I came to the library to finish my inventory work in the apartment. Of course, the first thing I did was open blank.page and start typing. I notice the keyboard layout is french and I will make mistakes. I will not mind them but I will avoid contractions as the single quote is especially difficult to produce in this keyboard.

There are so many things I want to write about, and only two hours for both work and self-expression, I will dedicate an hour each. The two hour block is decided by the library, not by me. It might be a good idea to do this every day, half an hour of writing and an hour and a half of computer work.

I must begin by explaining that my laptop has stopped charging. Well, technically you can charge it by pressing the magsafe connector hard into the chasses. Yes, I have tried cleaning the port. It was ailing anyways, the integrated keyboard and trackpad had already given out and I was using an external keyboard and mouse.

I tried buying a new computer, a 15 inch M2 MacBook Air, but given my short credit history in Canada I could not purchase it through financing which I need at this time, and so I am in an awkward place where I am waiting for an invoice to come through in order to have a computer again. But all is good. It is nice being computer free ten days so far, and it will also be nice to have a nice fast MacBook becuase mine was already ten years old.

All this to explain why I am on a borrowed computer at the library.

I am currently volunteering at a hostel in the hip Plateau neighborhood of Montreal. I exchange work for a bed. I would say my work at that hostel is spiritual. I feel retinence to writing much about it because it concerns other human beings and I would violate their privacy, yet the lessons they give me are tremendously valuable. I often make vows to write more in my notebook so that I can work private things in private, but it is difficult to find the privacy to write private things.

There is a girl I like a lot at yoga. I think she likes me too. I feel the heavy gravitational pull of someone with whom I am meant to experience something. This gives me a strange unfamiliar confidence. I am sure next time we meet her I will invite her out to something. I am making no plans other than making myself present, if the cosmos favors an encounter the gravitational pull will do the work.

I was biking my way back to the hostel on a hot sunny day when I hit a red light. A bulky-strong man of Persian descent told me something in French, which I understood to be something like "we should be wearing hats" as we were both bald. I laughed and told him the forecast said it would be cloudy. "Oh those people, they think they know everything, but they do not know the boss is up there", I replied enthusiastically "Oh yes! The all-mercifull gives us a beautiful day and we complain about it!" and we both roared in laughter, "that is right! even in the most perfect day we will complain when He gives us exactly what we need!", we went back of forth in praise of God ignoring the green light, and after we were done we wished the best day to each other. I left the encounter incredibly pumped, with a zest of life renewed. I wish to become friends with people who are not god-fearing but god-loving.

On a similar note, a North African man staying at hostel came out of the room with a bag of garbage, and put it into the large bin in the common area. The manager of the hotel said "Merci", to which the man glared with an expression that I will never forget. His eyes were not angry, they were wide open, as in surprise, but the eyebrows were frowned, his counterance grave and serious. I read disgust and despise in his face. The manager turned to me and said "they do that when they are doing our work, that is the garbage is from the room". I quickly grabbed a bag and went into the room to change it. The man offered to take the bag from my hands, but I kneeled down to do it myself. "Thank you" he said. I turned up to apologize for the mishap and I saw him holding his hand to his heart, now with expressive and compassionate eyes. This also caused a deep impression in me. Now, when we cross paths in the hostel, we gravely bow our heads to each other in a silent understanding about being one who submits to the will of God.

I am well liked at the hostel by both guests and staff. I was afraid that, after spending so much time alone, my social skills would be rusty or I would be seeking solitude too much. I am sometimes quiet, but people sense comfort in my silence and I can feel the energy I bring into the room. I still get my solitude, and sometimes I have to protect it, but I will be happy two or three weeks doing this. It is a healthy counterpoint to my long stretches of isolation and social hermeticism.

Life is poetry at this time, I will come back more to the library to write about it.