A quick story. Picture it, Christmas, Toronto, 2005. I’m working at Oxford Learning, living in a decrepid one-bedroom apartment at Yonge and Eglinton after living abroad for two years. Lisa, who has recently returned from living in India comes over and we listen to music and drink copious amounts of red wine until the wee morning. I take pictures of her lying unconscious on my living room floor and thank God that I have been so lucky to have been alive to experience these wonderful memories with a woman whom I love so much.
That evening we listened to Fiona and Martha, and we had no worries. I am lucky. I am lucky. I am lucky. If only because I know that I don’t deserve such kindness.