Countdown to Deportation: The Daily Check-In

I’ve done everything I could do for today. I’m exhausted. There’s a limit to what I can do, and I reach that limit fairly quickly now. The surreal nature of all this almost makes me want to laugh, but I don’t dare laugh. Besides, as I’ve said, these tumors make me choke so I talk and laugh somewhat less even without the proceedings against me.

To repeat: I don’t want to be forced to leave Canada. Most certainly, I do not want to have to live in the U.S., where rightist madness and its takeover by that coterie of industrialists, the very thing FDR warned us about, has fully taken hold. I don’t want to feed that godforsaken machine. If you live there, you support it. Period.

I have no wish whatsoever to live in America ever again. As a matter of fact, if by a miracle I’m allowed to stay here, I won’t ever want to leave. This country means something singular to me, what the States mean to many immigrants: Here I’ve been fully accepted (up until now); people say every day that it matters that I’m here, and I think by mutual agreement I belong here, not there. Canadians, and Torontoians in particular, often seem surprised that any American would choose to live here instead. That simply amazes me. Why wouldn’t I? The people if not the government accept me as I am; I don’t have that experience in the U.S. Trust me.

How am I doing? Let’s see: Angina, tremors, blood pressure completely out of control, the choking, the desperation. Not fun. If I’m able to stay, obviously medical attention will come first. Please notice I don’t blame anyone but myself. This was my fault all the way, for not knowing Canadian law, for breaking down when Lisa died. Now I’m trying to get right. That’s all. More soon.


About johnwylam1957

I'm a poet and teacher now living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
This entry was posted in Culture/Politics, Life "After", On Lisa's Death: Trying to Survive the Unsurvivable. Bookmark the permalink.

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