I traveled to Portugal with a bag of letters which I wrote to my parents when I first immigrated to Canada. The amount of letters seem endless as I was writing to them almost every week. The internet was not around then and this was the way I chose to communicate the most.
I am reading from the years 1989 and 1990. I am astounded at how much I forgot about my own life and all that I had been through in these early years in Canada. All of the adjustments that I made, how quickly I had to learn to live my life. I wrote about what going to work at my first job was like, what I learned there and the friendships I had developed that no longer exist.
Some memories were bittersweet like the time I was invited to a black tie event and tried very hard to decline the invitation. I was earning less than the minimum wage and did not have the money to buy something suitable. My boss wanted me to go, so I attended with what was my best outfit, completely underdressed and aware of it, but I was made to feel comfortable.
There were fantastic memories too of my very first concert in Toronto and other bands I longed to see in my teenage years, were dreams that came true. I paid $55.00 for my ticket to see David Bowie in the bleacher section of the former Skydome in Toronto (now the Rogers Center). It was worth every penny for the experience of seeing him live and having my first bleacher experience.
I even drew a very good picture by my standards of what my first cordless kettle was like. That was brand new back then and I was so happy to have one.
What I am enjoying the most is seeing what a very sweet person I was. My own sweetness astounds me. I cared so much about everything and everyone, particularly my parents and my brother who were living in Trinidad. I am now asking myself "Did I care too much?" and "When did that level of deep love and caring end?" At some point, the depth of it shifted for me as I was strongly advised to toughen up in life.
This is like finding a diamond in the rough as it is giving me the content I need to continue to write my book about my life.