Tuesday, November 08, 2005


There are strange things done
In the Tunsi sun
By the girls who break the mold

The desert trails
Harbour twisting tales
Of a populace growing bold...

(with a nod to a Brit who romanticized the Canadian north)

Today, as I slunk out of a Metro three stops too soon (it was psychotically packed, and I had the time) I caught sight of a woman dressed in Goth. Not a little in Goth, but serious Goth Goth. She was wearing black, she was made up in white with a black tear creaking out of one eye, she had black hair with white stripes, she was wearing a Celtic cross 'round her neck... She was hardcore by Canadian standards. In Tunisia, nobody seemed to have the faintest clue what to make of her.

I don't know what she was trying to say - aside from making a break from the dominant social (dis)order. I don't know how she managed to find a Celtic cross. I do know that it took some tough stuff to wear it in the Muslim establishment. And for that - for a glimpse of individuality (regardless of it being adopted - or maybe more so for that) - for an original take - for the difference - for the gall... I'd tip my hat in her direction if I were wearing one.


At 6:45 p.m., Anonymous Anonymous said...

Loved your adaptation to the poem! And even more loved your affectionately stated respect for her courage and individuality!


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