Sometimes I know how to explain my lifelong suspicion for things popular or in fashion. Everyone in my first school year in Toronto had read Siddhartha or Metamorphosis, The Great Gatsby, Lord Of the Rings, The Foundation and The Old Man and the Sea... Hermann Hesse, Kafka, Scott Fitzgerald, Tolkien, Asimov and Hemingway were everyone’s favourite writers. If you had eaten Gazpacho, Guacamole, sweet and sour Chinese soup, Italian ravioli or French onion soup, you were cool enough because you knew international cuisine. And if you drank the German Black Tower wine or Tequila with lemon and salt or smoked Players Light cigarettes and drank draft beer...you were the coolest of the cool!!
I was not and did not feel cool at all. None of the above were things that I knew or had tried. I had never read those books and I was new to world cuisine. But whenever I heard any reference to those writers or dishes, I would think to myself, “here we go again...”! The way they would go about Hesse, it was as if he was the last prophet. And a couple of times when I was told about Asimov’s books, they sounded so complicated and so fictional that I think from that time on, I decided that I did not want to read any science fiction or spiritual books. And I kept my word! Of course, with some exceptions...I have read Gibran’s Prophet and a couple of works by Coelho. But by doing so, I got convinced that such writings do not illuminate my spiritual path in life. Self-discovery, if I ever attain it one day, will be from my own experience, everything I have seen and felt around me in real life, and not from some written teachings.
So, the cultural confusion and the estrangement I was feeling as a newly arrived immigrant boy, topped with the longing I felt for back-home (memleket), must have made me reject the popular culture I encountered that first year in school. It was as if everything they liked, I rejected...with minimal sampling on my part. This is typical of hard-headed, I can even say arrogant and ignorant, immigrants. And I believe I myself was one of them first year. I was skeptical about whatever the locals liked without even trying. It was as if, for my inner contentment, I needed to discover my own books, films, music and personal culture. I did not want to become like them because watching them made me feel that there was monotony and an emptiness in the way those kids lived.
In a way, this new path I chose turned out to be easier than you can imagine. I was fortunate to have my two elder brothers there…they had already lived there three years before I arrived. I imagine they must have gone through what we call the “immigrant blues” and had paved their own paths in order to adjust to the new country. Money and security were not their major concern like most of the immigrants there. They were more in search of personal inner harmony. They worked hard but they knew how to enjoy life with quality. I was their companion almost every weekend when they went out…restaurants, cinemas, cafes, shopping for clothes, music records or books and their circle of friends. Most Saturdays we would come home with bags full of clothes and music albums. They were not compulsive shoppers…they put a bit of money on the side of course, but they spent a lot because they liked enjoying their life. The Italian, French or Chinese food and the wines I tasted with them was nothing like what the kids in my school would rave about.
Otherwise, I was a lonely boy. As I have mentioned before, I had only one friend at school…I will tell you about that another time. Nevertheless, I got to know some of the students in my classes. We were not friends, but at least we took our breaks and smoked cigarettes together on the back lawn of the school. Sometimes they were curious about how I spent my weekends and I would tell them all the adventures I had had with my brothers. At first when I would tell them that I spent time sitting in cafes, they would look at me as if I was weird. They spent their time socializing in taverns and parties with friends, drinking beer and smoking weed. What was so interesting about cafes, they would ask. I would tell them that I drank good espresso, listened to the European or Latin music they played there and watched people pass by. They thought that was boring. Still, they were always curious to know what I did and little by little my weekends became something fascinating for them. I could see how, with time, they became less judgmental about me and even a bit envious about my lifestyle. You know, in the end, I became the cool one according to them because my lifestyle looked more interesting than theirs… Not only I drank espresso, but I also smoked French cigarettes without filter instead of Players Light like everyone!
