It was a cold day. I walked into 235 Queen st and there he was with another man. Two turbans, equally loud- equally proud. I do not talk to politicians. They never mean what they say and its boring to try to stand there and pretend they give any craps about you. I also do not talk to turban wearing Sikh men. we all have some baggage that we dont need to fix.
The place was empty. And i was just heading to the office to work on my thesis. I ducked and avoided them because i knew every pillar of that hallway.
I have had very few kind words to say about him in the last while. i reserve the right to say mean things because i voted in the last election. the rule is if u want to complain you have to vote. i went to all three party speeches. i will never complain about politics again.
perhaps today Mr. Singh is realizing that it does matter if one is a Kaur. Perhaps he is also looking at the world without the shine of rose colored glasses being persecuted for the turban he wears with pride and dignity. perhaps that is why he has chosen to do what our great people have always done. stand in between.
two white worlds fight for the loot of canada today. they use his religion as the political foot ball. he does what he must as the only Defense Lawyer with security clearance who is a leader of a national party that can prevent both Justin Trudeau and Peirre Poilivere from assuming control of all Canadian assets in the first international coup of its kind.
we are not the same. given the choice i do not want to meet you. we have only one overlap. we are both activists.
however bad you think it can get, it will be worse. safeguard your family now. they will not remember what you did. they will blame u for the doing of it. sometimes u dont need to be understood to do the right thing. u just need to want to wake up and be able to look urself in the mirror.
i dont need to understand you. i know when someone is fighting for king and country. to u with failing hands we throw the flag. be yours to hold it high. if ye break faith with us who die. we shall not rest. though poppies grow, in Flanders fields.
