I tried to send out a big letter today. I spent the beginning of my Internet time responding to replies, but just before I was able to download the letter from my flash drive, the power went out.
I’m in no position to ask if the power will come back on. All I can do, at this point, is pay my bill, and take a bus home. So that’s what I did, and I was frustrated. Despite the beautiful weather, after days of clouds, I was frustrated. I was frustrated when the driver spoke only Russian, and I was frustrated when a tractor was muddying my street, and I had to take the long way home.
But the long way forced me to pass the family’s corner store. A path I had thought about taking previously, but declined, on account of my frustration. I chatted with my little sister, who was manning the thing, and the old sunflower seed seller, who has befriended me, insisted on giving me a pocketful.
We talked about the few things my language permits, our health, our studies, our families. But really, what more is called for? So I walked home from there, happier. Now I knew where Apa was, where Ata was. I saw my little brother, carrying a carton of eggs to the shop, he shook my hand and smiled, “salaam.”
Then I got home, crunching the sunflower seeds, to find my sister-in-law. She laughed when I threw the shells in her garden, then wagged her finger. My clothes under the tin roof are nearly dry, and I started to smile. Then I threw my shells at the chickens in the yard, and laughed as the puppy chased them around. He seemed happy, and I was happy.
I asked my mom if I could have the chick that had died for dinner. She ignored my nonsense, and threw it in the wheelbarrow.
I had to apologize to the day, to the clear, fresh snow on the mountains, to the mindless rooster singing to his harem. I had to apologize to the time wasted in frustration. I had to stand quietly and laugh. There are no potatoes, but they will be here soon.
Originally Written April 16th, 2009
