary cloudy morning. The house was dark, giving semblance to my inner feelings.  I gave up on tapping out my misery on the keyboard for working in the kitchen. I sorted all the beans in the fridge, washed, blanched and froze them. I can’t remember what else I did but that I felt proud accomplishing so much in the morning. Ah! now I remember. I baked a dozen rhubarb raspberry muffins, made lunch and headed off to my class at the University of Saskatchewan.

It drizzled light rain that whole day. I parked off campus. It was a long walk to the Arts Building, made that much longer by going in the wrong direction. That’s me, forever lost. This time sporting an umbrella and on foot. I almost gave up. I almost headed back to my car. But I remembered Mina, my blogger friend at Suddenly Mad. She’s still venturing out into the world despite her early-onset Alzheimer’s. So I tried a little harder, one foot in front of the other. I got there 1/2 hour late. Someone else was even later after me. We did not miss much. It was very much worth the effort.

It is almost a week later. I am tapping and sipping coffee in the warmth of the afternoon. Sheba is at my feet. We are enjoying summer’s last hurrah on the deck. My mind is somewhat settled but not quite at peace. I find it difficult to tend to my usual life. I do whatever is possible which is mostly digging in the dirt and hauling the concrete urbanite around to create my contemplative garden. Then there’s my daily walk with Sheba and mucking around the kitchen. Muffins are getting to be my specialty. My sourdough venture was a life saver, too.

And now it is late evening. I feel my physical and mental fatigue. Most of all, I feel my anger. I feel anger towards my neighbour and her like. I can still hear her saying to me, ‘Don’t think you can keep me out. I can tear down anything you put up.’ Can you imagine someone saying that to you about your own property? I can’t imagine her daring to say that to me if my skin was white. Though she feels I owe her access to my property, she refuses my access to hers for the fence guys to erect a fence. Yes, I am angry that the city does not get involved with private property line when they have so many bylaws and when I have a surveyor’s certificate.

I have lived most of my life in Canada, my adopted country. All of that life up to now, I have lived unconscious of my skin colour. I have never cried prejudice nor use it as an excuse for mishaps and misfortunes. But today I do very much feel that the skin of my colour invites many unpleasant treatments and comments. Today I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m feeling defeated by it all. Perhaps I shall feel better in the morning.