Monday, 7 June 2010


I feel like such a loser.

I'm 32. I don't have a permanent address anymore. My stuff sits in boxes in three separate homes in two countries. My driver's license expired 4 years ago (!) and I had no idea. I don't have a plan for the future. My baby died and I have no freaking idea which way is up. Seriously, I don't.

My sweetheart Steph called me a survivor the other night. I told her I don't want to just survive anymore. FUCK surviving. I want to live.

But I feel like I can't right now.

The other night a family friend asked if I'm pregnant. Scratch that. He told me I was pregnant. He was sure because of how my belly looked. I couldn't tell him what had happened. So instead I left and I cried for over an hour. I woke up the next morning with the puffiest eyes I've ever had in my life and a resolution not to meet anyone else who is not on my list.

I've come to realize that even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't move back to Montreal. I've been away too long. At once, things are too familiar and totally strange to me. I don't remember how to get to certain places and I don't know how to use the public transport system anymore. After everything I've seen and everywhere I've lived, and going through everything I have over the past 5 years, I'm a foreigner in my own home town. Like the border agent and passport officer told me, I don't live here anymore. Ouch.

It hasn't been all bad, coming back. I'm connecting with my mom on a level I've never had before. I'm really talking to my little sis. I'm laughing with my friends and hugging some pain away. I'm crying when I want to. I have a crazy uneven tan. I have more friends that I'll be seeing, the ones who have known me since before I got my period and know all my secrets. I have two more weeks left.

I miss Dave. I can't wait to be in his arms again. But, this is important. I know I need help. This is one remedy. The hope is I'll get some of me back, get some of the light back, and return to Dave a bit stronger so we can get stronger together. And maybe, we can feel a little less scared of the future.

Are you there, faith? It's me, Kaki. I really, really, really need you back right now. Please, help a sister out.


  1. Oh Kaki! You're amazing. And you are living. You're one of the most articulate women I know. The fact that you have so much TO articulate tells me you are living life fuller than most people. I wish you renewed faith, love and happiness. You have them all. Some parts might just seem dormant right now. Have you read the poem "Footprints in the Sand" recently? Take a look. I think you're being carried, my dear. Have faith that you are.

  2. You guys are so strong, Kaki.

  3. Fighter ? Warrior ?

    None of those seem particularly uplifting, do they...

    A rockstar maybe... You're staying in touch with yourself through it all, and that alone blew me away.

  4. "When the heart weeps for what is lost, the spirit laughs for what it has found." You are already exercising a great amount of faith, I think.

    I know exactly what you mean about home not being the same anymore once you set up shop somewhere else. When my mother and sisters describe streets and businesses to me, and talk about landmarks, I'm mostly lost. It is disheartening, but in a way it also increases the bond between you and your new home and helps you to appreciate it more.

  5. Hang in there. This too shall pass. You'll look back on this period in wonder at how everything eventually worked out.