It’s one of my last nights sittting here at the computer by the balcony musing exhausted, blurry thoughts out into a darker version of the scene pictured above.

This is the first home of my non-child (see how I hesitate still to use adult ?) life that wasn’t chosen by me, and tenacious control issues aside, it’s one of my favourites. I know that this has a lot to do with sweet moments of baby-new-family-ness, but as far as backdrops go, ours has been pretty stunning in a beautifully gritty way.

My (claiming it as I may for the next couple of days) neighbourhood is rife with street drugs and stretch Hummers, condominiums where 70% of the stainless steel-heavy kitchens have never been used (over heard that fact in a coffee shop), friendly independent yoga studios, organic food shops, prostitutes, fair trade coffee, used hypodermics drop-boxes (useful if you have, say, unused vitamin K sharps* lying around), the homeless, disabled and our country’s top bureaucrats.

From my balcony, along with the fabulous view of sun sets and celebratory fireworks, I can hear crackheads singing and fighting until all hours, and the cars of diplomats gliding along in a haze of import. It is never truly quiet.

There is something comforting, actually, in hearing these noises all night long, and in seeing these grand juxtapositions every day I traverse the sidewalks. There is a certain reminder of one’s humanity, of the richness and rawness of it. Of the people who keep the night awake and alive, as if to fall silent were to give up and become invisible. It is real and ugly - people have died and suffered and frozen steps from my home. A gated community it is not - there are few facades here. It is a microcosm of what is best and worst in this country, and I am truly glad I was able to call it home for this little year.

And you know, people (not of the ‘hood) always ask me if it bothered me, or if I am glad to be leaving or if I was frightened. I can honestly say no - that what pleasures me about being amongst all people is here as well. That when people stop me on the streets, they are just as likely to give me congratulations on my fine baby than to ask me for spare change.

and to that I say, thank you. Thanks for the neighbourhood.

* as in, actually the vitamin. not ketamines!

This entry was posted on Monday, June 30th, 2008 at 11:03 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.