This piece was originally published in 2009:
My sister and I are bad Muslims. It's the month of Ramadan and we
haven't fasted once. Don't get me wrong, we're not bad people, just bad
Muslims. Our parents, however, have taught us what Ramadan is all about —
sacrifice. And so, on the last day of summer my sister and I set out to
walk from downtown Toronto (queen and john) all the way to our parent's
place in Mississauga (like 401 and Mavis). That's over 30km and it took
us 7 hours. I'd like to share the highlights with you.
The
moon plays a great significance in Ramadan, and I thought it was nice
that when we woke up early on a Saturday morning I could still see the
moon. While I was waiting in front of my building, snapping photos of
the moon and excited about our trek, I realized that I was waiting for
my sister at the wrong place.
We were late.
We scurried towards Bloor street and started walking West.
We scurried towards Bloor street and started walking West.
Some people feel sad when they see a dying tree. I always feel sad when I see a closed down Coffee Time.
Right
around Dundas West we encountered a series of polish bakeries. We
stopped at this one and ate some of that. We are both deeply in love
with bakeries and butchers.
There's
so much to see on Bloor street that the Humber river snuck up on us. We
were already approaching Old Mill and it felt like we had only just
started walking.
Things
are getting uglier. Concrete apartment buildings from the 70's. Power
lines galore. Racing traffic. Highway signs. We have to yell to talk to
each other. We're in Etobicoke now. It's the end of the line — Kipling
station. We decide to walk north and take Burnhamthorpe all the way to
the heart of Mississauga — Square one.
All
the signs that we were entering Mississauga were there. We had crossed
highway 427. There was four-lane traffic zipping by us, long stretches
between lights that allow the cars to go quite fast. We had passed a
sign that welcomed us to Mississauga. We started to see trees that were
held up with crutches. But we didn't know
any of it. This was a stretch of Burnhamthorpe that we'd never seen
before, and it wouldn't stop! To be honest, the walk up until Kipling
was a joke. The stretch between Kipling and Square One was mentally
draining.
When I saw a sign for Rockwood Mall, I was jumping for joy, because I had worked at the Royal Bank in that particular mall for about a week when I was in high school. When we passed Cawthra my sister's exact words were, "Hey, it's Cawthra! Remember Cawthra!?" I responded with an equally jubulated "Yeah, of course I remember Cawthra!"
Let me tell you something about Cawthra. Neither of us ever had any business on Cawthra. It was just one of those streets that you knew because you passed by it so often. But at that moment, we were so freaking happy to see Cawthra. We knew we were close.
When I saw a sign for Rockwood Mall, I was jumping for joy, because I had worked at the Royal Bank in that particular mall for about a week when I was in high school. When we passed Cawthra my sister's exact words were, "Hey, it's Cawthra! Remember Cawthra!?" I responded with an equally jubulated "Yeah, of course I remember Cawthra!"
Let me tell you something about Cawthra. Neither of us ever had any business on Cawthra. It was just one of those streets that you knew because you passed by it so often. But at that moment, we were so freaking happy to see Cawthra. We knew we were close.
We
had finally reached Square One. We were slowing down, both physically
and mentally. We had to stop for a Julius in the food court. On our way
out my sister was telling me that a long time ago she had actually
walked from Square One to home, and she remembered that it took over an
hour. I didn't need to hear that.
But
it was okay once we stepped outside to start walking again. We were
basically home. Empty buses. Traffic lines on the streets seemed fresh.
Blindingly bright sidewalks. Some brown girls honked at me to say "nice
shirt," complementing my 100% Halal.
Deafening traffic noise (because walking on major streets feels like
you're walking on a highway). A general feeling of being unsafe as a
pedestrian. My sister was getting angry at all the drivers.
The
home stretch was all about pushing it. We had no idea how tired we'd
gotten, but our arms had started to flail quite wildly, and there was a
moment when we hit each other's hands, mid-stride, and both said, "oww!"
simultaneously and then started to giggle. We finally got home and
spent the next 1/2 hour convincing our parents that we had indeed walked
all the way home. We spent the rest of the weekend trying to explain
why.
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Umar Saeed is an accomplished professional in finance and accounting. On his website
(www.umarsaeed.ca), he writes essays to explain the elaborate
connections between people and money, without making your head
hurt. You can follow him on Twitter @UmarSaeedCA. Or you can read the rest of his posts at The Little Red Umbrella here.
1 comments:
Hey Umar,
Please don't mourn the passing of any Coffee Time. Generally, the death of a Coffee Time is a sure indicator that a particular neighbourhood is finally climbing out of the gutter and getting a new lease on life. I can't wait for the one up my street to close down.
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