BY SIMONE J. SMITH

Every now and then, I segway to give my readers perspective on the reason why I have been writing this story for over two years in the Toronto Caribbean Newspaper.

For those who don’t know, the title of my column is called, “A Better Tomorrow.” I initially started to write this as a medium of inspiration; I wanted readers to know that even in the darkest of times, there is always a way to make tomorrow better.

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the book, “Man’s Search for Meaning.” Psychiatrist and Neurologist Viktor Frankl (1905-1997) wrote about his ordeal as a concentration camp inmate during the Second World War. What he observed was that those who survived longest in concentration camps were not those who were physically strong, but those who retained a sense of control over their environment.

I bring this incredibly poignant novel up, because for many of us, the last few years also allowed us to observe the intricacies of societal behaviour. It was rough for us: families being separated, lockdowns, and businesses closing down. Of course then there were the countless deaths of loved ones, fear of sickness, mainstream media and governmental forces propagating messages of despair that kept us all in our heads, and out of our hearts.

What Panama did was prepare me for this pandemic. I know what it feels like to feel helpless, afraid, unsure of what the next day will bring. The pandemic was on a macro scale, but this experience became macro for me.

All throughout this, all I could do was hope for, “A Better Tomorrow.” I turned my pain into words, and shared these words with all of you. I also learned that all of us have ways that we share our pain with the world. It is not always an artistic beautiful expression; sometimes it comes out as anger, rage, abuse; all human beings, to some degree or another, develop ways of dealing with pain very early on. It is an innate capacity we utilize to adapt and survive this world. It is how we protect our psyche, and our emotions.

Our nature is very similar to plants; we shape ourselves and adapt to our environment. Those that adapt to their environment survive; they twist, torque, and reach in order to get the sunlight and nutrients needed. This can be difficult if you are a plant amongst weeds: there is so much more reaching that you have to do, and it is tiring. It takes something special to move you forward; something that reminds you that what you want in life is not impossible to get.

This is why I share my story. I do it to let readers into my world; have them experience my pain with me, and work with me through my recovery. We all have difficult circumstances in life, and there are those times where giving up is easy. I want you to take a second right now and think about one of your experiences that seemed impossible to overcome, but somehow you did it.

Think about how you felt once you had dealt with the rawness of the situation.

As you are thinking about your experience, I want you to think about how it is making you feel having to think about it.

It is all perspective; regardless of what has happened to you, placing it into perspective is very important. We have to find a way to navigate the noise, see past your current situation, create ways to deal with your pain.

I have learned that sharing my story has helped others open up about their experiences, speak through their trauma and come to terms with it.

I hope you take the time to answer some of the questions I presented earlier, but now, back to the story….

BY SIMONE J. SMITH

I sat in the steam room and reflected on my meeting with M. “He is so damn short,” I said to myself. He was no more than 5’2, tiny, but he did have a nice body. There was no way that I would ever get involved with someone who was 5’2. I shook my head. This was not the point; I was here because he said that he wanted to work with me, not date me. I had to keep my head on straight, but the way he looked at me, spoke to me.

I snapped out of my thoughts and went to take a shower. After getting dressed I joined M outside. He was waiting by the door on his phone. When he saw me, this scintillating smile flashed on his face.

“Hey Sim! I thought you might be a little hungry after our workout. Let’s go grab something to eat up the street. We can talk about the work that I would like for you to do.”

I was hesitant, but I thought to myself, what is the harm? I was hungry, and if he was buying, I would let him.

“Sure why not! You owe me after nearly killing me out there.”

M laughed and took my bag from me. “Let’s go Sim!”

He waved at the staff and we headed out.

We found a restaurant up the street, not too far from the gym. After we had been seated, the discussions just happened. We talked about everything. Family, where he was born, children. We had a lot in common, especially our love for Detroit. He had been born and raised there, and I had lived in Windsor on and off for 10 years. Some of my fondest memories were those years in Windsor, going to Detroit, working in Detroit, learning in Detroit.

Before I knew it, we had been talking for about three hours. I was four beers in and stuffed from my fish and chips. I looked at the time.

“What are your plans for tomorrow Sim,” M asked?

“Well, I am on my grind right now. I have had a rough few months, and I am trying to get my footing back. This is why we are here; you shared that you want me to help you with your work?”

“Well before we go there,” M replied, “Tell me what has been going on lately?”

I looked down and fought back tears. I wasn’t ready to speak on my recent calamities.

“Sim, it’s okay. Trust me! I have gone through a lot the last few years, and I know what it is like to shut down. Talk to me; sometimes you just have to get it out.”

His invitation to share moved me; I looked up at him and he was sitting there, looking at me. His calmness opened me like a flower, and I started to speak. I told him everything about Panama, my relationship with D, how badly things had been going in my relationship. Once the floodgates were open I couldn’t stop talking. After another hour I finally relented. I sat there quietly, mentally kicking myself for over-sharing.

“Sim,” M said after a few moments of silence. “We are more alike than you think. You see, there is a reason why I reached out to you. You are a beautiful soul, and it is hard to find people to relate to.”

M then started to share his story with me. He also had been in prison, and charged for the same things that I had been accused of. I listened keenly as he told me the experience, soaking up the fact that someone else got me, and understood what I had been going through. The shame. The need to hate myself for what I had done, the pain I had caused my parents, finally someone innerstood me.

We talked until the restaurant closed. It had to be one of the most impactful nights for me since I had gotten out of Panama. I felt seen.

BY SIMONE J. SMITH

The funniest part of my trip was when I got to the border. I drove up, wondering how I was going to tell the custom officer that the only thing that I was bringing back was $100.00 worth of snacks and treats.

I should have been worried about how difficult it would be to cross the border, instead of what I was going to tell them, but my thoughts were scattered; can you blame me.

When I pulled up, the officer opened the window,

“Citizenship Miss?”

“Canadian.”

He reached for my passport, and I handed him the paperwork from Mark’s office. He reviewed them quickly and looked up at me.

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“Yes.” I paused, and then I picked up the bag from my seat. “I have a whole lot of candy sir.”

He started laughing. “I get it, trust me. When I cross the border, I usually pick up all of my junk food too. Have a good day Miss.”

“Thank you,” I said, relieved. I smiled to myself and drove off.

The drive home was smooth, and as usual, I did a lot of thinking. I decided to drive straight to my boyfriend’s house, because I needed a break from home. I knew that if I went home, my mom would be asking me a million and one questions, and I was not in the mood.

I have not spoken about my relationship with David for a minute, and for good reason. Things with him were not good. When I look back at things now, I realize that I should have given him his space to process everything. Since I had been back, he had shared just how difficult it had been for him. It was one of the reasons why he had been so upset with me when I got back.

Although we hung out together still, there was a noticeable difference in how he treated me. The loving, sweet person that I knew was gone. A sullen, quiet man who at times was sweet to me, but at times was very dark, secretive replaced him.

When I got to David’s house, I had to wait downstairs. He was out running errands, so I took the time to reflect on the day. I realized how anxious I had been because the ache that I had felt earlier in the day was gone. I was a little hungry, so I decided to head over to the mall that was located close to David’s house. I figured instead of waiting in the car, I would head there.

He still had not given me back keys to his house, which shows you where his mind was. I couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he had lost respect for me, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I had ended up in prison, or if it was his thoughts about what he believed he had seen on the phone. Regardless, being around him felt different; almost like being around a stranger.

My phone rang and snapped me out of my thoughts. It was David.

“Hey,” I answered. “Are you home yet? I am over by the mall grabbing a bite to eat, did you want anything.”

“No, I am good. I will be home in about 20 minutes. You can meet me there.”

Maybe I was oversensitive that day, because I sensed something in his voice.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes! Just had a long day. Pick me up something, it doesn’t matter what. I am hungry and it has been a long day. See you later.”

“Okay, I love….

Click.

He hung up the phone, and I sat there looking at the screen. I knew in my head that it was over, but denial is a real thing. I should have left him alone, but the heart wants what it wants.