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goodforthemind · 5 years

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Mini-Series! Not sure how many parts there will be, nor do I have a name for it yet, but here’s part one! I’m new at writing so I would love some feedback! enjoy! :))

Salem Harper leaves her home in the US to study abroad in London when she meets Jude Porter.

UNTITLED -- Part I -- 4.1k

The guy in the seat next to me is snoring. I had gotten assigned a middle seat on the plane, which is really making me despise this airline at the moment. I popped in my headphones in an attempt to drown him out, but no such luck. It was so loud. Why couldn’t I be rich enough to fly first class? Or really anywhere where there wasn’t only a mere 4 inches of space between me and other people. Especially ones that snore.

We were 6 hours into an 8 hour flight to London. I decided to study abroad there for the semester; I need to sort my life out. My mom supported my decision, as always, but she was confused as to why I needed to leave home to do it. It’s not that I couldn’t do it at home, but I needed the opportunity to get out of the country and get a little perspective. I heard that studying abroad can be quite good for that, and at this point, I was willing to take anything I could get.

I reached into my bookbag and pulled out my journal. I had taken up journaling about a year ago and it’s been quite helpful. Something about writing down my problems makes me feel lighter, happier. I opened up my journal to the next blank page and began writing:

Turns out that the airport isn’t as bad as I had imagined. Sure, there were too many people for my liking, but I got through by remembering that I was starting a new chapter in my life: Me in London: Being Independent. Figuring Life Out. Deciding what I want out of life. I’m hoping these next 5 months will help to give me some insight, but we’ll see if I get to that point. I can’t imagine that me in the UK could be much different from me in the US, but there is no harm in trying. Or maybe there will be and I just haven’t encountered it yet. But, I’m determined to remain optimistic. It’s going to be good. It has to be.

My pen broke contact with the page. My brain rerouted, thinking about my mental to-do list I had made when I got to the airport. Last week, I received an email from my program director who was helping me figure out exactly what I needed to do when I get to London. The program from my university in America that is sending me abroad turned out to be pretty fancy; they hooked me up with a pretty cool (from what I can tell from the pictures I was sent) apartment in Manchester to share with a roommate. If I’m being completely honest, I was a little nervous about the whole roommate thing, seeing as I’ve never met her before. She’s a student at the university I’m with while in London, and is supposed to act as my travel guide of sorts. I was informed that this acted as a “job” for her; she gets paid to live with me. Basically she would be there to help show me around and answer any questions I had. I was hopeful that we could become friends instead of just roommates.

I had the option of taking classes at the university or doing an internship while I’m in Manchester. I opted to take classes, thinking that it would be easier to meet people my age if I actually went to classes with them. I had to leave in the middle of summer, since this university starts extremely early. August 3rd is my first day, so here I am flying out on July 31st. I’m only taking 3 classes, but being in an unfamiliar country would be challenging enough without the classes.

I looked back down at my journal and kept writing:

I’m doing a pretty good job at that during this whole transition. Between packing for the move and saying goodbye to my family, I’d say I’ve been pretty calm, cool and collected during the whole thing. Mom, on the other hand, was a mess. Of course she knew that I’d be okay, like I always am, but I think she was just sad that I was leaving. I try not to think about the fact that I won’t see Mom or Nora or Grae for the next 5 months, because if I did I would start crying. I haven’t cried yet, and I plan to keep it that way, because once I do I won’t be able to stop. It will be like a constant stream of tears. Not pretty.

My hand was starting to cramp uncomfortably, so I closed my journal and placed it back in my bag. I made a mental note to finish the entry once I had made it to my apartment later. I had managed to kill about 15 minutes just pondering my new life season, so I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window next to my seat. I was grateful to have the window seat in my row, it made me feel like I had more space to myself than I actually did. I watched as the world passed by, allowing it to send me to sleep with dreams of London.

“Attention all passengers: We will be landing at Heathrow Airport in 10 minutes. Please standby for more information.”

The blaring sound of the intercom throughout the cabin woke me from my sleep, which now had me feeling groggy and in need of at least 4 more hours of sleep. I pulled out my headphones (which were starting to hurt my ears since they had been in use for so long), and packed them into my bag. While waiting for the next announcement over the intercom, I glanced around the plane, observing the other passengers. Most all, including Snoring Man, were awake after the sleep-interrupting announcement. I turned my head in the opposite direction then, looking out the window. The plane had begun its descent from the sky, making the towns below come into focus. I could make out cars passing on the street, people walking on the sidewalks, people lounging in the nearby park. Weather must be nice, I thought to myself, taking in the seemingly large amount of people on the grass. I had the stereotype stuck in my head that the weather in the UK was always cold and rainy, but the current sunshine proved that wrong.

I was landing in London, but I’m going to be living in Manchester, meaning that there was still a bit of travelling before I reached my destination. I googled the drive time at the airport before boarding, remembering that it was 45 minutes. Not ideal, but could be worse.

Then, the intercom came on yet again: “Attention all passengers: We will be landing at Heathrow Airport in 5 minutes. Please begin to gather all belongings and wait for landing.”

Finally, I thought, feels like I’ve been on this damn plane for 3 days. I picked up my bookbag and set it on my lap, doing just what Intercom Lady had instructed.

A taxi was waiting for me at the airport after I retrieve my luggage. I came with one much-too-big suitcase, one regular sized suitcase and my bookbag. I tried to pack light, but I was also going to be living here for the next 4 months, so I had to pack accordingly. The taxi driver helped me to load my luggage into the trunk of the car and then opened the rear passenger door for me. I made sure not to go to the wrong side of the car, then he would definitely see me as a dumb American. I already felt a little out of place as is, just standing on the sidewalk outside of the airport, so I didn’t need his judgement as well. Giving Taxi Man the address to the apartment I’ve been given, we started on our way. He informed me the drive would be about 45 minutes (as I found out earlier) so I should make myself comfortable.

I took the opportunity to check my phone for the first time since getting off the plane. I had one text message from my mom and one from my best friend, Cove.

Mom

Hi honey! Just checking to see that you’ve landed and everything went well. Love you! :)

I smiled at her message, I miss her already. I typed out a reply, feeling my throat growing tighter as my fingers moved across the screen.

Salem hi mom, just landed and got into my taxi. flight was good, just long. heading to apartment now! i’ll call you once i get settled. love you more :))

After hitting send, I looked out the window to try and compose myself a bit. The tears haven’t gathered, but I could feel them coming. Taking a few deep breaths, I looked back at my phone and tapped on the unread message I had from Cove.

Cove

bestie girl!! i’m starting to get worried that your plane went down!!! text me!!! i miss you already :(

I shook my head with a grin creeping onto my mouth. She can be so dramatic sometimes.

Salem

i told you it was an 8 hour flight!! i just got in my taxi, i’ll call you in a little. hope you’re having fun on your vacay, miss you :)

After sending my messages, I put in one headphone, making sure that I could hear Taxi Man if he needed to speak to me. I watched out the window, taking in the new scenery around me. It was midday, about 1 o’clock in the afternoon, and there were many people on the streets. I was surprised at how many people were walking along the sidewalks. Back home, I hardly ever saw people walking, everyone there had a car or took the bus (probably why there was so much traffic… more people should take up walking if you ask me).

About 45 minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of a slightly old-looking brick building. It was tall, standing about 6 stories high. A small park bench sat to the side the front door with a flower pot housing white daisies on either side. It was cute and I was in love with it already.

Taxi Man kindly got out to help me unload my bags from the trunk, wished me well as I tipped him and drove off. I wheeled my bags over to the front door of the building, where there was a small box attached to the wall to the left of the door. There were 2 buttons on the left side of the box labeled “OFFICE” and “TALK” with a speaker located next to it. I turned my head to look over to the door where a small black box with a red light sat just above the handle. I pulled my bookbag from my shoulder to retrieve the piece of paper I’d printed from an email to look at the instructions for when I got to my apartment building.

Once you reach your building, press the “OFFICE” button on the call box. This will connect you to the inside office attendant who will be able to help you find your apartment.

Following the instructions, I reached up to hit the “OFFICE” button. It made a loud buzzing sound as I pressed it, startling me. I waited a couple seconds, but there was no answer. I buzzed again, and this time a woman answered.

“Hello! So sorry, I spilled my coffee all over my blouse and went to fetch some napkins! How can I help, love?” The woman said.

“Um, hi, I’m Salem Harper. I’m supposed to meet with someone about my apartment?” I replied.

There was no response for a few seconds. “Hello? You have to press the ‘TALK’ button when you speak, dear.”

Duh, you idiot. I pressed the “TALK” button and repeated the same information, feeling embarrassed. I added, “Sorry, should have thought to press the button first,” at the end of my line.

“No worries, dear. I’ll buzz you in,” The woman told me. A second later I heard a small click come from the lock on the door along with the red light now turned green. I struggled to get all of my bags through the front door, which was noticed by the woman in the office space. She hurried over to hold the door open for me in order to push all my bags through the door.

Once we were both standing inside the lobby of the building, she greeted me warmly. “Welcome! I’m Liz, it’s a pleasure. It’s Salem, right? We’ve been expecting you, the student from the States!” She asked.

“Yes, Salem. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you, for helping with my bags.” I told her, smiling and trying to make a good first impression. She put her hand in the air to wave off the thank you, as if to say it was no big deal. She was about my height, blonde and on the slim side. Her bright blue eyes stared warmly. She couldn’t have been much older than me, maybe twenty-five or so. Physically, we couldn’t have been more opposite.

“Well, let’s get you up to your flat, shall we? I’ll just run and grab your keys and some other paperwork for you to sign.” Liz scurried back into the office, and I took a second to look around. The floors were a dark stained hardwood while the walls were a light eggshell color. It looked very clean, posh almost. The office had glass for a door and walls, making the room seem much bigger. Directly across from the front door was a double door elevator, with buttons signaling up and down. Must be the parking deck.

“Alright, it seems your room is on the 5rd floor, Flat 5C. Your flatmate is already moved in, but I do believe that I saw her leave just a bit ago. I’ll show you up,” Liz said as she walked out from the office to the elevator, signaling for me to follow her. She had 2 small silver keys in her hand, along with a black key fob and a small stack of papers. Liz pressed the “UP” button on the wall and the elevator doors opened immediately. We stepped inside, and I noticed that the floor was carpeted. I don’t see many elevators with carpeted floors, but I liked it. Elevators always made me a little apprehensive, but somehow the carpet makes it less scary.

Liz pressed the button for Floor 5, causing the doors to slide shut. The elevator hummed lightly as it ascended to the 5th floor and stopped almost seamlessly. Smooth ride.

We exited right from the elevator into a small hallway space with 5 doors. 2 on each side and one directly ahead where the hall stops. Liz walked over to the door at the end of the hall that had a square plaque with “5C” engraved on the middle. She inserted one of the silver keys into the lock on the handle, pausing for a second to speak. “You actually got fairly lucky with your flat, the ones on the end of the hall are always the biggest. And, since you live on the top floor, you get a second floor! The lofts for the 5th floor flats take up what would be the 6th floor,” She smiled brightly, clearly trying to get me excited about the “flat”, as they apparently called apartments here.

Liz turned the key in the lock opening the door, stepping inside to hold it open for me as I wheeled my bags inside. As I looked around the space, I was very surprised. I had seen pictures, but they certainly did not do it justice. The doorway opened into a fairly large open concept apartment, with a living space off to the left with a good-sized kitchen connected to it on the back side. Across from the front door was a small hallway, which Liz informed me held a bathroom and the laundry room. In the middle of the room next to the hallway was a set of stairs that I assumed led up to the second floor. Both bedrooms must be up there, I don’t see any other doors in the main area, I pondered. The left wall of the living room was composed of brick and 3 floor-to-ceiling windows, which I quite liked. They allowed much sunlight in the room, brightening it up. The place came furnished already, and to my relief it was pretty stylish. Whoever picked the furniture in here deserved a handshake.

Liz walked over to the kitchen area and set her stack of papers and keys down onto the small island counter. She pulled out one of the barstools and sat down, motioning for me to join her. I sat, folding my hands on the counter. “Now, I’ll leave you to get settled in just a minute, but first I need to go over some things with you and have you sign some forms,” Liz informed me, sliding her stack of papers in my direction so that I could see them while she spoke. It was mainly basic information; stuff about the building, escape routes, pet policies, etcetera. She explained to me that the second key she held was for my room, and that I was to use the black key fob to enter the building, and if I was to have guests over I would need to buzz them in. They key fob had a tiny button on the front side of it, which is what I could use to allow people into the building. I had never seen that feature on a key fob before, so I was pretty impressed.

“What if I accidentally press it while I’m not here?” I questioned, suddenly nervous that I could possibly let a stranger into the building.

Liz laughed at my nervousness. “Not to worry about that, love. The button doesn’t work unless you are in the building. It’s one of the safety features. Pretty cool, right?” I nodded in response, feeling much less nervous now that I knew I couldn’t mess it up.

She pointed to a couple places on the various pieces of paper where I needed to sign my name. Once everything had been gone through, Liz gathered the forms and left. I stood and locked the door behind her and decided to go explore the place a little more. I grabbed my room key off the counter and headed for the stairs. I secretly hoped that the rooms weren’t too small, seeing that the apartment was already bigger than I expected. How much room could there be here? You hardly ever see apartments with second floors in the States, so I figured that I couldn’t complain that much.

I climbed the stairs and was met with a small open space with 3 doors, all on the adjacent wall from each other. The one on the far wall was cracked open, and stepping forward to push it farther open, it revealed that it was a bathroom. A small bathroom, but plenty big enough. Both doors on the opposite walls were closed, leaving me to guess which was mine. I tried the door on the left first, inserting the key into the lock and attempting to twist it. No dice. I turned and tried the last door, the lock making a satisfying click as the deadbolt on the door slid back. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was decently sized, with a bare full-size bed pushed onto the back wall across from the door. To the right was a small desk placed in front of the windows. Located to the right of the desk was a closet, just big enough for all my clothes and some other storage bins. The entire wall to the left of the door was empty, already making my imagination run wild with all the things I could possibly decorate it with. I sighed contently, excited to begin making this room my own. I turned out the door and headed back down the stairs to retrieve my bags to start unpacking.

As I was descending the stairs, I heard a key enter the lock on the front door. Suddenly hyper aware of the danger I may be in, I grabbed the nearest thing to me that could potentially be a weapon: the vase on the kitchen island. Arm raised in attack position, I cautiously watched the front door, ready to launch the vase at the intruder. The door opened, my nerves spiked, and in walked a girl about my age. Your roommate, idiot. The girl looked up at me, and seeing the glass vase in my raised arm, alarm crossed over her face.

“Woah, woah! No need for that!” She said, putting her hands up in front of her chest. “Are you okay?” The girl asked me, and I immediately lowered the vase.

“Sorry, you just scared me, wasn’t sure who it was coming in the door.” Some first impression, Salem. She probably thinks you’re crazy.

The girl eyed the vase that was still in my hand. “Was that your weapon of choice? I mean, if you’re going to knock someone out, might as well use something you won’t have to clean up afterward,” She smiled and giggled. The girl then stuck her hand out to me. “I’m Poppy, I’m your flatmate for this semester.”

I took her hand and shook it, still holding the vase in my other hand. “I’m Salem, it’s nice to meet you,” I replied, setting the vase on the island promptly afterward. I’d been holding it for long enough for no reason at this point. “Sorry... about the vase. I promise I’m not usually like that... you know, paranoid.”

Poppy shook her head and told me not to worry about it. She’s nice, and also very pretty. She’s about my height, with short blonde hair that fell just below her shoulders. She’s on the curvy side which is very flattering for her. She wore a bright yellow blouse with a black skirt, tights and black Chuck Taylors. Something about her screamed fun, which was a good thing because everything about me just screamed boring.

Poppy and I made small talk; she asked me how my trip over was and what I thought about Manchester so far. “It’s nice, not that I’ve seen much of it yet. I’m hoping to go exploring a little bit after I get settled in. I probably also need a few things from the store, I’d imagine,” I should probably make a list while I’m thinking about it.

“Well, I happen to know the area very well, so I’d be happy to show you around. I can take you by all my favorite places! Oh! There’s this lovely little bakery a few blocks away from here that a friend of mine works at, you just have to try it…” She trailed off as a buzzing sound came from her pocket. She reached back to grab her phone, reading whatever notification had come up. “Speaking of, I’m actually running a little late to meet him. I do have to run now, but I’ll be back in an hour or so and we can go to the shops from there. Will you be alright here?” Poppy questioned, turning to head for the front door. I nodded, said goodbye and she left. I picked up where I left off, going to grab my bags and haul them up the stairs. They were filled to the absolute brim, making them pretty heavy. It was a bit of a struggle to get them up the stairs by myself. I was a little winded after the ordeal, but no one needed to know that.

I wheeled my bags into my room, setting them down at the foot of my bed. I pondered where I should start, opting to begin putting my clothes away first. I didn’t bring a lot of stuff with me, not wanting to check too many bags. I really only brought clothes, personally necessities and some decorations from home. I already began a mental list of what I needed from the store, most importantly: food. I’m starving. I’m sure Poppy had at least something down in the kitchen, but I wasn’t about to eat her food.

Knowing I had a long journey ahead of me with getting my room in order, I unzipped my first suitcase and began unpacking.

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photonicolo · 7 years

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Travel notes from my year in India (2003): Rishikesh. 2 of 16

I am at peace with the world today, as I walk the tiny streets of Rishikesh, a small village at the foot of the mountains. The sun is slowly rising and conquering the Ganga river, monkeys are peaking through the glass doors of the 'Cyber Gafe', the owner is singing loudly some Hindi song. How peaceful it all is, after over 2 weeks in Delhi, with all the excitement and noises and activity! And truly exciting it has been: I could not have dreamed of a better host than my friend Shivina! Looking back, I had the opportunity to mingle with fashion top models, chat with the latest Bollywood movie stars, dance with the maharajah's, sit with the VIP's at the Polo finals, discover the secret underbelly of the city, and meet some really wonderful people along the way.

You can probably imagine my thirst for some more introspective silence after such a rush of amazing adventures. That is how I found myself getting up at 5:00 AM (NOT usual for me since the long gone days of corporate life!) to start the long journey: taxi to the train station, train to Haridwar, local bus to Rishikesh, rickshaw to the upper part of town, then long walk across the bridge to find the hotel (well, at least it seemed long with my heavy backpack).

But let's go in order.

First the train. Interiors all of the same color: seats, walls, ceilings, doors. Lost somewhere between a gray and a light green. The kind of color you still see in old hospitals in Italy and on WWII ships in the US. Vaguely uncomfortable. I sit next to 2 Tibetans, only one speaks (good) English. We talk for a while about the Tibetan cause, people, history. Until he shares that he is part of a militant group, in favor of guerrilla violent actions to reach independence. At which point I feel it is time to kindly disengage and start enjoying the scenery (on the other side...). Funny how familiar seems this landscape escaping in front of me. So very similar to the planes of Piemonte, where I was driving less than a month ago. But then some very Indian reminders. Like men pissing against the walls, everywhere, proudly looking at me. Or the cow dung, dried in neat round tiles and piled up in small towers on the side of the roads.

The bus ride costs me 15 Rs. (about 30 cents US), it lasts about 2 hours. A young Canadian girl sits next to me, scared to travel alone. She has just arrived in India, she has that panic in her eyes... When the bus overtakes other cars at high speed in the middle of a mountain turn, she grasps the seat in front of her, sweat dripping on her chin. While I listen to music and enjoy the ride, I can't help but smile, remembering my own terror on that first rickshaw ride... As time passes, I become so much more aware of colors and smells and feelings and thoughts. Is it true that the real essence of life is savored in wondering, travel, uncertainty, growth? Is Bruce Chatwin right with his analysis of the roots of unrest in our western world? Or is travel one more escape from the self, a feeding of the Ego?

December 05

Sitting at a rooftop cafe, I enjoy the scenery bathed in the warm yellow tones of the afternoon sun. It is pleasantly warm. The Ganges, here still clean and white from the glaciers, is very calm. It has been only two days and I start already to recognize the local characters: the old man sitting at the same spot every morning to ready his newspaper, the local Baba still trying to sell me some hashish, the schoolgirls in bordeaux uniforms crossing the pedestrian suspension bridge, the same cow always blocking the way on the bridge, the same 3 monkeys sitting on the cables waiting to steal some food. I am alone, but less and less lonely.

I realize now just how much I have been escaping loneliness up to now. A busy and stressful job, feeding my arrogance (I am changing things, I am smarter, I make money, I can work harder than 'them', I reply to emails at 2:00 AM and on Sunday's, ...). Sports and other activities: snowboarding (everybody goes in winter!), biking, fitness, barbecue's, dinners, bars, fixing the house, dinners in front of the TV, surfing the web. And so on. And on. And on.

So loneliness is being alone and feeling bad about it. While aloneness is being alone and feeling good about it, at peace with myself. Like I feel now. Not that I am quite there yet. I cannot claim enlightenment! I still miss my friends, making love, a juicy steak. I still plan my days. But I can start to have glimpses of inner peace. There is such a powerful beauty in sitting in meditation on a white beach on the riverside of the Ganges. With nowhere to go. And nothing to do. It is just astonishing how we cloud ourselves with goals, ideals, thoughts, worries. We search left and right, when all we have to do is sit!

December 09

I rent an old Indian Vespa and head up the mountains, as the sun is still finding his way down the valley. It is cold, but I am so fascinated by the rays piercing through the foliage and glowing in the morning mist, that I do not care (too much). There is only me on the road. And the monkeys, of course. I cross a really big black one, with a white face. Big enough to scare me away.

As the road winds up the mountain, flirting with the Ganges, I get a bit worried of the huge vertical drops. In a few places the road just collapsed down some 200 meters. Which would not be a problem, if it was not for the occasional truck coming down at full speed and not being impressed at all by my little scooter. Which leaves me with less than a meter between the big noisy monster and emptiness. Comfortable enough for the other motorcycle drivers, less for me!

Fortunately I have plenty of road signs to bring a smile back. Green signs in a green world, with magnificent hand writing and warnings like: "Be Soft On Curves" (my favorite, also in the version "Go Soft On Curves"), "Speed Thrills But Kills", "Horn Please" (before every town), "Drive Slower, Live Longer", "Hurry Makes Worry" (I appreciate the universal nature of this one), "If Married Divorce Speed". I squeeze between the ever increasing number of dhobi of the road (there are men sweeping the street!) and some 70 Km. later I reach Devprayag, a small village where two rivers merge and the Ganges officially starts.

As I walk the omnipresent suspension bridge, I start conversing with a sannyasi (monk). Of all that I have crossed in the past weeks, this one really seems to glow from inner peace in his eyes. He decides that I should be blessed by the river, so he brings me to the water and makes me repeat a long prayer in Hindi, followed by offering of flowers and rice. As fascinating as the moment is, it would not be so amazing if it was not for the striking coincidence of my reading just those days of the "Bhagavad Gita".

So I am almost not surprised when I run into a chanting and prayer session by a large group of young children in orange robes, the evening of the same day back in Rishikesh. And it almost feels natural when the day after the lead monk invites me to perform the sunset prayer with him, in front of all his disciples. Once again, none of those events is exceptional per se. It is that they are happening to me now, just as I am plunging into the sacred scriptures. In such rapid succession. I could be cynical and attribute it to my presence in Hindu pilgrimage sites. But I rather sit and meditate on the power of our thoughts in making events happen, situations come together, increasing our awareness.

December 13

A blind man in Rishikesh approaches me in a restaurant to ask for help with his email. The next day I spend a few hours typing messages to his friends, then we go for lunch and he tells me his story. When he was 11 he was in a car accident, in which he lost both his parents and his vision. The rest of his family decided he was too much of a burden and closed their doors. So from an early age he had to decide if he wanted to accept the position society was giving him (beggar on the street) or fight an uphill battle. By the time we met he was in his mid forties, well dressed and wealthy, a writer traveling around India and the world. Alone. With a disillusioned but very positive vision of life.

You cannot even start to imagine how hard it is to travel in India alone and blind. The taxi's charging you tenfold (how can you check?) or giving you the wrong change, the porters walking away with your bags, the ashrams (equivalent to our religious convents) refusing you access because you are "bad luck". His stories go on and on. I experience it myself, when we make the trip back to Delhi by bus the day after. Like the bank that did not give him access to his account because he confused his bank statement with another piece of paper of the same size. Or the ashram that only accepted not to charge him double after I (the Westerner) argued against it (he later told me that they most probably will not let him stay there again because of that).

So long for the kind Hindus and the spiritual places we supposedly go to learn from. Even the two German tourists in their 'peace and love' clothes initially refuse to help him get to his hotel when we get off the bus. It is exactly next door to where they are staying, while miles away for me. They probably think it is a scam to rip them of their old and worthless bags. After all, if he is really blind, why is he so well dressed? This man gave me one of the biggest lessons, both when he asked me to leave because he wanted my friendship and not my pity, and through his inner peace and kindness in front of constant abuse.

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