I'm Writing This For You

Chapter 1 || Goodbye, Toronto

We'll start our story around 10 years ago - on August 25th, 2006. I remember this date so well since it was my 15th birthday. It also happened to be the last birthday I spent in Toronto with my childhood friends.

"You don't have all day to clean the kitchen, hurry up so I can start cooking!" my mother yelled from the distance, her booming voice echoing throughout the thin walls of the apartment.

This was typical of your mother - having her son do chores on his birthday. Her rationale was that she was paying for everything, which, come to think about it, was completely true. Back then, I would have contested that argument, since I had put my own allowance money towards buying a new racing game which I hoped would serve as the event's main form of entertainment.

"I just have to wash the dishes, which would be a lot easier if this family had a dishwasher!" I replied. And yes, back in the day, I had to wash the dishes by hand. Of course, I immediately knew what her response would be.

"There's only three people in this family, Malik! When I was your age, I had to wash dishes for a family four times the size!"

Your grandmother was always comparing her seemingly insurmountable childhood struggles to mine, as if it was a competition. Reflecting back on it, her childhood was definitely tougher than mine ever was, especially since she immigrated from Kenya. But, as a fifteen-year-old, I didn't really like that fact being pointed out. 

"But, you know what, it is your birthday. I'll wash the dishes for you, go get ready," she added. While she acted very tough and authoritarian, gestures like these helped define what exactly I loved about your grandmother. Deep inside, she's one of the most caring and gentle people you'll ever meet.

"Thanks," I replied.

As I ran to my room, my over-sized feet pounded against the flimsy wood, resulting in high-pitched creaking sounds echoing throughout the house. I pulled out my phone to see what time it was. 12PM. Great, that still gave me around 2 hours before --- and before I could finish my thought, someone rang the doorbell.

Of course, I already knew who it was. My best friend, Angus Smith. When I went back to the front of the apartment and opened the door, I saw his slightly chubby frame and his pale, acne-ridden face glaring back at me. "Angus, ever thought about laying off the nachos for a while?"

Angus laughed. "You must be joking, mate," he replied in what sounded like an odd mix between an Australian and an Indian accent. I should also mention that Angus was never the greatest at pulling off accents, and while I had pointed that out countless times, he actively chose to ignore that fact.

I sighed in response. "Come inside, bro."

"As if I need your permission to go inside this place," he replied, while flashing his slightly crooked smile at me.

I really couldn't say he was wrong with that statement. He showed up whenever, as our friendship was that close.

"Well, let's start playing. How about Melee?" Angus said, with his smile widening.

Becoming a professional gamer looked to be Angus's calling, as he was good at nearly every video game to grace the Earth. Of course, that's not what he ended up doing - I think he's working at some bank now out in Vancouver. 

But, if there was one thing he was near masterful at back then, it was Super Smash Bros Melee, a competitive fighting game. 

However, I wanted to play my new Mario Kart game, as it was one of the few games I was able to beat him in. "Sure, but after we play Mario Kart," I replied. "After all, this is one of the last times I'll ever get to beat you at a video game."