Of belonging

by Cates Bayabay (Canada)

Making a local connection Canada

In the dark days of winter in the little hamlet of Pangnirtung, I sit staring at the lame attempts of the sun sneaking pale pink and purple streaks into a gloomy grey overcast sky. This December afternoon, nostalgia takes hold of me. I find myself longing for companionship, to belong and beloved by a family… I once had a family with three spirited little sprogs filling the household with joyous mirth. Days and nights revolved around play, adventure and laughter, and because of this more equally lively children would come over to the house to join in the fun. They built forts out of pillows, castles out of boxes, and of course, carved little snow mounds they proudly called 'iglus'. They pretended to be kings, queens, hunters, mushers and even shamans drumming spoons on plates. They were enamoured with the world around them, they adored every little thing; and most of all, they adored me. I was the center of their affection. I took part in every play, every adventure, and every story. Once I pretended to be the chief of them all, next I had to stay still and pretend to be a seal. Many times I pretended to be a polar bear, a unanimous favourite: once hidden, I would search, chase, capture, and then wrestle them to the ground until the children were paralyzed with giggling fits and hysteric laughter. I was one with the children; I ran, played, pretended, howled with glee, rested, and shared meals with them. Their affection towards me was abundant. Winter then was just as enjoyable. The joyful days of childhood play and amusement filled the long winter months with cheerful entertainment. But perhaps it was naivety, perhaps it was denial that I found myself shocked by the sudden and severe dismissal. I was cut-off, rejected, banished, and exiled. And not to another relative’s home. I was exiled to the outskirts of town, beside the dump, where the possibility of a real polar bear would search, chase, capture and wrestle me to the ground before devouring my body. I guess there were tell-tell signs. The affection started to wane. Where once I would be tugged away from anywhere to be hugged or kissed, now I would be left alone. Where once my affection towards them would be met with glee, now it would be met with disapproval. What really opened my eyes to the change was the last time I pretended to be a polar bear chasing them: the once favourite game of wrestling where it would end in laughing fits, then ended with a fearful shriek, a cry for help, sobbing fits and a slap on my face. *** The sunrays and its pathetic attempt of daylight surrender to dusk and lingering darkness. The moon, uncovered by the clearing of the clouds, is thankfully bright. Maybe tonight I will enjoy the dancing lights of winter nights. "So they just abandon them…" I pick up muffled voices as the arctic gusts carry them all over. Patched, broken and distant… "Yeah, once they reach that age when they stop being small and cute" Or perhaps the winds are not playing tricks on me tonight. The voices are crisper, footsteps closer… “They called this one Boy” I hear two distinct female voices. Could they be talking about me? “Ha! Well, you’ve always wanted to have a boy in your life. Looks like this one could be the one,” said one of the female voices excitedly emphasizing the words 'boy' and 'the one'. “Ha-ha,” mocked the other, “I was told this one is less than a year old.” I see their dark outlines now, grossly thick from furry parkas. “Oh now, how could they think he’s not cute anymore? He’s still a pup!” exclaimed the excited female. “Well, here goes,” said the other, uncertain. I can smell excitement in the air, I can smell longing, I can smell…hope! I hear jingling, then a click, then some rattling, all the while hearing excited cheering, and then a moment of silence where I suddenly realize I am in a deep, welcoming embrace, “You are my boy, you are the one. Let’s go home!”