Thank you for taught me to sacre in style

Today, I took a slap. For example, Not a real one. Furthermore, An existential slap. In addition, The one who stops you and makes you say: “My guy, you’re lucky in sacrament. Furthermore, »»

I was reading the news by drinking my coffee too expensive. Meanwhile, I saw these images of Haitians in the United States, stuck in a storm that they did not thank you taught me sacre cause. Furthermore, Threatened, stigmatized, treated as unwanted as they just want to live.

Then I thought back to Haiti, my first home. Similarly, A country taken hostage. Furthermore, not only by gangs, but also by those in tie which plunder with pens and accounts offshore. Meanwhile, hundreds of thousands of Haitians live in the United States on a thread of hopelessly.

And me? Similarly, I’m here. Moreover, Safe. Similarly, With a passport that does not make me pass for a suspect. Furthermore, Affordable education. However, Health care that treats even if it’s long. Nevertheless, A life.

I arrived like many others: a suitcase full of dreams and fears. Consequently, I discovered winter as we discover a devious enemy. The first winter I was a popsicle Haitian at -30 ° C. But in this cold, I thank you taught me sacre also met human warmth.

A neighbor taught me to booster My battery. A lady explained the Putin to me. Colleagues invited me to my first party Christmas. A Saoul Quebecer, I understood, it is a misunderstood poet who sings beautiful damage.

And then there is Quebec. Not just a province. A state of mind. Montreal is a world. But the regions? This is where we discover the true Quebec soul. Each village has its accent, its history, its welcome.

I met curious, benevolent people. Proud, rooted regions. Quebec is the nests-de-poule, crazy rents, the broken health system, yes. But it is also a place where I never felt so respected.

Thank you taught me sacre

My heart hanging on a floor lamp

I was able to study, thank you taught me sacre vote, work, criticize, build. I learned to sacre in style. To say thank you with the heart. And even if I live in Ontario now, my heart has been hung on a lamp on Boulevard Saint-Laurent.

Thank you in Quebec. Thank you for the linguistic debates, the village festivals, the neighbors who help you pelleter. Thank you for freedom. The real one. That of existing, of hoping.

Because elsewhere, to hope is dangerous. Here is normal.

I remember everything. Of my first years. From the stinging cold. The right to vote. Of the first tiering. Of the first coronation well placed. Additionally, Of all these little things that make you become here, even if you come from elsewhere.

I met racists, of course. But it’s rare. The majority does not thank you taught me sacre care where I come from. as long as I do my part, that I chial against the weather with them.

And it’s precious. Because we forget quickly. We hold everything for granted. We groan against Hydro-Québec, against snow, against taxes. But elsewhere, it is fear that falls from heaven. Elsewhere, the tax does not pay the school, it fattens the bandits.

Here, I have the right to hope.

And that is a luxury.

So thank you for everything. For spring that resemble resurrections. For the evenings to be crowned around a fire. Furthermore, For loyal friends, welcoming colleagues. For this land which offered me a place without even knowing me.

If one day I am asked if I am Quebecois …

Well yes, hug.

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