Pals of my blue days

by Weichuen You 2003

I first met Pedro in the kitchen of Towne House, a two-storied motel-like building for students who didn't come from Rochester, NY. Everyone had a small room with everything inside except the kitchen. Because of this reason, I had an official excuse to escape from the stifling space of my own when I had enough of solitude.

On that day, when I pushed open the door and walked into the large kitchen, a Mexican boy was eating soup alone. His skimpy dinner aroused my curiosity. I couldn't help approaching him and taking a look at the weird thing he was eating. I felt his loneliness acutely, which spoke directly to mine. We started a small talk tentatively, wanting to make sure we were both friendly. Thus we started one of the most fantastic friendship I had ever had in my life. We were family, we were brother and sister, we were more than friends, we were pals of the blue days away from home.

I did the drawing one and half years after I left Rochester. Pedro's face is too fine and the only photo I have was not enough to help me put together his face. So I replaced his look with that of my little brother. I am no longer in touch with Pedro, but I'll remember forever the shy young boy and the blue days we had together in a foreign place.

(The following three pictures aren't really part of the llustrations for this week's topic, but maybe there are readers who would like to know what I want to express.)

Kirti is an Indian American girl. She spent almost all her life living in the US, but that didn't make her less Indian. She cooked with various kinds of herbs. She wasn't interested in making her opinions heard or even known in class. She would share with me the Indian traditions her family still kept. Though she seemed so timid in appearance, deep inside of her were a huge dark sky with glittering stars, dark-green forests, transparent-blue ocean...She had such lovely thoughts that it was one of the luxuries of mind to discuss with her about life and all the other issues.

Sometimes I wondered if Kirti was lonely. America, unlike for us, was her home. Somehow her uniqueness was also the reason why she couldn't fit in. Of course, we never talked about this. I felt her longing to love and to be loved without any barrier, but she was too nice to break her parents' hearts.

Kirti said she would never go back to India for husband-hunting. One year after I left, she did follow the tradition her family--going to India for an arranged marriage. I don't think this was a sad ending. Kirti deserves the best love in the world and I wish her all the good luck...

Matteo was the first South European I encountered in my life. His Italian elegance was bizarre when being among liberal, carefree Americans. The strong conflict between classical conservatism and open-minded free spirits found a perfect stage in Matteo. He wanted desperately to learn more about the new continent, but he was obstinate to reserve the Italian ways of expression, Italian pride and his self-identity. I understood all. Our only difference was that I was better at masking in another culture than my own.

I can still envision the frustrated Matteo hiding in his little room with warm orange light. His scent mixed with the thick nostalgia for the European home. The small drawing of Rialto Bridge from me wasn't huge enough to cover the huge white wall. Matteo frowned, hesitating between sulking alone or grumbling together with us.

Oh poor Matteo, how I wish I had been more tender with you...

Carlis had with him a hidden past. He also locked the door to his heart. He didn't really have ups and downs, like most of us. He had a well-kept facade. There wasn't too much that we could expect from life, yet it wasn't completely hopeless, especially with the help of liquor.

When Carlis was sober and drunk, he would often make remarks that shocked us into silence. With time, we learned it was simply his style. I felt thousands of waves tumbling inside, I felt his pumping heart, I felt everything, but he wouldn't admit it.

Carlis was the enigma of my blue days and he kept my brain busy so that I wouldn't fall into my dark hole.